by Riley Jean
“I’m not going to kiss you,” he informed me.
I blinked repeatedly. “Probably not a good idea,” I agreed.
He moved further into the room, taking in what had become my dwelling. It wasn’t much, what with our sparse furnishings and meager belongings, but it was warm and inviting, small yet eclectic.
He eyed the colorful painting on the wall, as well as the guitar and the cross. Other than a small shelf of books, I had very limited personal items of my own displayed. Even so, he found them.
Pinned to a small corkboard above my bed were three dried roses of different colors, a Spill Canvas ticket stub, and the picture of Vance and I at the lake, holding up a fish and grinning like fools. I caught him staring at the collage and felt my cheeks grow warm.
I cleared my throat. “It was all I wanted to remember from California.”
He turned to me, his eyes intent and deeply sad. “All that effort spent running away. And you took me with you.”
I met his stare. “I had a lot of issues, Vance. That never stopped me from loving you. Even if I had a funny way of showing it.”
This time he didn’t wince when I said it. Although he didn’t smile either. I was unsure how to take that. He wasn’t really letting me in at all.
He studied me. “Your hair’s different.”
I rubbed the base of my scalp self-consciously. “I got it as close as possible to my natural color… I think my dyeing days are over.”
I quickly bit my lip. Stupid, stupid words. We just stared at each other.
“Looks good on you,” he said.
I blushed and looked down at my wringing hands. “So… you sold the condo?” I inquired, remembering the boxes and bubble wrap from my last visit.
“I did.”
“Where are you living now?”
He eyed me. “I’m kind of in-between places at the moment.”
“Was it hard?” I asked, curious if he’d grown sentimental about his first place in the end.
He shot me a look like it was a ridiculous question. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was none of my business anymore, or if the answer should’ve been obvious in light of everything else.
I swallowed nervously. Okay. Small talk it is.
“How is everyone? Summer? Kiki? Cole?”
“They tried to talk me out of coming here.”
I nodded in understanding. “I left a mess behind.”
“You did.”
Geez. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat any of it, was he?
“And yet you’re here…”
He turned to give me his full attention. “I couldn’t seem to say goodbye to you, Rosie. I almost did. But then you showed up again. Why did you come back? Was it all because of Phoenix?”
“No,” I said, adamant. Phoenix may have inspired me that day, but it wasn’t how he thought. “I went to the funeral for Phoenix. I came to your house because of you. I didn’t plan that the way it happened. I wanted to tell you so many times, except I didn’t think it was fair…”
He stepped closer to me, but still not close enough to touch. “Tell me what?” he implored. His mask was beginning to slip, revealing emotion in his eyes.
“That I’m done with living in fear and letting the past hold me back. I’m in love with you, Vance. You’re all I want.”
It had taken time to heal from all the hurt in my past, but love is a force not to be underestimated. My heart finally felt whole again, and I was ready and willing to place it in the hands of the man I trusted most.
He shook his head solemnly. “I waited, Rosie. Even after you left, I didn’t give up. If you had called I would’ve run all the way here. Were you ever going to call?”
I stood before him, willing to bare my soul. “I know I messed up, Vance. Believe me. I know. I’m so late and I sure as heck don’t deserve it. But if you could somehow find it in your heart to try… you’d see how much I need you… simply because I’m in love with you, and not for any other reason.”
“But what about… him?” he asked delicately. “What about Gabriel?”
“Gavin,” I amended. I wanted to show him how far I’d come in eradicating those false thoughts. “I used to think that night stole the very best parts of me,” I explained. “But it didn’t. Hearts can break—and mine took quite the beating—but they can also be restored. And my soul? It was never his to take. I escaped with my life that night. I was given a second chance for a purpose. I’ve just been too caught up to realize it.”
His lips tilted up slightly. “And what purpose would that be?”
“That I still had a lot to learn about love,” I said sadly. “Before you, I thought I had it all figured out. I gave my heart three times, but it was never real. None of it has ever been real.” I took his hands in mine. “This, Vance, this is real. This wipes out every last doubt that ‘real’ truly exists. And if there is such a thing as soul mates in this world, you are mine. You always have been mine, and you always will be.”
With a certainty that exceeded every truth I’d come to know in my lifetime, I knew that Vance was the one for me. Every cynical doubt was hereby null and void. He was my light. He was my reason. He was my heart.
“You’ve really changed,” he said, much to my delight.
“Everything has changed,” I insisted. “I’m working through things. Healing is a journey; I’m not all the way there, but every day it gets a little bit better.”
At that he pulled out a notebook. His fingertips ran over the familiar vintage musical notes. “So it’s all true?”
My eyes locked on the journal. I swallowed, knowing he had read it all. Months of psychoanalysis, my innermost thoughts, feelings about him as well as others in my past. It was a front row seat to the breaking of my mind. The darkest and the ugliest parts of me. Along with the journey of healing, and the restoration of my sanity.
He held it all in his hands. No secrets, no walls. And still he was here.
I met his eyes, firm. “Every word.”
“Even the poetry?” He lifted a brow.
I laughed shyly. “I told you it wasn’t very good.”
“And the song… you wrote that too?”
“What can I say? I had a lot of inspiration.”
That was the truth. In all ways he inspired me.
He sighed, weighing my words. “It’s been hard, Rosie. It would be hard to forgive each other and learn to trust again.” He was watching me, measuring me. “But I ask myself… is it harder than trying to live without you?”
There it was. A seed of hope.
“We can start over,” I suggested. “Hi. I’m Scarlett Rossi. But you can call me Rosie. I like music, swings, pancakes—especially after midnight. I even like myself. Most days. I’m a baker of cookies and a snuggle hog. I tend to ramble when I’m sleepy. I’m a sophomore at this fine institution, majoring in business with an emphasis in communications. I attend a book club, I go to church on Sundays and I sing with the worship band two weeks out of every month.”
“What are you doing?” he chuckled.
“Starting over,” I said. His small smile made my hope take root. “I can come back to California, Vance. We’ll pick up where we left off. Everything will be just like it was before, only better.”
He shook his head. “You’re doing so well here. You think I’d take you away from this place?”
My expression fell. “But I want to be where you are.”
Every time his smile made a resurgence, it grew a little warmer.
“I have no intention of making you give up all your dreams,” he said softly.
“But what about you?”
“My goals are to finish school and work on houses. I can do that anywhere. But you know what I can’t do anywhere?” He tenderly tucked a curl behind my ear. “Be near you.”
My eyes widened with realization. “You don’t mean—”
“There’s a house not far from here that could use some renovation,” he grinned widely at the prospect.
“I’ve already got some projects on the calendar. That should keep me busy for a few months. And come January… I’ll officially be a junior at this fine institution.”
I stared at him, touched. “You applied to Rockwall University? For me?”
“I was hopeful it would all work out. Otherwise this might’ve been really creepy.”
“You’d move here, for me?”
He took my face in his hands. “Rosie, when will you realize I’d do anything for you?”
A joyous sound erupted from my throat, somewhere between a laugh and a cry. My heart felt happy, light; even the oxygen tasted sweet. At last, the man that I craved deep in my bones was back in my grasp. What had I ever done to deserve this wonderful, loving man? All I knew was this time, I was committed to spend the rest of my life loving him back.
“I love you, Vance.”
He closed his eyes momentarily to savor my words. “To the stars and back?”
“Well, I could prove it,” I said coyly, looking up into those curious, steadfast, amazing green eyes. “But I believe you said you weren’t going to kiss me?”
“I lied,” is all he said.
And then he did.
Epilogue
Shake it Out” by Florence and the Machines
[Journal]
If someone were to ask me, “what was the worst time in your life?” I would pause. Sure, that year was by far the most challenging. I made mistakes. I faced horrific truths. But it was also when I learned the most. When I grew the most. When I discovered the meaning of forgiveness and redemption. And better yet, true love.
So how could I ever regret it?
* * *
I closed my journal and tilted my head back, letting the California summer warm my skin for the first time in almost three years. It was a perfect day, seventy-eight degrees and not a cloud in the sky. The aroma of roses in full bloom wafted along the open air. A light breeze blew through the trees, swaying the branches, rustling the leaves, and tossing my auburn curls like a lover’s fingers. I sighed contentedly in this moment of bliss.
Solitude.
Introverts lived for moments like this—to be surrounded by the beauty of nature, alone in peace and quiet. I had grown to learn it was so much more desirable than the noise pollution of other distractions. As much as I enjoyed the company of those I loved, there was something about quiet solitude that revitalized me. And oh, how I had missed those mountains.
“Hey Rosie.”
I turned and smiled as he approached, so handsome and warm, like my own personal sun. He smiled back at me, radiating hope and trust and love against the blue backdrop of a cloudless sky. By his presence alone, everything was right in the world.
He leaned down and kissed my temple.
“Mmm. Hi handsome.”
He walked behind me and gave me a gentle push, launching my swing into the air.
“I talked to the chapel,” he said, pausing long enough to build suspense. But I could tell by the smile in his voice that he had good news.
“And?”
“And… they’re available on our date. I put down the deposit.”
My laugh was lighthearted and my feet kicked, simply because they could not contain my joy. “We’re getting married in four months!” I shouted into the sky.
As my swing flew backward, he wrapped his arms around me, both of us rocking with the momentum.
“Perfect,” he said in my ear.
I giggled as he attacked my neck with tiny kisses. That’s right—even after three years together, we were still that obnoxious couple who was overly affectionate in public. But we were young and in love, and I was through holding us back. After I had denied him a real relationship for all those months, it was the very least I could do.
Not that it was completely selfless on my part. I could never get enough of him, either.
Vance and I had spent the last three years pursuing our dreams in Texas. This month we both graduated with honors in business; me specializing in communications, and him in entrepreneurship. He had successfully restored six residential properties, while I worked at the campus bookstore during the week and sang at the church on Sundays. Vance never missed a Sunday.
He nudged me, and gestured to an elderly couple walking by hand-in-hand.
“That’ll be us one day, Rosie.”
I smirked. “An old Vietnamese couple? I can’t wait.”
He pinched my butt for that comment. So worth it.
It wasn’t always easy, especially in the beginning. Many obstacles awaited us after the initial hurdle of defining our relationship. Rebuilding trust. Communication. Not to mention working through my triggers, such as beaches, banks, and especially Valentine’s Day. The second anniversary I held up better than the first, and every year after that it got a little easier.
I continued to journal and met with my counselor regularly up until graduation. She said healing is like a river—neutral isn’t the goal, you have to keep moving or else you’ll get swept away.
Not to say that I didn’t have setbacks, but whenever possible, I tried to confide in Vance instead of pushing him away. I’d already spent too much time in self-inflicted seclusion. I never wanted to take him for granted again.
We came back to California every Christmas to see our families, including last year when Cole and Kiki tied the knot. Kiki made a beautiful bride, and Cole looked like the happiest man in the world.
Of course, it was a bit awkward with the maid of honor openly glaring at the best man.
That was another obstacle, as forgiveness went beyond just the two of us. Though I’d dragged Vance through a lot of drama, he wasn’t the only one who suffered.
Once they saw our relationship come to fruition, and that Vance was happy, Cole and Kiki warmed up to us again. That was important to me. Vance’s friends were my friends, and trust was a valuable thing. I promised myself to never give them another reason to doubt. By the time Vance was planning to propose, he had their full support.
But no matter what we tried (and helplessness was not something I easily accepted), the sandy-haired girl that spent her whole life wishing for the one thing I had, wanted nothing to do with us.
Vance tried to dissuade me from feeling guilty. At first I wondered, how could I not? Because of me, someone was hurting. Because of me, their lifelong friendship was strained. I had deceived a friend with lies and secrets, and every effort I made to spare her feelings along the way only made it a deeper betrayal.
But Vance said sometimes in life, the only choice we have is how to react. He chose to pursue me. I (finally) chose to let him catch me. Summer chose to disown us for falling in love. I didn’t think she’d ever forgive me for marrying Vance. But I love him. It’s good and it’s real. And I won’t let anything in this world come between us again. That is my choice.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. “My mom finished a sample invitation… want to see?”
“Uh, yeah!” I held out my hands, smiling widely. “Gimmie gimmie gimmie!”
He held it up just out of reach and gave me the eye. “There’s a price.”
Oh my. Vance and his games.
I jumped out of my swing but he dodged me. I chased him down for a good ten seconds before I finally caught up, and tackled him into the grass. He laughed as I smothered him in noisy kisses until he finally gave up the goods.
There it was in black and white—our names, our date, written in a lovely script. Wrapped in a jacket and tied with ribbon, hand-painted the image of three rosebuds.
Our marriage announcement…
Beautiful.
“I love your mom,” I said, teary.
He kissed my cheek. “She loves you, too.”
Both our families were elated to find out about our official relationship. Our first Christmas home, I was swarmed with embarrassing baby brother stories that even made the shameless Vance Holloway blush. I figured I got the stamp of approval when I was dubbed a “major upgrade.” And his gramps became
my new favorite person in the world. Vance, on the other hand, was ever the gentlemen, charming the pants of my stiff parents with his lovably quirky but always respectful self.
When we announced our engagement last fall, my mama cried happy tears and wished us every happiness in our marriage that she had experienced in theirs. Yeah… I just bit my tongue and thanked her. It came from a good place.
Our relationship had changed a lot in the recent years. We’ve both made more of an effort to be open with each other, even if sometimes it involved getting a little ugly.
To my surprise, we even received a letter of congratulations from my brother, James, postmarked Okanawa, Japan. I was more than a little shocked to read the heartfelt words he had handwritten. The letter detailed how he was proud of me, and that Vance was a lucky guy and better treat his sister right. I flipped the page back and forth, scrutinizing the handwriting dozens of times. Still floored that the guy who grew up hating my guts had somehow been replaced by a real brother.
I wrote him back right away, and when Vance found out, he preceded to write James a letter, too, and we sent them together.
He amazed me time and time again.
My love for Vance grew every day, because every day he gave me a deeper understanding of what it meant to love. I’d become a firm believer in that love feels strongest when you’re giving it. Sometimes I tried to outdo him—not in a competitive way. I figured if we’re both trying to love each other harder than the other, nobody really loses.
Laying in the grass between the swing set and the old oak tree, I suddenly realized we were in the exact spot where we shared our very first kiss. Caught up in the memory and my all-encompassing adoration for him, I leaned in and kissed his perfect lips, slow and sweet. Warmth thrummed between us. As he kissed me back, his hand tenderly brushed aside my hair.
“I never even knew it was possible to be this in love with somebody,” I whispered. “Or even what it meant.”
