Hearts So Big (Timeless Love Series Book 3)

by Mj Fields

  They don’t target the U.S., they don’t like the control the government has over producing products they deem “holistic.” Aaron says it’s because pharmaceutical money controls the politicians who run the country. I have no reason to doubt him. I also have no reason not to trust the product. My skin and hair have never looked better. So, while I caved to that, he caved to adding essential oils to give fragrance to some of the products I use, even though he likes the way I smell without.

  Another part of his and his father’s company that will start when they launch the new line in the fall are vlogs, blogs, podcasts, and social media blasts, using footage of their explorations. The upside, they will show why they stand out as a company. The downside, he expects Elijah will be an issue, which he told me hasn’t been an issue.

  They are currently in negotiations to sell out of the Hearst part of Donahue and Hearst. He told me that Elijah hasn’t been as much of a dick about it as he expected. I have my suspicions as to why.

  The beauty in the minimalistic lifestyle, as Aaron has taught me, is in letting go. So, where I may not be completely on board with the idea and actually actively try to reduce my “things,” I believe in it.

  Aaron told me he was proud of me. He said I was embracing the part of the lifestyle that was the most beneficial. I was becoming a spiritual minimalist. That I was letting go of hurts and the incessant need to make people happy, even when they didn’t deserve it, freeing up my time to enjoy life. He also admitted that he now could do the same, fully.

  I never thought love could be this way—be a partnership. I never thought I wouldn’t have to dull my style or personality to “blend.” In fact, he encourages my love of color and fashion, design. Hell, he even bought bows and asked me to start wearing them again. He also asked if I would consider wearing fake braces for him. Awkward, but hey, I thought his childhood obsession with my feet was odd at first, too. Now I get foot rubs all the time. It’s a win-win.

  We embrace our oddities, encourage them, adore them and, at times, get turned on by them. Okay, he’s not really outwardly as odd as I can be, but he encourages me to let it fly.

  As a matter of fact, we color, actually color, and draw together almost every day. I, of course, draw clothing and accessories. Aaron … well, his stick figures have turned into full-blown pornographic caricatures of me, or us, in steamy positions. I love it. I’ve even painted him nude. Well, half-nude, and then it just got messy.

  Sex! No wonder people actually enjoy it. We are constantly touching each other. And most of the time, if it didn’t start out sexual, it ends up that way.

  I never have to wonder if he wants me. He walks around hard most of the time, like he warned me he would. I am grateful Oliver and Natasha are still in the Hamptons and that we have the place to ourselves, or it might be awkward. He assures me that, when we get through at least half of his fantasies about me, it won’t be as much of a problem. Then he laughed, “But it will still be a big one.”

  So, here I am, in a swivel chair, working for my dream company, with the best boss, who even lets my boyfriend and I stay at her penthouse apartment directly above me, while she and her hottie husband summer in the Hamptons.

  I pick up the pictures of her and me at her high school graduation and my college graduation. Neither picture depicts what we planned, but oddly, it got us to a place neither of us could have really dreamed

  Two girls with quirks, insecurities, issues out the wazoo, who have lived through bitches like Saliva and Spencer and never aspired to become them or be like them. Our hearts desires weren’t to suck dick after dick, kiss ass after ass, and loathe our lives and everyone around us, because we common folk, aren’t awarded the ‘luxury’ of thinking ‘we’re all that.’

  Okay, that was a totally bitchy thought but, well, like Drake sang, “Bad things, it’s a lot of bad things that they wishin’ and wishin’ and wishin’ on me.” They wished bad things, and then Karma spiked it back at them like she was playing bitch volleyball.

  I laugh out loud and lean back in the chair, raising my fist in the air triumphantly and yelling, “Boom, bitches.”

  When the chair tips back, I flay around, trying to stop from tipping over.

  “What the hell are you doing now?”

  “You almost made me fall over!” I yell. Then I can’t help laughing.

  Aaron leans down and kisses me quickly on the lips. “Let’s go have lunch.”

  “Is it lunchtime? I have a lot to do, you know.”

  “Yeah, I see you’re hard at work.” He spins the chair around, pulls me up, and kisses me properly.

  “How about we skip lunch and go upstairs for one last time in the boss’s bed?”

  He steps back and takes my hand, laughing. “Not today, Lala, not today.”

  In the elevator, he stands behind me, arms around me, chin on my head. “You wanna tell me what I just walked in on?”

  “Um, creative process.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “It was very creative actually.” I laugh.

  “Spill it.”

  Well, so much for my spiritual minimalistic-ness.

  “Just thinking about babies.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I look back over my shoulder and see his eyebrows raised. “Not me.”

  He looks at me blankly.

  “I think Karma and Drake should have a baby, okay?”

  “What?” He laughs as the elevator car stops.

  The door slides open, and we walk out.

  “Good enough, because if I delve any deeper, my minimalistic spiritual growth will be set back months.”

  “I feel that you should definitely share. It’ll be like an emotional colonic.”

  “How about I go let the girls know I’m leaving, and we call it good.”

  He laughs. “I’ll bring the car around front.” Then he pops a kiss to my nose and is out the rear entry in seconds flat.

  27

  Aaron

  “You okay?” She squeezes my hand as I drive down Sloane Street.

  Terrified, I think. I’m as nervous as one of my ex-girlfriends in church right now. I’m about to divulge some shit I have been putting off for a couple of months now because it’s been so much easier just being us.

  So, here we are, less than five miles from Chelsea Harbor with little time to “spill the tea,” as she puts it.

  “I’ve hidden a couple things.”

  She laughs. “You what?”

  She thinks it’s a joke. It’s not.

  “I have a place here.”

  When she doesn’t say anything, I glance over to see her smiling. She thinks I’m fucking with her. Again, I’m not.

  “Been crashing here on and off for”—I run my hand through my hair—“a little over four years, three months, and a week now.”

  “Oddly specific. Go on.”

  “Just liked being close to you, in case you needed something.”

  “Wait. You’re not joking?”

  I shake my head in answer. “It’s not like I was here a lot.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “First, you didn’t actually embrace the idea of me leaving New York City and coming here right away. You thought I should see through whatever it was I was starting there.”

  “I didn’t want you to have any regrets.”

  “My regret is, when I was here, and you were minutes away, I didn’t tell you how I felt. I gave my word to … our ex that as long as he treated you right, I’d stay the hell away. Never thought you’d leave here and go back. This was your dream.”

  “Well, here we are.” She smiles. “And you have a home already?”

  “I have a few places actually. Places Mom left me. I have a home in Spain, and one in Portugal that I haven’t sold.”

  “I have to ask: why did you hide the fact that you have all this?”

  “Never meant shit to me.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “It’s not important to me. You know
, properties, money, things. You and I were supposed to pick a home together. Hell, we’ve been looking. It was cool flipping through screens. I loved seeing what kinds of homes you were drawn to. I thought maybe I’d sell all the properties and buy something for us. But Oliver called, and they’re coming back this weekend, so it’s moving day, Stella. And surprise! We have a place just minutes away from your office. If you don’t like it, we keep looking.”

  Instead of being annoyed, she laughs. “Well, let’s see it.”

  When we pull up into the alleyway, she looks up at the building. “This reminds me of your Chelsea place.” She giggles. “Your other Chelsea place, storefront and all”—she looks up—“but bigger.”

  When we get to the garage attached to the back of the building, I hit the automatic opener, and the garage door opens up.

  When I pull in, she jokes, “Minimalist, my ass.”

  “I like cars.”

  “I see that. Four here and the Jag in New York. Are there more?”

  “Stop being a wise-ass and remember who I am.” I put the Land Rover in park then kill the engine.

  Turning toward her, I take both her hands. “I have a brain, a heart, and a soul. I just need you to remember that all this is just stuff. What matters is—”

  “I know exactly who you are,” she finishes as she squeezes my hands.

  After giving me a kiss, she turns to open the door, but I grab her hand, stopping her. Then I pull a set of keys out of the console, turn her hand palm up, and then drop them in it. “This is yours.”

  “This thing is way too big—”

  “The yellow one.” I open my door and run around to open hers.

  She’s still shaking her head when I open her door, take her hand, and pull her out.

  After I stand her in front of it, I remember the bow. I kiss her head and step away, opening the door and pulling the big, red bow out before setting it on top of the car.

  “There. See? Definitely yours.” I turn around to her smiling, beaming, as she laughs.

  “I can’t. Not yet. I just started a real job.”

  I walk over and grab her hands. “It’s your graduation gift … Just a little late.”

  “Pearls, Aaron.” She pokes my chest. “I got a pearl necklace for graduation.”

  “I’d prefer not to discuss our ex at this—”

  “My mom! Oh my God, Aaron.” She laughs.

  “My bad.” I shrug off my misinterpretation. “Anyway, this is yours. Congratulations on graduating college.” I kiss her cheek.

  “I can’t accept it.” She pushes me away then pulls me back, fighting between accepting her excitement and not wanting to be excited.

  I shrug. “It’s not like I can return it.”

  “Sell it. I just started working. I have student loans—”

  “And a man with more money than our great-great-grandchildren will ever be able to spend.”

  She looks up at me, surprised.

  “What? It’s gonna happen. It is happening, Stella. Embrace it.”

  “Oh, I’m embracing it, but slow your roll, Esposito.” She shoves the keys in my pocket. “Starting with these.”

  “If you don’t like the car—”

  “It’s a bit extravagant.”

  “It’s a gift. You like gifts.”

  “I love flowers on Friday. But, to be honest, even that was a little much to get used to. I love going out to dinner, to a show, to a museum. I love that we spend an entire day at a fragrance bar, smelling different oils for me to add to my shampoos and lotions. I love that you bought Artois a bright yellow collar and leash so we can walk him in the park, even when you told me it was crazy. I love dancing at the park in the middle of a crowd gathered around a street performer. I love being with you doing whatever it is you plan. But mostly, I love coming back from those things, and you and I lying on the bed and coloring. And, of course, what inevitably comes next. I can accept that I’ll be living here with you. I mean, I’d live in a cardboard box with you. But you do so much for me, and you’re going to have to let me pay half the mortgage.”

  “There is no mortgage.”

  “Don’t be difficult. Then I’ll pay rent.”

  “That’s a hard no.” I turn, take her hand, and then walk us to the door leading to the storefront.

  I hit the code and open the door before I turn and take her face in my hands. “You know when I leave for a few hours to make calls, go shopping for groceries or cat food?”

  She nods.

  “I also come here to work on a project, one I started in New York.”

  She scowls. “I don’t like secrets.”

  “It’s more of a surprise or an idea.” I place my lips on the top of her head and sigh. “Both of which you like.”

  “Aaron …” she whines.

  “I don’t think you understand fully yet what you are to me.”

  She looks back up at me. “What we are to each other.”

  “Okay, well, in a relationship, or partnership, everyone brings something to the table, right?”

  “Well, right now I feel like I’m showing up empty-handed.”

  “No, Lala, you don’t have to bring a damn thing, because you’re the fucking table.”

  She stifles a laugh. “I’m not sure if I should be offended or complimented.”

  “Definitely a compliment.” I step back and watch her take in the scene before her.

  “Oh my God.”

  I watch her walk around the open space, looking utterly confused by all the pictures hanging from the art rails.

  “Let’s start here.” I walk her to the wall where the first pictures we drew hang, “This was the first night here.”

  She runs her hand over the paper. “Yeah, I remember. But I don’t understand.”

  “Your designs.”

  She laughs. “And your naughty depictions of me.”

  “All in order.”

  She smiles as we walk around the perimeter where nearly sixty pictures hang.

  “This is what we love. You, fashion, color. Me, well, you.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me, “It’s really interesting, but I hope you don’t think that we should open an X-rated art gallery.”

  I laugh. “No.”

  “Phew. Thank God.” She laughs again. “So, our own private—”

  “Hold that thought,” I interrupt then jog to the corner closet where I pull out a huge crate.

  “What is that?”

  I open it. “Samples.”

  “Of …?”

  I pull a yellow purse out. “Accessories.”

  “That’s my purse. I thought you took it to Officer Mario’s daughter for her birthday.”

  I pull another one out and toss it to her. Then I dump the box over and allow ninety-nine just like it to drop to the floor.

  Stunned, she asks, “What is this?”

  “It’s the yellow sun that brightens the dullest day. It’s the smile that holds you when you need it the most. It’s a hug, it’s warmth, it’s”—I hold up my finger then hurry back to the closet, grabbing the sign that was delivered two days ago before walking out, holding it—“it’s Simply Stella.”

  She smiles, holding her hand over her chest.

  “It’s what you love—color and fashion.”

  “I work for—”

  “I know. I’m not suggesting you quit. It can run itself. I have zero doubt it’ll be successful. The profit margins would vary based on manufacturing costs. I mean, these are a little pricey—Italian leather, handmade—but you could—”

  “You really are too much,” she cuts me off as she palms her face.

  “And you are everything.”

  She peeks through her fingers and shakes her head. Then she holds the mustard yellow bag up and sniffs it as a childlike smile spreads across her gorgeous face. She almost hugs it but doesn’t allow herself to.

  “Natasha, Angela, and Autumn have all been so amazing. I’m working at de la Porte. Jean de la Porte
himself was a huge inspiration to me.”

  “Let’s be realistic here; de la Porte isn’t your competition. There is no way in hell they’d change up their brand. They do one purse a year.”

  “We’ve talked accessories.”

  “Because that’s what you love. That’s your friend being a friend. But you can do this, Stella. You can run a business. You’re intelligent, talented, and driven.”

  “I feel like it would be disloyal to them … and to Jean’s memory.”

  “I remember that day at de la Porte. Jean himself told you that you brightened his day, and you gushed. Not gonna lie; I was totally jealous of the reaction the old man got. I mean, you brightened my day first.” I lay the sign down and walk over to her.

  “Oh, be quiet.” She smiles and now hugs the bag.

  She’s in. I just have to push her a little more.

  “He asked you about your future plans, and you said, ‘To color the world and make it bolder.’ You were wearing a bright yellow, black and white polka-dotted dress. Add that to the list of things I want you to wear for me.”

  She pushes me then grabs my shirt and pulls me in closer.

  “And you told him straight up that I won’t be competition to de la Porte then got all embarrassed. What did he tell you?”

  She shakes her head and smiles.

  “What did he tell you, Stella?”

  “He told me, ‘We all have different styles. I understand,’ in a French accent, of course.”

  “Tell me you’ll think about it. And tell me you’ll remember your heart’s desires, your dreams, your happiness matters, too.”

  28

  Stella

  “I need to show you something else.” He takes my hand.

  “The windows are covered; how about you show me right here?”