“Sure. Great, sir. Um, so where are you going?”
I smiled. “France.”
* * *
The plane ride was excruciating.
Every possible scenario played out in my head, and it spun around, trying to come up with possible solutions. Ways to approach this problem - the right words to use.
Except, that was not the way it had been with Ada. It had been messy, right from the beginning. Perhaps that was what had made it so right.
The book I’d been sent was lying in my lap. I had read it cover to cover twice. At first, it had been with a disdainful air. There had been no question about it in my mind; it would be nonsense. The writings of someone solely looking to sell copies and make disillusioned Millennials feel better with themselves. An emotional get rich quick scheme.
Until I'd read a couple of chapters in, and it… stopped being a joke. Words started to make sense. There was a part or two when I had sat at home, feeling that sense of aha, like I suddenly understood parts of myself.
But more than anything, the book made it clear to me that you had to reach out and take what you wanted. The world would never give you anything. I had always - always - known this, and yet somehow I had forgotten it entirely with Ada.
Because I wanted her in my life. I knew that now, having tried to live without her. I wanted to try, to invest in a relationship with her. But more than that, I feared that I might never know happiness without her filling my days. If there was one thing I’d realized these lonely weeks, it was that I was head-over-heels in love with her.
And that was terrifying.
I’d always thought that whatever powerful men cared for was a fault, a weakness. Something that was often used against them in one way or another - by the media, by their rivals, by their loved ones themselves if a relationship went sour. I’d vowed never to make the same mistake, to never let myself care for another person like that.
But looking out over the glittering Mediterranean sea as we began our descent, with Ada somewhere below, I realized that wasn’t a conscious decision at all. And that once it you’d found that person, you made damn sure you never let go.
* * *
The drive from the airport in Marseille to the small town of Luberon only took an hour. The clinic I’d found there was hands-down hers, a retreat place run by an American therapist whose websites showcased olive groves, art classes and winding French cobblestoned streets.
A place to reflect and grow, the website had said. One Dr. Lydia Willis was the head therapist, and they only accepted ten people at a time.
I had a feeling I might be turned away at the door, but I had to try.
The cab pulled up at the large French mansion, gravel under the tires. The sun shone - I’d flown from a slightly humid spring day in New York to arrive to the warm heat of southern France. It was May, and it showed.
“Merci,” I told the driver and handed him a hundred euro bill. He had instructions to park down the street with my luggage and return when I called. I had no idea how I’d be received, or how long I could stay.
A tall woman with hair pulled back opened the door when I rang. She wore an apron over her dress and had grey in her hair.
“Bonjour! Qui êtes-vous?”
“Bonjour madame. My name is Grant. I’m afraid I don’t know much more French than that.”
“Well then,” she replied in perfect English. “I’m Dr. Willis. I run this establishment. Grant, you said?”
“Yes. Grant Wood.”
“Good. I’ve been wondering if you’d show up.”
I blinked at her. “Sorry?”
“You’re here to visit Ada?”
“Yes. If she wants to see me.”
“I think she will,” Dr. Willis smiled. “But if she tells you to go, you go, okay? No badgering my patients.”
“Of course. I’d never-“
“She’s out back. You’ll find her in the gardens.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
She shook her head in an exasperated way and pointed to the gravel path that snaked around the building. It was half overgrown with lavender and shrubbery, high spring flowers winding its way through the green. Somewhere, a bird sang, high and clear. Shrugging out of my suit jacket, I rolled up my sleeves. It was a beautiful day.
I could see why Ada had chosen this place.
I’ve been wondering if you’d show up.
Had they been discussing me, then? Hope unfurled in my chest. The garden was a mix of greenery and flowers, and in the very far end, stood Ada.
She was wearing a white linen dress and was laughing as she spoke on her phone, a flush to her cheeks. I stopped dead, watching her from a distance. The strength of her absence hit me like a blow; I had missed her far more than I had let myself admit.
She laughed again and spoke, too far away to hear what she said. With a small smile, she clicked off the call.
I walked forward.
“Hello, beautiful.”
She looked up, shock registering across her features. “Grant?”
“Yes.”
“You’re here,” she repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “I wanted to see you.”
She looked around as if making sure she was still in Provence, in this little town, and then back at me. Her eyes moved across my face, my shirt, my body.
“Do you want to sit?” She said finally, gesturing to the bench next to her.
“Yes, I do.”
We took a seat next to each other, far apart that there was no part of us touching. The longing to hug her was so powerful I had to knot my fingers together in my lap to keep from reaching for her.
“You look good,” I said, and meant it. The spring sun had given her freckles and a tan complexion, her hair naturally curly and long down her back. I wanted to touch her so bad I had to knot my hands together, to pull her against me until I felt her lips at the hollow of my throat.
“Thanks.” Ada bit her lip. “Grant, why are you here? Is everything okay?”
The spring air was lovely but felt suddenly altogether too warm. I tugged at the collar of my shirt. “I read about you in a magazine. None of us knew where you were, but there was a photo in one of them. Of you in St. Tropez.”
“Oh. Some tourist must have snapped a photo,” she sighed.
“For a second, I thought you were here to party.”
She sighed again. “I was in Antibes over the day to see the Picasso museum. We stopped in St. Tropez for lunch.”
“I don’t doubt you - I didn’t then, either. It was the first thought that crossed my mind, but the Ada I had grown to know would be here for that. But my curiosity wouldn’t die. I needed to know what you were up to, to follow along on your adventures from the sidelines. Your dad said you were here. He didn’t want to rat you out, but I called to tell him I wanted to offer you a permanent position in the firm.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Because I know you deserve it, and you’d do a great job. And so he told me how to find you.”
“Grant, I-“
I cut her off, whatever refusal she had planned. "I was an idiot. In so many ways, Ada. I have… oh, I have made so many mistakes since the first moment you started working at Hathaway's." Her lips opened slightly, startled. "And more than anything, not a day has gone past since we parted where I haven’t thought about you.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly, but there was no response. I reach for one of her hands and barreled on.
“The last time we saw each other, I’m afraid I didn’t say the right things. I didn’t… I thought myself strong, not giving in to the emotions I was feeling for you. Not even allowing us a chance to actually be something. But I've realized that that's not a strength at all. It's the essence of cowardice, just like you said. And I won’t be silenced by fear anymore.”
Her eyes shone and she leaned in closer, until I could smell the faint scent of sunscreen and lavender and Ada. Hope was a painfully acute feeling in my chest. �
��Please, please, would you consider forgiving me?”
“I already had,” she whispered. “You’re forgiven.”
Relief flooded through me. “That’s good,” I murmured. “Thank you.”
“But?” She asked, the familiar raise of her eyebrow a shot to my heart.
“How do you feel about me?” I turned my gaze to her hands, small and smooth in mine. There was a faint layer of paint under one of her nails. “I pushed you away in New York because I was afraid. Never because I didn’t care about you. Because I do, Ada. So, so much. And I fear that my actions might have made you resent me.”
I heard the catch in her breath.
“Grant,” she whispered. “I cared about you long before the storage room.”
My eyes snapped to her in surprise. Surely she couldn’t mean that? But the smile on her face made my heart do a double-take.
“I just didn’t realize it for the longest time. Like you, I was afraid to believe what we had could be real. Because real things can be taken away.” She reached up and her hands found the back of my neck, blue eyes steady gazing into mine. I had to swallow, my throat was so dry. “But I’m also done with fear.”
The smile on her face echoed mine. “How about we’re brave together?”
Ada leaned in so close that I felt her lips move against mine when she replied. “Let’s.”
Her kiss was home, a warmth and softness I had missed since the last night we'd shared. How had I ever been able to kiss her and not realize immediately what a gift this was? I would never be able to survive without it. What a fool I had been to ever think otherwise.
“You’re a treasure,” I murmured and she laughed. She was pressed so closely that I felt the beat of her heart, but I wanted her closer still, winding her to me so that all of our surfaces touched.
“I’ll take it,” she smiled, “if you promise me you'll stay here with me for a few days before you have to fly back to New York.”
“Oh baby, I’ve already texted Adam. He’s in charge for the coming week.”
Her excited squeal against me was the sweetest sound in the world.
“Ada, do you live here? In this place?”
She shook her head, curls dancing across my neck. “No. I have a small place just a short walk from here. Come with me?”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
28
Ada
“It’s a bit messy,” I said, opening the door to the small two-bedroom apartment I rented. It had been Dr. Willis suggestion, that I had a place of my own so that Minna and my dad could visit me if I liked.
Grant followed me into the apartment. It was nice, I thought, with large, bright windows with wooden shutters. A woven basket filled with dried lavender sat by the door, a couple of candles on a wooden table. Some of my newer paintings were lined against the walls, an explosion of color.
“There’s a lot about me I never told you.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “I know. It’s okay.”
“No. I want you to know.”
“Alright.”
“I was an orphan,” he said, quickly. “And I moved around between foster homes often. One to the next.”
“Okay,” I said softly, moving closer so that I could cover his hand with mine.
“Most were good homes, they just didn’t have the time of day for each kid. I got out at eighteen and started working right away. I traded on the stock exchange. I got good at it. But it didn’t give me… anything.”
He was not talking to me but to the wall, as if it was easier to face. As if all of this had been bottled up for so long that it was like a struggle to get it out.
“Hey,” I said softly. “We can talk about all of this today, now. Or we can wait a bit. I’m not going anywhere.”
His hand relaxed under mine and hesitant grey eyes met mine. "I think I have to. Or I never will."
“I’ll listen.”
“I’ve always read, since I was a child. Whatever I could get my hands on. I became good at tracking the market and at handling the extreme risk - at making money for moneys sake. But that wasn’t the life I wanted to live. So I hunted around at museums, at libraries. Tried to find my calling. One day, I bumped into Arthur Hathaway.”
I nodded and stroked the back of his hand. “Where?”
“At the Met.”
“In the Japanese Reading Room,” I breathed.
Grant gave a small smile. “He was meeting with the division head to suggest they list with Hathaway’s for a pair of antique sculptures. I only heard half the conversation, listening behind a pillar. But I knew that was what I was going to do. But being close to that kind of art and history, where it all happened? That was the dream. The following four months I spent every waking hour reading on Hathaway's. All the divisions. I tracked sales and auctions going back months. And then I approached him.”
“And he took you up on it.”
“I’ll never stop being surprised that he did,” Grant said, shaking his head. “I had no university education. Nothing.”
“You had your intellect. You were a hard worker.”
“Maybe, yeah. Yes, I was. But don’t you see? I was powerless for so many years. And I made sure I would never, never feel like that again. But I am entirely powerless with you, Ada. And it scared me as nothing had for a very long time."
A hiccuped sob escaped me. “You think I don’t feel the same way? I hadn’t talked with anyone the way I do with you, not for years. Somehow you reached straight inside and saw everything I tried to hide.”
“I don’t want you to hide.” He reached up and smoothed a tear away from my cheek. “Not from me.”
I gave a laugh. "I never could."
“The same. You saw through whatever facade I put up.”
We smiled at each other, awkward and warm and real. He glanced over at my paintings lining the wall, seeking an easier subject matter. "I didn't know you painted."
“Oh? Well, I used to. I’ve recently begun again.”
“They’re good.”
“It’s fun,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t expect an ‘elusive genius’ to think they’re any good.”
“You read that?” He raised an eyebrow, a grin on his face.
“Yeah. My friend sent me photos of them.”
“Hmm. Your friend.”
“Yes.”
“Does this happen to be the same friend who sent me a copy of How to act with love?”
I nearly dropped the pot of tea I was preparing. “What?!”
He grinned and took a seat on one of the small wooden chairs at my dining room table. His legs stretched out long in front of him, too big for the space. “One self-help book on psychology was delivered, neatly packaged, to my concierge. For Grant Wood, a note attached said. I hope this will help you. Life’s too short for fear. Signed by a friend of a friend.”
“No way.” Minna wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Yep. I read it, too.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. Twice, actually.”
I sat down opposite him, taking in his dancing eyes. There was no way this was happening. He had flown here. He had apologized. And he had read a psychology book given to him by Minna? Perhaps I should try jumping up and down, to see if the law of gravity still worked.
“It was good.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“So you didn’t send it, then? I’ll admit I wondered if you had.”
“No! Absolutely not. But I know who did.” I put my head in my hands.
“Don’t be upset with your friend.” Grant leaned forward, grabbed my hand again. He ran a finger down the center of my palm. “It helped tell me what I already knew.”
“What was that?” I whispered.
“That I’m in love with you. And that I was being an ass about it.”
I couldn’t help it - tears welled up in my eyes. Suddenly I was in his arms, held against a warm, familiar chest, the scent of him spreading warmth t
hrough me.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I thought… I thought you didn’t, that you didn’t see a future with me.”
“That’s because I was blind. I always wanted a future with you, I just didn’t think I could have everything I wanted. That it could actually be true.”
I pulled back, gazed into the light brown of his eyes. “It can. It is. I’m in love with you too, Grant.”
He leaned forward until our foreheads met. I could feel the beat of his heart, the strength of emotion. "Oh, Ada."
I reached forward and took his lips with my own. They were soft and gentle against mine, kissing me with yearning. As if he wasn’t sure this was really happening.
So I moved over and sat in his lap, my fingers moving up and into his hair. “I’m glad you came here,” I murmured against his lips. “So glad.”
“I feared you’d send me away.”
“Never.”
He smiled against me and lifted me up, moving towards the back of the room. We fell onto my small twin bed with laughter, his hands warm as they flitted over my face.
“Ada Hathaway,” he declared. “I’m never letting you go again.”
I ran a hand down the buttons on his front. “Mmm… What makes you think that’s even an option?”
He grinned and bent to press kisses to my neck, my chest, the sweetheart neckline of my linen dress.
“I only have one pressing issue now,” he said, looking serious.
“Oh?”
“Your freckles. Are they everywhere? Because I’ll find them.”
* * *
“Grant?” I murmured, running my finger up the curve of his bicep. He was lean and taut, muscular in a way that made me feel safe and warm. He was as good outside of his tailored suits as he was inside them.
"Mmm?" He turned against me, tucked me closer to his side. There was an intimate familiarity in the movement, like we'd shared a bed for years instead of a couple of nights, weeks ago. It had been like riding a bike, fitting back in place with him, our bodies remembering each other perfectly.
Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers Page 19
