"Pretty much," I say with a heavy fatigue because my life sure as shit isn't easy right now.
"You're fucking amazing," Max says quietly and my heart seems to squeeze for one intense moment, then it relaxes into utter calm and tranquillity just by having someone affirm what I've been doing.
"Thank you for saying that," I murmur, appreciative of his validation and more than happy to have him holding my hand. Just that tiny bit of affirmation does wonders to help my confidence and almost makes me believe I can actually do this.
Is it bad that there's a part of me that just wants him to lean his head a little farther toward me, and perhaps brush his lips against mine? Just a little touch?
Instead, Max releases my hand and pulls back a little, putting an easygoing smile on his face. "Okay, that's our quota of heavy shit for the night."
"Agreed," I say with a smile, even though my hand feels cold now that his is gone.
"So what's the deal with that painting hanging in your room?" he asks curiously. "It's gorgeous and I'd like to maybe get something like that for my mother. She's really into art and collects originals."
My face actually starts to burn and I can imagine how red my cheeks are. I duck my head reflexively in embarrassment, only to find Max's fingers under my chin, lifting me back up.
"What?" he asks curiously, his head tilted to the side.
I have to fight to look him in the eye when I say, "Um...I did that."
His hand falls away and his eyebrows shoot sky high. "You painted that?" he asks incredulously, but not in a rude way...more like an I'm-in-fucking-awe kind of way.
"It's a hobby," I mutter, feeling my cheeks burning hotter.
"That is not a hobby," he says inflexibly. "That is some major fucking talent. Did you take classes or something?"
I shake my head. "Nothing formal. Art in high school, and just dabbled here and there."
Max shakes his head in an amused but disbelieving way. "You are just one surprise after another."
Okay, my cheeks are now sizzling and I can't stand it anymore so I brush him off with a forced laugh. "Well, that's all my secrets. Now you know everything."
Max's lips quirk up and he shakes his head slowly again, totally not buying that for some reason. "I have a feeling you have layers upon layers, Jules. I look forward to peeling them."
And God...I hope he cannot see the full-body shiver he just produced with those words.
"Do you have any more paintings?" Max asks.
My eyebrows knit together. "Um...yeah. A few in my closet and I've got some stored at my dad's house back in Fayetteville."
"You could sell them," Max says confidently.
"No way," I disagree.
"Yes, you could," he says even more firmly. "In fact, I have a friend that works in a really upscale florist shop in Chapel Hill and I know he'd hang them there for sale."
Oh, fucking no way. The thought of someone analyzing and critiquing my work? The thought of people hating it? I could never--
"Jules," Max says in a low voice. "You could make money off that. Give up that shitty job at the gas station. Have some real money to take care of those kids."
Okay, that catches my attention.
My voice is hesitant though when I ask, "You really think so?"
"I know so," he says with so much belief in those words, it makes me want to believe it too. "If you give me what you have here, I'll take them over there. What do you have to lose?"
"Well...nothing, I guess," I say guardedly, my gaze falling to my lap.
"Jules," Max says, and my eyes snap back. "You're really fucking good and I'm not lying to you about that."
I can't help it. A rush of euphoria and hope rushes through me that maybe I can be more than what I am, which isn't for me but for those kids, and I smile at him. "Okay, then...I'll try it."
"Excellent," he says then stands from the couch but not before grabbing my hand and pulling me up with him. "Let's get those paintings then I'm going to head out so you can get a good night's sleep."
Crushing disappointment hits me--he's leaving, and I realize...he's got me hooked.
He's got me fucking hooked hard and apparently all of my spouting off about this being a bad time in my life doesn't seem to mean shit. In fact, Max has decidedly made my life, if not a little better, at least rosier.
I sneak into my room so as not to wake up Annabelle and pull the picture he admired off my wall. It's one of my favorites and I grab four more out of my closet. When I hand them to Max, who waited for me in the living room, I tell him, "I've got more at my dad's house I can probably get next weekend."
"Definitely," he says and then turns to the door. I follow behind, again wishing he weren't leaving, but on the flip side looking forward to a good night's sleep. I know I'll have a smile on my face when I close my eyes.
Max opens the door, the paintings tucked under his other arm. He turns to face me, his eyes running over my face for just a moment as if he's checking that I'll be okay without him.
I give him an encouraging smile.
He gives me one back, then leans down to me. My eyes close and I feel his lips brush against my cheek.
"Good night, Jules," he says softly before he pulls away and disappears out my door.
There's a little bell above the front door of Fleurish that chimes when I walk in. I take a quick look around, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the tables scattered about topped with massive displays of fresh flowers and plants. While Fleurish is primarily a floral shop in Chapel Hill, it also sells a variety of knickknacks and art pieces created by local artisans. I knew this would be the perfect place to see if Jules' paintings were as good as I thought they were.
"Max?" I hear from behind me and spin around to see Olivia standing by a glass cooler filled with vases of fresh flower arrangements.
"Hey, Olivia," I say with a smile as I walk toward her. I hadn't seen her at all in the off-season as I'd spent some time back home in Montreal and she and Garrett did some traveling to celebrate her continuing good health. She's just about two years postcancer diagnosis and doing fantastic. At least that's the word I got from Garrett when training camp started a few weeks ago, but she's living proof standing in front of me.
She looks fantastic.
I reach her and lean down to kiss her on the cheek. "Have a good summer?"
Olivia smiles brilliantly at me. "The best. Garrett and I went out west and spent some time in Colorado doing a lot of hiking and stuff."
"That must mean you're feeling really good," I surmise.
"I'm feeling wonderful," she says and then her eyes drop to the paintings I'm holding under my arm. "What you got there?"
"A friend of mine is an artist and I was wondering if you could sell them here?" I tell her bluntly with no lead in.
"Let me see," she commands, and I line them up against the cooler.
"Oh, Max," she breathes out in awe. "Those are stunning."
"I know," I say, bursting on the inside with pride over Jules' talent.
Olivia turns her head over her right shoulder and calls out, "Stevie. Come here a minute."
I hear the scrape of a chair against wood flooring from the back workroom and then the megawattage personality of Stevie Magliano--owner of Fleurish--comes prancing my way.
He let his trademark hairstyle go--platinum blond spikes with neon tips--and is a bit more sedate today with what looks like naturally blond hair cropped close to his head. But just because his hairstyle has gone a little more conservative doesn't mean that Stevie himself is less flamboyant. On the contrary, he has a floral pattern of pink crystals glued to his face from the outside corners of his eyes and sweeping up his temples, with hot pink nail polish to match. Skinny white jeans, a pink button-down polo shirt with black loafers, and his ensemble screams "I'm Gay and I'm Proud of It."
"Max," he says with pleasant surprise when he sees me, then sashays my way. I have to admit, the first time I'd met Stevie I was a bit taken aback, but I d
on't think twice now, bending down and letting him air kiss each cheek before he pulls back and looks me up and down critically. "Oh, boyfriend...those jeans are dreadful. What...did you seriously get them at like a thrift store or something?"
I look down at my Levi's 501s that yeah...are a bit faded and distressed because they're old as dirt, but they still fit great.
I think.
Not sure.
"Stevie," Olivia snaps impatiently, and he turns to look at her. "Check out these paintings Max brought in."
Stevie moves to stand beside Olivia, where he has one hand on his hip and pinches his chin thoughtfully with the other as he stares down at Jules' art. His gaze is narrowed at first as his eyes critically take in the pieces, and he looks from painting to painting with thoughtful measure.
Finally, he turns to me and says, "These are magnificent."
"Can you hang them up and sell them?" I ask hopefully, prepared to do some hardcore begging if he declines. "Maybe on commission?"
Stevie gives a small shake of his head. "Not on commission. I'll buy them outright and then mark them up for retail."
"Are you serious?" I ask incredulously, because that was way better than I had ever imagined. I mean, I know Jules is good but I didn't expect anyone to take that big a leap with her work.
"Dead serious," Stevie says as he looks from the paintings to me and then back to the paintings again. "I can probably fetch four hundred dollars each. And I'd love some more. Who's the artist?"
"A friend of mine...her name is Jules Bradley."
"Well, have her get me more," Stevie says brusquely, all flamboyance gone, replaced by pure hardcore businessman. "And I've got a few art gallery friends I want to show these to."
"That would be great," I say enthusiastically. "How much would you buy them for?"
Turning to me, he hardens his stare and says, "A hundred dollars apiece."
I snort. "Forget it. Two hundred."
"One-fifty," he counters.
"Two hundred," I maintain firmly. "Sounds like you're going to double your money on these so that's fair."
"Fine," Stevie says with an impatient wave of his hand and turns toward the backroom. "Come on back to my office and I'll write her a check."
"Wait a minute," I tell him, and he stops to look back at me. I point down to the painting that had originally caught my eye on Jules' wall. "I want that one, so mark up a bill of sale. I'll pay you four hundred for it but I want you to ship it from here straight to my mother. I'll pay the cost of that too."
Stevie blinks in surprise, because I could have clearly got the painting at cost directly from Jules. He knows it and I know it.
But I give him an appreciative smile. "For helping her out and giving her a chance."
Stevie's eyes widen in surprise for a moment, and his mouth forms into an O.
"I get it," he drawls. "You got it bad for this girl, don't you?"
"Yup," I say, not even trying to hide it. I'm not like other guys who are afraid to acknowledge feelings. I'm not one who overly shares, but I'm not going to deny it.
While I really want that painting to give to my mother because I know she'll love it, I've got no problem admitting I have it a little bad for Jules Bradley.
--
My trip back from Chapel Hill to Raleigh puts me at Sweetbrier at about quarter after eleven. I knew from my first time here that Jules took her lunch a little early, so I went to the lobby, told the receptionist I was waiting for Jules, and sat on one of the plush couches.
I pulled my phone out and texted her. I'm here to eat lunch with you. Will you share your sandwich?
She doesn't respond but five minutes later she's walking toward me with an astonished look on her face. She's carrying her brown paper bag again, which is adorable, and I eye it suspiciously. "I don't like bologna."
Jules rolls her eyes as she comes to a stop in front of me. "What are you doing here?"
"Joining you for lunch," I tell her as I stand up. "Although I was joking about sharing your sandwich with me. I'm going to go work out after this and I ate a late breakfast."
I don't tell her that included a stop through McDonald's, where I bought three sausage biscuits. I don't tell her this because I figure someday she will meet Vale and I can't be sure Jules wouldn't rat my bad eating habits out.
"I don't know whether to be pleased or mildly annoyed at you just assuming I'd want to eat lunch with you," she says with teasing eyes before turning to head toward the lobby doors.
"You're totally pleased," I tell her as I follow her out.
"Totally annoyed," she counters.
I don't say anything else, but take the opportunity to appreciate her fine ass as she walks in front of me, leading me toward the bench she was on last week. I don't know if it's my imagination or not, but it seems she's walking with more of a bounce in her step. I'm not egotistical enough to think that has anything to do with me, but I hope it has everything to do with the fact that she got some good rest last night.
I notice that today there are a few residents enjoying the courtyard, either sitting on other benches or sitting with their wheelchairs facing each other in conversation. Jules waves to a few as she passes by and then plops down on the bench.
I hope it doesn't annoy her, but I sit down close to her.
And I mean close.
As in the side of my thigh pressed against hers.
I wait to see what she'll do, which I figure could range anywhere from a slap to just a subtle movement away from me. She shocks me when she does neither, but instead sort of bumps her shoulder against me playfully while she pulls her sandwich out of the bag and says, "Seriously. What are you doing here?"
"Can't I just come see you because I want to see you?" I ask her with my head tilted her way.
She grins as she unwraps her sandwich, her focus on that rather than me, but it's me she talks to. "Well, of course you can. But you look like a man on a mission. Maybe a man that is holding in some delicious little secret."
I grin down at her, watching as those delicate fingers unwrap what appears to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With her eyebrows drawn inward in concentration, she carefully pulls the sandwich apart and, while not the neatest thing in the world, manages to split it almost equally in half.
She looks up at me with a soft smile and holds one half of the sandwich to me. "It's PB and J."
I'm not hungry in the slightest because, hello--three sausage biscuits--but I can't help but want to take the overture, because Jules is the one offering it to me. She's sharing her lunch with me, which is too paltry to begin with, and it represents in one classic, unselfish move the core of her nature.
Instead of reaching for the sandwich, I tilt my head in toward hers and tell her as honestly as I can, "I really want to kiss you right now but I don't want the first time to be here at your place of work and in front of these elderly people. I'm not sure their hearts could handle the way I want to kiss you right now."
Jules' eyes get as big as saucers and she whispers, "Oh."
She's still holding her sandwich out to me, which is utterly fucking adorable, and although I want to kiss her, I truly don't want to do it in this setting. So I touch my fingers to her wrist and push the sandwich back her way. "Not hungry, Jules."
"But you want to kiss me," she mumbles.
"Pretty much," I tell her candidly. "Do you want me to kiss you?"
"Pretty much," she agrees softly.
"Fuck," I mutter, turning my head in the opposite direction, taking in the fact there are five people in the courtyard with us, four of whom look to be about a bazillion years old. We better not risk it.
Taking a deep breath, I turn back to her. Her eyes are sparkling and her lips turned upward slightly, but when she takes in my disgruntled look, she grins at me big. Then she takes a bite of her sandwich and chews through her smile, still staring at me.
"Tonight," I promise her. "First moment you're alone at the convenience store...I'm kissing
you."
Still bearing an amused smile, she nods, swallows, and then asks, "But seriously...why are you here?"
My whole body actually jerks as I remember that I did in fact have a reason for coming here and it wasn't to kiss her. Not that I haven't been thinking about that a lot, but my purpose in coming here was for something entirely different.
I lean to the side so I can assess my back pocket and pull out the folded check I put there less than an hour ago, after Stevie handed it to me. I give it to Jules, who sets her sandwich down on her lap and hesitantly takes it from me.
"What's this?" she asks, her gaze curious but wary.
I nod toward the paper in her hand. "Open it."
She does so, eyes dropping down, and gives a slight frown as she takes it all in. Then her head is snapping up, her frown deepens and she says, "I don't understand."
"I took your paintings to my friend Stevie's flower shop. He loved them so much, he bought them outright for two hundred dollars each."
She looks back down to the check, which is for a thousand dollars, since there were five total paintings, then back up to me. "Do you know what I could do with this type of money?"
"Get your TV fixed, for one," I say with a grin, but I know that is too frivolous for Jules to even care about.
She elbows me in the ribs playfully, but then looks back down to the check. "I can buy the kids new clothes. Not thrift store shit. And good shoes, you know? Kids' shoes are so expensive. And toys...they don't have much. I could even afford to enroll them in some extracurricular activities."
I swallow hard, touched not even the word I'd use to describe my feeling right now. I believe that I could sit here for hours and stare at Jules staring at that check in wonder, and figure all was right in my world.
And when she finally looks back up at me, eyes a little moist, her voice gives her feelings away when it cracks with emotion as she says, "You don't know what this means to me."
I can't help it. It's definitely not a kiss but I cup my hand around the back of her neck and pull her into my chest for a one-armed hug. I squeeze her as she presses her face into my neck and mumble, "I think I actually do know what this means to you."
She laughs, her breath fluttering across my skin and sending a jolt of desire through me that I feel down to the soles of my feet. I've been trying really hard to not think of Jules in that way, seeing as how I'm purposely taking things slow with her, but just that tiny little bit of sweet breath and I'm hot for her.
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