God, I miss running my fingers through her hair.
She bounces from one leg to the other as she waits, her bare calves accentuated by the black chunky-heeled Mary Jane’s she wears. My eyes stroll up the length of her body, pausing and relishing on the dress that stops just above her knees. It hugs her body like a glove. Matching her hair and shoes, it’s black in color but embellished with large rivets.
This is my Cora. The girl I knew all those years ago. The girl I fell in love with. The woman I still love.
Regardless of how much time has passed, she still manages to keep the root of who she is alive. And although she dresses as expected for her career, she hasn’t abandoned who she is at heart.
The host returns to the podium and they exchange words, her smile lighting up the room before he turns to walk her to the table. Should I keep my eyes on her? Or should I avert my gaze and play it cool? As if I wait for her arrival disinterested.
The napkin rubs against my palms as I wring the cloth tighter. When she sees me—and only me—her brows scrunch in question. She stands ten feet from the table when a bead of sweat rolls down the side of my neck. Five feet when I swallow the boulder in my throat.
I can do this.
“Hey,” I stammer as she sits, the host unfolding her napkin and offering to place it in her lap.
Once the host walks away, she looks around the room before circling back to me. “Hi,” she says. “Where’s Alyson?”
I don’t want to lie to her, but I fear what she will do when I tell her the truth. If I ever want anything more with her again, I can’t lie. Honesty is essential. No matter the consequences.
“Not sure. She’s doing her own thing. Exploring the area and whatnot.”
I mentally prepare for the backlash. The anger. For her to get up and stomp off and not talk to me again. Because she has to be upset at the fact that I coordinated a dinner with her and made her believe it was a meeting.
My eyes dart between hers, watching her expression and waiting for the fire that is bound to blaze at any moment. But I don’t see anger. Confusion still paints lines on her forehead, her eyes pinching at the corners.
“So, there’s no meeting?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I tell her.
Her shoulders drop as she exhales a deep breath. Was the idea of having a meeting a concern for her? I hadn’t read the email Alyson sent Cora, but I told her to make certain it was vague. Had it been so vague she was concerned for her job? Shit.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’ve just been pondering over why we were having a meeting. Everything has been laid out since the beginning, so I wasn’t sure if something had changed. I’m relieved everything’s good.” She takes a sip of her water, sets the glass down, and then points her finger at me. “You, on the other hand, I’m a little peeved at.”
I knew I wouldn’t be let off the hook so easily, but I feign innocence for shiggles. “Me? What did I do?” I press a hand against my chest and pop my mouth open in mock horror.
“Please,” she drawls out the word, lacing it with sarcasm and making me smile. “You’ve asked me to have dinner with you twice. Both times I’ve told you no. So instead of hearing a third rejection, you tell your I’ll-kiss-your-ass-every-day-of-the-week agent to orchestrate a phony dinner meeting and not be at said meeting. Am I missing anything?”
Her spunk and tenacity spark a thrill in my chest, a fire I haven’t felt in years. If anything, her spunk seems to have grown. I would give up everything to keep our fire burning. To keep her.
“You kept saying no. How else am I supposed to get you to have dinner with me?” I joke.
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe ask another time or two. I would’ve caved.”
That’s an admission I wasn’t expecting. She would have given in? She would have said yes? This adds a whole new layer to our already complicated situation. I open my mouth to respond, but have absolutely no idea what to say. So, I close my mouth and simply stare at her awestruck.
“Yes. Eventually I would have said yes,” she admits.
Wait… what? “Did I just say that out loud?”
“If you mean, she would have said yes? Then yes, you said it out loud.”
Fuck my head for not operating at full capacity.
“Well, I’m humiliated,” I tell her, heat crawling up my neck and scorching my face. I pick up my water and down half the glass.
“Gavin…” she says my name like it’s her favorite, and not, at the same time. “I need this contract. This is huge for me.” Her words are a plea for understanding. “I can’t risk messing it up. This shoot will be the most valuable item on my future resume. When future clients see that I’ve done a shoot for Global Beach Magazine, it’ll push me to the next level. Open doors I’ve dreamed about for years.”
I stare at the empty white plate in front of me, nodding in realization. Me asking her to dinner could royally screw her career. The contract we each signed explicitly stated no fraternization between the model and photographer. And my selfishness could fuck that up for her. “Sorry,” I whisper.
She reaches over and places her hand on mine. The heat from her skin penetrates mine, sending a ripple of emotions from my fingertips to my core. I have no idea how I survived the last thirteen years without her. Without her touch, without her embrace, without her lips on mine.
“Don’t apologize. I just need you to understand. This career is my life and I have to be careful not to jeopardize it,” Cora states as her forehead scrunches.
“I get it. Things are somewhat the same for me. Sure, I could justify us having dinner together as being old friends, but I know it’s more than that. At least it is for me.”
Cora opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off when the server sidles up beside the table and asks for our drink orders. We order drinks, telling the server we need a few more minutes before ordering our meals.
The moment he walks away, I catch her watching me. Her green eyes soft and caring. She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t have to. We lock eyes for twenty rapid beats of my heart before my eyes break away first.
I am so fucked.
“We should probably decide what we’re eating before the server returns,” I tell her.
With a nod, she removes her hand from mine and picks up her menu. The heat she ignited minutes ago… it evaporates the second her skin leaves mine.
And now, I will do whatever necessary to have it again.
Chapter Eleven
Cora
After the server takes our dinner order, Gavin and I fall into comfortable conversation. Although we had once known everything about each other, there is so much we don’t know now. We spend the time, before our dinner arrives, playing twenty questions.
I ask him about California. What he likes and dislikes. His favorite places there. Where else he has traveled for work. What he does when he isn’t working.
As challenging as it is, I do my best to steer clear of the topic of him leaving. The first time as well as the next time. It’s inevitable he will leave again. And as much as I hate the idea of him leaving, I remind myself of this regularly. His home is thousands of miles from here. Everything he has is there—family, career, friends—waiting for him to return.
Another topic I dare not mention… relationship status. His or my own.
The way he has acted around me, I am unsure how to digest it all. Is it just old feelings coming to the surface because he is here again? Does he act like this with other women photographers? Or women of interest in general? Is he a player? Is he playing me?
But the biggest of them all… does he have someone waiting in California for his return?
After all these years, there is no way Gavin is single. It isn’t possible. Yes, he is busy with his career. But a busy career doesn’t equal single status. Not with his good looks.
My endless mental list of questions is disrupted when the server sets a plate of coconut shrimp and coconut almond rice i
n front of me. I lean over the plate and inhale the delicious aroma, moaning my delight.
Gavin laughs, “Now that’s a sound I haven’t heard in a long time. Not quite the same as your breakfast today.” He gazes at me with a tenderness I haven’t seen in a long time. A tenderness I am all too familiar with. Hummingbirds take flight in my chest, flapping their wings beneath my sternum and causing palpitations.
I play it off and swat him with my napkin. “Shut up,” I say with a giggle.
We eat and laugh and share great conversation over dinner. Being here with Gavin feels normal. Natural. When we finish eating, he asks if I will meet him at an ice cream shop across from his hotel. Without hesitation, I tell him yes.
Tonight has been fun. It has been a long time since I have been this relaxed and more myself. As if a part of me has returned with Gavin here. I miss that part of myself. The carefree, jubilant, and eccentric girl. He has been the only person who loved every side of me. And the only person I have exposed so much of myself to.
When he moved away, a slice of me went with him. The piece of me reserved only for him. The piece that feels as if it has returned home.
We stroll down Mandalay Avenue, hands clasped while he eats a cone topped with cookie dough ice cream and mine topped with mint avalanche. Our hands swing between us, our lips silent as we consume our confections.
Simple moments like this are ones I will never forget. Memories stashed away for the days when he is gone. Memories of all the wonderful times we have shared.
We don’t need to say anything. We don’t have to do anything. As long as it is just us, everything in life is perfect. Our time apart resides in some nether region of the universe.
At a crosswalk, we wait for the traffic to stop and move to the beachside of the street. He leads us down one of the small side streets and toward a public access point for the beach. As he pops the last of his cone in his mouth, he bends and begins removing his shoes.
“Will you walk with me?” he asks as he stands upright. His love for the beach hasn’t vanished over the years. He was lucky his mom’s promotion led them to another coastal state. If Gavin didn’t have the beach, I don’t think he would be whole. Not sure if it’s the sand or the water or the salty air, but Gavin was born to be near a beach.
Part of me wants to give him a hard time and say isn’t that what we’ve been doing? But I stop myself. It’s one thing to weave in and out of people on a busy, pedestrian-loaded street. It is completely different to step onto the fine-grained beach, barefoot, and walk in the dark along the surf holding someone’s hand. Though the beach may not be pitch black, it’s dark enough to make the level of intimacy go from zero to one hundred in seconds.
He studies my face, waiting for me to answer. I take the last bite of my cone, buying myself a few more seconds. I reach forward and take his hand again, squeeze it gently and nod. Before I bend down to remove my shoes, I catch a glimpse of the smile I remember. The smile that flashes in my memories. The smile that lured me in when I was fourteen.
I park in my driveway and grab my purse and shoes from the passenger seat before getting out. My thoughts swim and swirl and blend together. Old memories of Gavin and me. Happy memories. Memories I will never forget.
Once inside, I add food to Luna’s bowl and pet her a few times before heading for my bedroom. I toss my shoes in the closet and strip off my dress, heading for the shower. The walk on the beach with Gavin was wonderful, but I need to wash the sticky beach air and sand off my skin.
With a towel wrapped around my torso, I dig through my dresser and grab a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. Clad in my nightwear, I plop down on my bed and flick on the television, scanning Netflix for something to watch. I pick a random movie, which ends up becoming background noise to my racing mind.
A pair of warm hands cover my eyes, too large to belong to any girl I know. His hot breath on my ear sends a chill down my spine. My breath hitches and my heart beats as if it will never have the chance after today.
“Guess who…” his whisper like sun and thunder and a bolt of lightning to my heart.
“Hmm…” I toy with him. “I can’t be sure. Jake?” I tease.
His hands rip from my eyes, the bright light instantly returns and makes me squint. “Who?” He spins me around and hugs me so tight I can’t speak.
“Nope, not Jake,” I joke again.
“Who the hell is Jake?” he asks, defensive.
I love it when he becomes possessive. “I don’t know. Just made up the name to mess with you. Of course I knew it was you.” Pushing up onto my tiptoes, I press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he mumbles, but the grumpy doesn’t leave his face. We are about to turn the corner in the hallway when he lifts me up and hoists me over his shoulder, fireman-style. Everyone at their lockers starts laughing at the spectacle. And it is most definitely a spectacle.
Because as he is walking down the hall with me over his shoulder, I am smacking his ass and kicking my feet in the air, begging for him to put me down. It wouldn’t shock me if this scene floods the internet once it ends.
As we walk out the double doors, his stride grows faster and more urgent. He stops next to a big oak—our tree—and sets me on the ground, smacking my ass for good measure.
“Gavin! Why did you do that? That was so embarrassing.” It was beyond embarrassing, yet I loved every second of it. Loved that he didn’t care who was watching.
He takes a step closer to me, eliminating the empty space between us. I suck in a breath, my body straightening and my breasts brushing against his chest. His hands dance along my jawline before his fingers lace in my hair and he brings his mouth to mine.
He kisses me with such intensity, I forget how to breathe. His tongue traces over my lower lip and I open for him. Our tongues begin this wild dance, fevered and needy. Wolf whistles erupt around us, but we ignore every one of them. It is just me and Gavin as the world disappears. And as quickly as the kiss began, it ends.
I grab hold of his biceps, dragging in ragged breaths while trying to calm my heart.
“You are forgiven,” I tell him when my lungs settle.
He presses a sweet kiss to the center of my lips. “Thanks.”
When he pulls away from our embrace, he looks over at the tree beside us. My eyes shift to see what he is looking at, and my jaw falls to the ground.
“When? How? Did you?” I fumble over what I am trying to ask him.
“This morning. With the pocket knife I snuck into school. And yes, I did.”
My fingers brush over the chipped away bark. On the trunk of the tree, he has carved “C+G tu es les étoiles de ma lune.” He had been taking French for the last three years, but I’d chosen Spanish and had no idea what this said.
“What does it mean?” I ask, my fingers still caressing each of the indentations he had made. Must have taken him a while.
He brushes the back of his index finger along my jawline to my chin. “It says ‘the stars to my moon,’” he whispers, although I’m the only person close enough to hear.
My face hurts from the smile he has given me. “I love you, too.”
A tear rolls down my cheek and I wonder if that tree—inside the confines of our high school—still displays our initials. Or if the bark has grown and covered it over the years. The younger, lovestruck part of me wants to visit the tree again. The tree where it all began. Our tree.
Luna curls up beside me, purring with vigor as I stroke her soft fur. And after a few minutes pass, I drift off to a deep sleep where I dream about trees and love and the starry skies above.
Chapter Twelve
Gavin
Today is the fourth day of the shoot and I am nervous as to how it will go.
Last night was one of the best times I have had in a while. We didn’t do anything extravagant—a nice dinner, an ice cream cone, and a walk on the beach. Breezy conversation and a comfort that only comes with familiarity.
It was better than any other night I have shared with a woman. And there is only one reason.
Cora.
Being near her again is like learning how to breathe for the first time in years. Sure, breathing happened while we were apart, but it was merely to exist until I found my way back to her. And it feels as if I have finally rediscovered her. I only hope she has managed to do the same.
During today’s shoot, we are supposed to be strolling through parts of downtown Dunedin. Me in some hoity-toity outfit while Cora walks five to ten paces behind me, snapping photos of me “looking casual” on the street. Looking casual in my world translates into walking along the sidewalk and turning to look at something with your profile or whole face toward the camera. But don’t look at the camera. Because looking at the camera is not natural, or so they say. Whatever.
It’s all ridiculous if you ask me. But that’s what the companies and consumers love. At least for this particular brand. The shoots for romance novels and risqué, they want your hungry eyes straight on. They want the consumer to feel as if you’re reaching out and luring them in.
So, after my morning walk on the beach and a shower, I dress in a linen short-sleeve, white button-up, a pair of khaki cargo shorts with more pockets than I’d ever fill and a pair of boat-style shoes. And don’t forget the chunky watch and dark-tint sunglasses. Each shoot’s ensemble hangs in plastic wardrobe bags in my closet, labeled, courtesy of my wonderful agent.
The only part of this whole ensemble I would use again is probably the sunglasses. They mask the sun better than any pair I have owned in recent years. Lucky for me, I get to keep everything from the shoot.
Alyson and I meet in the lobby and walk to her rental car, sliding in and driving off the beach. The shoot doesn’t start for a little more than an hour, so we agreed to grab breakfast nearby.
Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series) Page 7
