Page 123 of This Time Around
Still, even that wasn’t completely true.
Iwashealing.My time was spent for me, working on me, and I’d made more than one important decision.The first was to forgive Joseph.Without having answers, without having the arguments and the closure I needed, my only choice was to forgive him.So every time I thought of him and that niggle of hatred and anger crept into my mind, I forced myself to think of five true, five good things I remembered about him.
It seemed backward, but every time I thought of the way Joseph made me laugh, or the way he held me, or the time he tried to boil lobsters on our first anniversary, but instead spent the night mopping up boiled water all over our kitchen floor because we’d forgotten about them getting lost in other activities, my heart healed a little bit more.
Sometimes it felt almost treasonous to Cooper, to be thinking of such wonderful memories of a man who hurt me in order to get over him, but for me, I needed it.I needed the reminder that there were parts of us that were really good, parts of me he’d loved, parts of my life I wouldn’t change for anything.
But at night, when I was lonely, it was Cooper I missed, Cooper I wanted next to me, and while we didn’t talk about him coming back, permanently or in any manner outside Thanksgiving, I’d been making plans for him already as well.
One week, I spent the quiet nights sipping wine, re-decorating the office.I removed all the old, original dark woodwork bookshelves that lined an entire wall and my father’s L-Shaped writing desk.The shelves held mementos from my parents, family pictures of Jordan and I growing up, and wedding photos from my great-grandparents down to me and Joseph.It was the last remaining photo I had of Joseph I still left out, but now, all of them besides the photo of my great-grandparents were put away in a scrapbook along with all the other family photos I took down.
This was my house, my home, not just something handed to me.I wanted to honor my heritage and the home’s history.But the house needed to be mademine.
And, hopefully someday, Cooper’s.
Now, the room still fit the farmhouse, the bookshelves replaced gone to make room for two matching desks that were inspired from old barn wood, refinished and refined to look classy but masculine.Beneath the front window, I’d set up a sitting area and off to the side, a small wine and whiskey cart.I’d never seen Cooper drink anything harder than the occasional beer, but one night when I was in there working, I looked out the window, the empty space in front of it, and imagined us sitting in chairs, me sipping wine, him a scotch while I flipped through a romance novel on my e-reader I hadn’t used since before Joseph’s death but had recently recharged and used daily.Cooper would sit in the other chair, thin, gold-framed reading glasses propped on his nose, his head bent while he scribbled notes in the margins of whatever script he’d be doing next.
I wanted that for him.I wanted him to have it all, even if it meant that sometimes, it meant not having him next to me.
And if he didn’t want that…I’d take him then, too.
I didn’t care he was Cooper Hawke, Golden Globe winner, whispers already chasing him of his upcoming film being an Oscar nominee.
I just cared that he was kind.He made me laugh, he treasured me, and he loved me.That he had a way with his sexy, strong hands and body molded to perfection were very yummy side benefits.
