Page 452 of One More Kiss
She leans back, pulling us apart. “Vada seems like she’s perfect for you. So what the hell are you waiting for, E? You have to live your life. You have to learn to be happy again, and you deserve to be.”
“But…” I try to protest.
She places her finger on my lips and stops my words though I have so much to say. “You have to take a leap of faith.”
I wake, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest. Sweat covers my brow, and I thought I heard her voice, here in the room with me. My throat is dry, and I replay the conversation so many times I feel like I’m losing my mind. I asked for a sign, or maybe my subconscious is playing tricks on me, but there it was, and it felt so real. This isn’t the first time Alana has visited me in my dreams, but it’s never been so vivid.
Needing a shower, I climb the stairs. As I round the corner, I’m shocked to see Vada in the hallway, staring into Paris’ room. At first, I don’t know what to say or do, so I stand there stunned. I’m not ready to talk about it just yet, not when I’m in this fragile state of mind.
As soon as the words fly out of my mouth and she turns around, it’s obvious I took her by surprise. I slam the door shut and she immediately begins to apologize, but I shut her out and go to the tower. Closing myself tight doesn’t solve anything, but I need this time to think. I need to find my words and tell her the truth, as hard as that’s going to be, but I feel like she deserves to know. The only problem is, where do I even start?
Most people in the area know my backstory and how I was a widower before I turned twenty-five. Most of the women I bring home don’t mention it or even allude they know. I was the talk of the town for a while, especially after Paris Pottery & Studio opened. It was my way of honoring my baby girl and wife. It was how I kept and continue to keep their spirit alive. People loved Alana’s pottery, and before her belly got too big, she was quickly becoming a hometown sensation. Between Millie and Mama peddling Alana’s mugs out of their trunks after church, the news of her work traveled quickly, but not as fast as her death. It rocked everyone who knew her.
It destroyed me.
After I have time to myself, I realize I acted like a complete asshole to Vada and guilt washes over me. Not that it’s an excuse, but visiting the cemetery left my wounds freshly cut open, but that’s not her fault. She has no idea how broken I’ve been over the years, and how she may be the glue that can put me back together. I feel that deep in my heart, so strongly, that it almost knocks me down. Vada came barreling into my life with that smart mouth and sass, and soon she’ll be leaving to go back to Chicago. Time is running out, and like a dream, she’ll be gone, too.
Just as I’m about to head to the cottage and apologize, I see Vada leave in a rush, and it wears on me. I don’t want to seem crazy and call her since I have her number from the booking, so I wait. This is something that needs to be discussed in person anyway.
While she’s gone, I take a shower and try to get some much-needed sleep. Once I’m rested, I brew some coffee then go back up into the tower, turn on some music, and busy myself in my work for hours.
Before dark, I hear a car door slam, and from the tower I see Vada walk across the sidewalk with a Starbucks cup in one hand and shopping bags in the other. I watch her go straight to the cottage, shut the door, and close the curtains. Feeling nervous, I wash the extra clay from my hands and find an ounce of courage as I go to her. Once I’m at the cottage door, I knock, but she doesn’t answer.
“Okay then,” I say, turning around and heading back to the house.
“Ethan?” I immediately turn around and notice a towel wrapped tightly around her body, accentuating her curves. The late summer breeze carries the smell of her strawberry soap, which causes me to smile.
I walk toward her, but she stands in the doorway with her arms holding the towel. Water drips from the tips of her hair, and she smells so damn good. Vada looks me up and down, noticing the clay on my pants and shirt, and she almost takes a step back.
“I’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do,” I tell her, hoping she’ll hear me out.
“You don’t owe me anything, Casanova. I was the one who violated your space,” she says, timidly, and I hate I’ve made her feel that way.
“Well, I do owe you an apology. I’m sorry, Vada. I hope you forgive me for being a total and utter asshole today. There’s a lot on my mind, but that’s no excuse for how I treated you. You don’t deserve that—ever,” I reassure her because it’s the truth.
Her shoulders relax, and she slightly smiles. “Apology accepted.”
“Do you have plans tomorrow night?” I slyly ask.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Other than trying to write a book, my schedule’s wide open.”
“I’d be obliged if you’d accompany me on a date tomorrow night around seven,” I say over insinuating my drawl and tipping my imaginary hat in her direction.
Now she’s really looking at me like I’m crazy. “Seriously?”
“Yes, ma’am. Serious as eating ribs on the Fourth of July.”
Her laughter echoes through the garden. “Actually, I think I might need to wash my hair tomorrow night around that time.”
I take a few steps closer; our bodies are almost touching. “I’m not the type of man to beg…”
“Bad boys never beg,” she says right before our lips softly meet.
As she kisses me, the worry melts away. The anxiety of everything swirling in my head temporarily disappears. In this moment, it’s just me and Vada, and I’m thankful she makes me forget that gut-wrenching pain, even if she has no idea.
