Page 54 of Sparks Still Fly

well done, owen.

maeve

I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. He shows up to my house, quells my panic at the thought of him not coming with where you go, I go. Then the whispered words, and kiss on my neck. I was wrong about Owen not being able to handle pretending to be my husband. That was some perfect husband material.

After talking to Charlie, I felt better, but that nagging voice in my head keeps repeating the same few things: This is temporary. Julia isn’t mine. This life, this house, this dream aren’t mine.

Every insecurity I’ve ever had about being just like my mother is coming out, and I’m annoyed and confused by it all.

Am I selfish like her? Am I unable to love like she is?

And now… now this ring. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, and the green happens to match his eyes perfectly, so now I have a daily reminder of one of my favorite things about Owen on my ring finger. Until it’s time to give it back, that is.

I wonder if his next wife will wear this ring.

I’ve already nearly cried in this car, I can’t do it again. He’s been silent since he slipped it on my finger, and according to Jen, who just texted me, it’s nearly our turn to get out there and smile for the cameras.

“Ready?” Jen asks us as she pokes her head into the car. Her eyes travel from my face to Owen’s, who looks perfectly relaxed. Her gaze snags on my left hand, her eyes narrowing as she smiles. “Well done, Owen.” She points at the ring with an appreciative look on her face, but all Owen does is nod, his lips set firmly in a straight line. I don’t think he’s a huge fan of Jen’s.

Owen exits first, lending me his hand to help me out of the car now that I have my heels on. As if I’ve forgotten how to walk in anything that isn’t a riding boot or runner, I trip on something and my shoe slips off, almost sending me face first onto the red carpet. Owen gently rights me, and I silently beg him not to ask me, not to say that one word. He doesn’t.

As I bend to look for my shoe, so does Owen. When I turn around, he’s on one knee, holding my shoe in one hand as he inspects it, as if it’s the shoe’s fault I’ve forgotten how to walk. He pats his thigh, asking for my foot, and I place it there as he gingerly puts my shoe back on. It’s a real-life Cinderella moment. A real sight to be seen, Owen James on his knee in front of me, his ring on my finger, his fingers wrapped around my ankle as they move up my calf.

He sets my foot back down on the ground and I gather myself with a deep breath, checking that my phone is still in my pocket, looking to Jen for direction as she looks on wide-eyed and slack-jawed. I’ve never seen that look on her before. She’s not easily fazed.

Owen straightens his jacket and offers me his arm so we can walk in together. Thankfully, it looks like our moment was relatively private.

As we move along the carpet, I easily slip into my role, all smiles and small waves to fans with signs, posing for the cameras as Owen stands with his back ramrod straight, no longer looking relaxed, but downright angry. At one point, I chance a look at his face and he’s actually scowling. The sight makes me laugh, and at the sound, he looks at me, face immediately softening, green eyes taking in every inch of my face and pausing on my lips not once, but twice.

I clear my throat. “You good?” The man has the audacity to smile. Really, really smile. At me. I can handle the flashes and bright lights, but this? This has me going a little weak in the knees, and since nothing gets past Owen, he notices. His arm snakes around my back, and he pulls me into him, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief and something I haven’t seen in a long, long time.

Desire. Lust.

His head lowers to mine, but he dips further, his warm breath on my neck. “I’m always good when I’m with you, Maevey.” Then he kisses me in that same spot as earlier, but this time, his tongue swirls in that sensitive place below my ear, and my traitorous eyes close in response. My grip on his forearm tightens, and before I have time to gather myself, he straightens, looks out at the sea of flashing lights, and smiles while tucking one hand in his pocket.

I struggle to look away from his handsome face. It’s always been difficult to look away from Owen, but like this? Looking suddenly at ease in a situation so foreign to him with his arm around my waist? He makes it impossible to focus on anything else, but I catch Jen on the sidelines waving at me to move along, and Owen follows as I start walking again.

“Show us the ring, Maeve!” “Where’s your ring?” “The ring!”

It’s clear what they want to see. Owen lifts my left hand gingerly, bringing it to his lips as he lays a chaste kiss on my hand, his eyes glued to mine the entire time.

Someone turn this charm off. Is there a switch on the back of his neck I can flip? It’s too much.

The cheering is nearly deafening as we stand there, staring at one another, our hands suspended so they can take photos of the ring that has only been on my finger for the last half hour, but that feels like it’s exactly where it belongs. Even if my brain loves to remind me the ring isn’t mine, the man isn’t mine, for this one small moment, I let myself feel like it is, like he is.

And then Jen calls him over, so I can stand alone with my hands on my hips, smiling like this is where I belong. The reminder that this is my reality, and not the stolen moments with the man I once thought would be my forever is jarring. But it works. It works to help me keep my emotional distance for the rest of the evening.

By the time we get back to my house, I’ve become numb again. Back to that place where indifference takes over, and the shields around my heart go back up, keeping me safe. Owen says goodnight, but I barely register it, needing to block his voice, his face, his ring, his words. I need to lock it all away. Back into that deep, dark corner. Back into that box with chains and locks. It all goes back in there, because it’s not safe for feelings or memories to live out here in the world with me. Not when I can’t guarantee that I’d ever be enough for him, for Julia. Not when the fear of getting hurt again has a death grip on my heart.

I’ve managed to get myself to where I am by keeping my career and my goals at the very top of my priority list. I don’t know how to make room for anyone else, let alone a family. And Owen deserves someone as thoughtful and kind as he is. Someone who can be present as a partner and a mother, like his own mum was. He deserves the best, and so does Julia. I’m not that.

30/

there’s a flying rat in the guesthouse.

owen

I texted her to ask if she wanted anything for breakfast. No response. I texted her to ask if she was still at her house. No response. I texted her to let her know I had to go to a meeting with Rafael before heading back to Ojai. No response. I thought that last night changed some of her indifference toward me, but I’m quickly losing hope. So, I repeat the mantra I’ve been replaying in my head over and over when I need to remember why this can’t go anywhere, anyway.

---