Page 65 of James

“Oh. Um… I’m so sorry, I’m feeling a little defensive. Of course I’ll be —”

“But since you bring him up,” the old woman continued, setting her cup aside to lace her fingers.

Laura sighed.

“I’ll make it quick,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “I have a fitting. And there’s not much to say, really. Who am I to be giving love life advice to a young person like you? When I was a blushing slip, things were different. When a boy took a shine to a girl, they courted, and courting is fine and charming and all, but it’s a performance. Like birds puffing up their feathers and dancing. They go through all the right steps and shake their tails until she says yes and they build their little nest together, but neither of them really knows the other. I married my Arthur at eighteen after going steady six months,” she declared. “Do you know why I fell in love with him?”

Laura shook her head.

“For his hair,” Mrs. Shepherd told her, tapping her spoon against her mug with each word for emphasis. “He had beautiful curly blond hair then… and lost it all before he was twenty-six, poor love. And he always claimed he fell in love with my smile, but it wasn’t my mouth he was always gazing at when we danced, let me tell you. Of course, I still have all my teeth. And the other bits.” She glanced down at herself, lips pursed. “They’ve slid a bit south since then, but they’re both there.”

Laura caught herself laughing, a small one, but the first honest laugh in a long time.

“My point is, the girls of my generation, my mother’s generation, her mother’s generation… we all married our puffed-up birds, knowing only how they were when they were dancing, not how they were when the storms come and the rain soaks into your feathers and the wind blows your nest to the ground. My Arthur, we were years married before we had our first storm. No babies. My own fault. His folks and friends told him he was too young to tie himself forever to a woman who couldn’t promise him a future. Hell, I told him so myself,” she added, too casually for the shine in her eyes. “But he put his wing over me and weathered it out. When he had his first heart attack, that was my storm, but I laid him down in our nest and kept him warm until he could fly again. For a little while, God rest him.”

Laura passed her a napkin and looked away while she daubed her eyes.

“Your father has a nice full head of hair, but I don’t love him for it,” said Mrs. Shepherd at last. “I love him for the way he loves others. I love him for the pride when he speaks about you, his worry when he speaks of hisgrandchildren, for his grief when he speaks of your mother. Couldn’t say what he loves me for, but I’m sure it isn’t —” She glanced against at her front. “— my smile.”

“What are you telling me?” Laura asked.

“I’m telling you that I understand your need to think in a quiet place, to know who you are before you’re you and someone else. I understand. But I’d just like to remind you that you already know what your bird would do in a bad storm, and that’s worth knowing. Don’t forget it.”

Her throat oddly too tight to speak, Laura nodded again.

“Well, I need to be on my way. Thank you for the tea, it was terrible,” she said, heaving herself out of her chair.

Laura laughed again, then gasped a little as Mrs. Shepherd pulled her up with remarkably strong hands and hugged her for the first time.

“You’ll figure it out, love,” the old woman said gruffly. “Just don’t take too long about it. We all miss you.”

The next days, Laura distanced herself from her well-meaning but meddlesome relatives, seeking solace in her regular routine. She focused on work, maintaining a busy schedule to keep her mind occupied and prevent thoughts of James from creeping in.

Yet, deep down, she couldn't deny the longing she felt for him. The warmth of his presence, his loving nature, and his firm yet fair discipline had become an integral part of her life. She missed his guidance, especially when it came to her diet and exercise. His rules and punishments, although sometimes challenging, had provided a sense of structure and accountability that she craved.

She pushed those thoughts aside, unwilling toconsider the possibility of a more serious relationship with him. He said he loved her.

But love… love was scary.

She had loved Jake once too, and at the beginning, it had been wonderful. He brought her flowers for no reason. He was sweet to her, although the sex hadn’t been more than adequate. She believed they had something special, that his possessiveness and criticisms were his way of telling her how much she meant to him, that he couldn’t live without her, that he wanted her to be her best self. However, as time went on, cracks began to appear in their relationship. It was when he went to the casino with some friends from work that things really started to go south. On the rare occasions when he won, he would still display affection and bring her flowers, but when luck was not on his side, which seemed to be the case most of the time, his anger would flare up, poisoning their once loving bond.

The love she felt slowly died.

Silently enduring Jake's anger and the bruises he inflicted upon her, Laura had hidden the truth from her family for far too long. But that fateful night when he left her bleeding on the cold kitchen floor, she found the courage to break free from his grip. It was a turning point that propelled her to leave him behind, determined to escape the cycle of abuse and reclaim her life. She promised herself never to trust a man with her heart again.

I love you, Laura. Don’t you know that?

Love was scary.

How could she trust that James wouldn’t turn into Jake? She knew there was often a fine line between BDSM and abuse. She’d read a lot, but waspractical enough to know that there was no failsafe way to tell the real Doms from the abusers on Fetlife.

A tiny little voice in her head whispered James was not like Jake and never would be, but she was too afraid to pay attention to that voice right now.

So Laura did what she did best. She pushed away her emotions and focused on the next item on her to-do list.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“Mrs. Taylor?” An unknown voice asked as Laura answered her phone.

---