Page 56 of Lovesick
With a long breath, I shut the compact and slumped against my bed. Sleep had been elusive last night as I’d tangled with the idea that perhaps JJwasright. Maybe romance was a false protective wall. I didn’t entertain the thought for long, but it lingered in the back of my mind.
Instead, I’d turned to two of my favorite romance books, slipped into their familiar words, and felt better for it after.
Now, I replayed the startled way he’d watched me. His gentle touch. There was no burn of his skin on mine when he’d taken my chin in his hands. Nothing but the burn of ugly reality. It was comforting, though. Just his olive eyes settled my prickling heart. He’d listened. Watched me with compassion and surprise.
He was the last person in the world I should have told about Dad, though no stress accompanied the thought that he knew part of my secret life.
Only part of it.
A flash of a memory skipped through my mind. Mama applying bright-red lipstick while she leaned over the sink, inspecting her pores in the mirror. She wore a skintight black dress and strappy heels, and her hair was still in curlers. She laughed while Ellie played on the floor at her feet.
“Don’t settle, baby girl.” Mama stared me right in the eye. “Hold onto those dreams of a great romance, because they’re real. You give so much away when you love. If you settle like I did, you’re in a world of hurt. Make him romance you, not bed you. There’s a difference. That difference will change your life.”
With a shudder, I snapped out of it.
Where had that come from?Make him romance you.Mama’s voice rang in my head so clearly I couldn’t dispute it. That day had ended in a bruised cheek for her. I’d spent the next day in my room alone.
The memory cleared as I thought back to Tyler. Then JJ.
It was just one date,JJ had said, and he was right. The date didn’t mean anything about love. It simply meant thatthatwasn’t actually my idea of romance. The alpha-billionaire thing didn’t do much for me.
The plastic of my love binder was cold when I pulled it out from under the bed. I flipped past tabs and graph paper, and recorded the point I’d awarded to JJ. He’d won it. I scribbled a few observations, then shut the binder and shoved it back under the bed.
Time to pick myself up and keep going.
Filled with new resolve, I drew in a breath, pushed my hair out of my eyes, and marched back to the office. An empty room greeted me. JJ must have left, because I couldn’t hear him shuffling around upstairs.
A note on my laptop drew me forward. A piece of paper sat on top of what appeared to be a homemade pastry. I picked up the note with a trembling hand.
Don’t worry, you won’t have to scan and file this paper. I’m sorry about your date and formally reject that point. You still have a lot to prove on behalf of romance, but this experience doesn’t count.
Have a homemade croissant. Carbs always make me happy.
Also, that was his loss. You’re amazing, Lizbeth.
JJ
* * *
Later that afternoon, I pulled a few sticky hooks out of a shopping bag and crept over to the single sink. The hottest the water got was warm, and dishes were perennially piled at the bottom. I quickly peeled off the backs of the hooks and hung them in a zigzag pattern on the wall over the sink. Then I rooted through the cupboard and hung the Baileys’ favorite coffee mugs. The tiny reorganization cleared up space and added a splash of much-needed color.
With a contented sigh, I appraised my work and then shuffled into the spare bedroom. Mark wanted to burn all these papers in a bonfire after they were confirmed as recorded, so I needed another box to hold the rest of the processed pages.
JJ hadn’t returned since my outburst, so I’d enjoyed solitude and the music of Andrea and Matteo Bocelli. In the quiet, I’d dusted the fireplace and tucked a few functional pieces of decor from the Antique Barn on top of the mantel. Nothing too obvious. An old, rusted crampon from the early 1900s that reminded me of JJ, and an oil lamp that I used as a bookend for some of JJ’s mountaineering books. Plus a drawer organizer in Mark’s desk and a desktop organizer behind his computer. I’d cleaned out two drawers just by sorting his oddities.
The office door closed, breaking through my thoughts. Someone shuffled inside and set down car keys with a light jangle. Not Mark. He made a lot more noise than that. JJ moved more like a cat.
“Whoa. Who’s reading romance books?”
The astonished female voice carried into the spare bedroom. My hand froze on a box, and I lifted my head. A woman?
I stepped out of the room to find a thin but strong, dark-haired woman in the kitchenette. Crinkles lined her eyes. Kelly, the Bailey boys’ mother. I could see Mark in her face, and JJ in her eyes.
On seeing me, her eyes widened. She tilted her head and held my favorite romance book up a little higher. I must have left it in the kitchen at lunch.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I smiled and carted a box out. “I’m Lizbeth.”
