All Who Dream (Letting Go) (14 page)

 
“Well, you have one now. Tell me what you
need, Angie.”

My
stomach tightened at his words—their effect on me, daunting. Despite my usual
resistance toward male relationships, I had just invited Jackson to cross the
line, without him ever knowing one existed. It was the line that separated me from
being fine
and
not being fine
. The line that divided
safe
from
exposed
.
And
necessity
from
want
.

The colorless hue that abuse paints onto the canvas of life acts
as a thief, robbing its victims from ever knowing the joy found from simple
pleasures. Abuse dulls the art of dreaming and dampens the passion of desire. Abuse
smudges and blurs the colors until one day the damage overtakes the original
completely…leaving it bland and lifeless.

But within Jackson’s short phrase,
 
my
 
canvas, the one that held neutral
pigments of ash and gray, had unexpectedly been splashed with the unfamiliar.
Bright colors of emotion—hope, joy, laughter . . . and desire. Intense desire,
but for what I couldn’t afford to dream of having. Maybe the colorless canvas
was better.
Safer.

Jackson brushed my hair away from my shoulder, “You okay?”

I nodded
as his touch heated my skin and seared into my soul.

The touch of the only man to ever show
me 
color
.

Several internal
self-pep talks later, I managed to cook alongside Jackson without having to use
my escape plan—the
restroom down
the hall—if things became
too intense for me. Every cliché about
heat
in the kitchen
flooded my mind. But seriously, brushing up against Jackson
was enough to boil my insides.

Tonight
we were having breakfast for dinner: banana-nut pancakes, bacon, hash browns
and fruit salad with yogurt. The menu was Cody’s favorite, and one I thought I
could stomach—minus the bacon. Jackson had peeled the potatoes and chopped some
fruit, glancing at me every few minutes.

 
“You enjoy cooking?” he asked.

 
“Yes, although it’s tricky when it’s just Cody
and me. Most recipes are meant for a much larger family size than ours, but I
have some girlfriends I cook for, too. Rosie is usually over a few times a week.
She is a fabulous cook, so we take turns in the kitchen.”

 
“Rosie—she’s the other person you named last
night, besides your brother. How did you meet her?” He cut into the pineapple
with ease.

Do I tell him?

I
pondered the question.
Should I filter my answer or not?

 
“We lead together in a group for women called,
The Refuge
. We met there six years
ago…our lives looked very different then, but we both have a passion to give
back to others what was given to us.”

He
stopped cutting. “And what was that?”

 
“Hope.”

The look
on his face matched the look from last night when he had held my journal in his
hand.

 
“You’re a strong woman, Angie.”

My throat
thickened with emotion, as I turned toward the batter I was stirring.

 
“I wasn’t for a long time,” I whispered.

 
“True strength doesn’t just appear out of
nowhere—it may develop during seasons which are unseen, unheard and almost
always unrewarded…but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist.”

I had to
remind myself to inhale. Why did he keep saying things that took my breath
away?

A buzzing
on the counter pulled me out of my trance—my phone.

I dug the
phone from my purse, but didn’t recognize the caller’s number. “Hello.”

 
“Hello…is this Angie?” The somewhat-familiar
voice asked.

 
“Yes, this is she.”

Jackson shot
me a questioning look.

 
“This is Brian, from the radio station. I hope
this isn’t too weird, but I called and got your number from
Pippy
.”

 
“Oh…uh, hi.”
I turned
away from Jackson.

 
“Hey, so I was wondering if you’d like to take
me up on my offer to show you around the city…maybe next
weekend?
You can bring your son along, too, of course.”

I closed
my eyes.

Worst.
Timing.
Ever.

I heard rather
than saw Jackson shuffle up next to me.

 
“I so appreciate the offer—really, I do, but the
tour keeps me pretty busy. I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.”

 
“Okay, well, I’d love the chance to get to
know you better, Angie. Call me if you’re free.”

 
“I will, thank you,” I said, careful not to
say his name aloud. “Bye.”

I hung up
and quickly went back to the mixing bowl to scoop batter onto the skillet.
Jackson’s eyes were on my face, arms crossed in front of his chest, but I
didn’t dare look at him. I kept right on scooping.

 
“Brian, I presume?”

I
shrugged.

He
laughed humorlessly and shook his head.

 
“What’s your problem with him, Jackson? He’s a
nice guy,” I said defensively.

 
“A nice guy,” he repeated. “Is that all it
takes?” His eyes challenged me.

How
quickly this man could start a fire in my veins.

 
“What is that supposed to mean? ‘Takes to
what’ exactly?”

He shook
his head and went for the spatula, flipping the pancakes over one by one.

 
“Can I put the movie on now?” Cody walked into
the kitchen.

 
“Sure.”

 
“No.”

I stared
at Jackson. We had answered at the same time. Cody and Jackson looked at me in
surprise.

Why did I say no?

 
“I mean…that’s fine. Dinner will be ready in a
minute, so be prepared to pause it,” I corrected.

 
“We can eat on the couches—as long as it’s
okay with your mom,” Jackson said.

Cody watched
me, as if waiting for a rebuttal, but I nodded in agreement instead.

 
“Cool!” He grabbed the movie off the counter
and trotted back into the living room.

 
“I’ll show you how to set it up, Code.”
Jackson wiped his hands on a towel and following Cody.

My momentary
frustration toward Jackson turned to warm appreciation the second he said my
son’s nickname. Flipping the last of the pancakes and bacon, I watched as the
two of them got the movie set up. The scene in front of me warmed me to the
core. Seeing Cody laugh and joke with a man other than my brother was a rarity,
and I
was loving
every second.

I hadn’t
dated—not even once since Cody was born. I’d been asked out, usually by
customers coming to buy flowers for a friend, or a mom, or sick co-worker. All
my refusals had been simple, easy. Cody was the primary reason for my resolve
to stay single; my
need
for emotional
recovery acting as a close runner-up. For years I had been too raw to even
consider dating—too fragile.
But what is
my excuse now?

 
“Need plates?”

I jumped
at the sound of Jackson’s voice behind me. I must have been staring off into
space.

 
“Did I catch you daydreaming? Was a certain
tattooed radio announcer clouding up the brain?” A distinct hint of sarcasm
dripped from his words.

I glared
at him, taking the plates from his hands and shoveling hot food onto them.

 
“Are you jealous, Jackson?” I turned just in
time to see his face shadow. “Has no one ever called
you
a nice guy—is that it? I simply cannot imagine why not…” My
sarcasm trailed off as his eyes roamed over my face, stopping on my lips.

He
stepped closer, sending my heart into a reckless spasm.

His arms
bracketed me as he grabbed two steaming plates off the counter, brushing my shoulders
in the process.

 
“And what if I am?” he whispered.

 
“What?”

His stare
was the only answer I received before he walked over to Cody and handed him a
plate.

I snuggled into Jackson’s plush leather couch, my stomach satisfied.
The banana-nut pancakes were exactly what my post-stomach-flu had needed. I
stretched out my legs while Cody lay on the floor with two big throw pillows.
That was his favorite way to watch a movie, though there was plenty of room on
the couch next to Jackson and me.

Jackson and me.

I sighed.
I wasn’t sure what had happened in the kitchen, but something definitely had
happened. He sat at one end and I on the other, but neither of us watched the
movie. I knew this only because every five minutes we were both checking to see
if the other was watching or not. All I knew about the movie was that it
starred a mangy-looking dog who could talk. Cody kept commenting on how he
wished his mom would let him have a dog someday. I rolled my eyes, unwilling to
get into yet another debate about how expensive pets are.

The tension
that brewed in Jackson’s living room was thick—almost tangible.
And definitely uncomfortable.
I crossed my feet as I saw
Jackson pull on the back of his neck. What was he was thinking? He turned his
head toward me, and I looked away quickly.

As soon
as the theme song of the movie came on and the credits rolled, I jumped up. I
needed to get out of this pressure-cooker before I said or did something I’d
regret. I had only known Jackson a few weeks, but the “moments of regret”
between us had been piling up since day one. I didn’t need to add another one.
I stretched and fake yawned.

“Code…we
have a busy day tomorrow. We need to get back to the apartment and get you to
bed. Please thank Mr. Ross for such a nice day.”

Jackson
stood up. “I’ll drive you.”

There was
something different about his voice, a strain. Cody must have heard it too,
because we both turned toward him.

 
“We’re fine to take a cab. It’s not that far.
You’ve been driving us around all day. Really, Jackson, we’re fine.”

 
“And it’s even
more fine
for me to drive you.”

I didn’t
argue. It was pointless. Jackson was probably the most stubborn man I knew, and
that included my brother.

After
collecting the plates and putting them into the dishwasher, Cody grabbed his
backpack. We were out the door a minute later.

Cody
filled the awkward silence in the car, asking Jackson a thousand questions
about the city, books, pets (nice try, Cody) and traveling. Jackson obliged
him, returning interest with questions of his own.

Something
burned in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down.

Jackson
left his car with the valet at my building and rode the elevator up with us,
despite my protests. Cody stuck the key card inside the lock pad then turned
around and threw his arms around Jackson’s waist even as the door clicked open.
Jackson looked a bit bewildered, but he returned the hug regardless.

“Thanks
for today, Mr. Ross. I had fun at the zoo…and riding in your car.” Cody said then
darted inside.

I stood,
speechless. Cody had always been a sweet kid: both sensitive and friendly. But
even I couldn’t have predicted that kind of warm response from him.

The heavy door fell back against my shoulder,
inches from closing as I glanced up at Jackson. His eyes were intense as they
searched my face for several seconds.

“Don’t settle for nice, Angela Flores. You
deserve better.”

As his gaze dipped to my lips, my insides swam
with unexpected want.

“Jackson—”

He stepped closer, my exhale catching in a
shaky vibrato that heated my cheeks. I slumped against the doorjamb, praying
the solid surface would keep me upright. He swept my hair off my shoulder.

“Maybe I do act like a jealous teenage boy
around you…but it’s not because I want to be called nice.” His warm breath
swept across my lips, a shiver tickling the back of my neck. 

“Then why?” I rasped.

Hope soared in my chest as I focused on his
mouth, the world around me nonexistent as I silently begged him to
continue. 

“Because
you remind me of something I lost…”

He leaned
in and pressed his lips to my cheekbone.

The second
he pulled away, I was released back into the hands of my cold, colorless
reality once more, the reality I’d always found sanctuary in…until Jackson.
 

Color had
changed everything.

A
LONE JOY

Thai
Food, Throw-up and Truth—OH MY!

Well, it’s official: I hate
throw-up.

The only thing worse than
cleaning up throw-up, is
throwing
up
. But luckily, the times of flu-like
symptoms in my adult life—or in this case bad Thai food—are rare. The
experience got me thinking though, about life. How staring into a big porcelain
pot while vomiting can be a time of introspection is beyond me, but it happened
nonetheless.