Love Is Louder Page 11

  Chuckling, I walk outside, tilting my head back to look up into the rays of descending sun. One of these days, I’ll fall in love. The whole idea scares me. I can’t answer why. I’m not scared of anything, not a damn thing, but hearing or thinking about the four-letter word makes my hands clammy and a rock form in my throat. I haven’t been in that place in a while, and maybe that’s what worries me.

  The streets are lined with large oak trees, and the sounds of crickets and the constant hum of my engine are all I hear for the next couple of miles. I pull up my mom’s driveway, grab the lilies lying across the front seat, and make my way to the front door.

  This is the only house we’ve ever known, and it will probably be the only house Lily will ever know. She now sleeps in Meadow’s old room at the end of the hall. Her room was pretty much left untouched, only Micah’s and my room went through renovations. The walls were knocked down, and it’s now a library filled with books. Mom loves to spend time at the local bookstore, and this past Christmas all she wanted were a Kindle Paperwhite and Amazon gift cards.

  My heart leaps out of my chest when I open the screen door to see Lily sitting on the couch next to my mom who’s reading her a book before bed.

  “Daddy!” she squeals. Leaping off the couch, she comes running into my arms.

  I scoop her up and nuzzle my nose in her soft hair that smells like strawberries. “Hey, you.”Pulling her from me, I kiss her on the forehead.

  “Lilies? Are they for me?” She smiles and sticks her nose into one of the pure white flowers. “I love them.”

  “More than me?”

  “Not in a million moons,” she chirps, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  I close my eyes, letting her words seep through every cell. The overwhelming emotion she produces causes my heart to do double time.

  “What did you do today?”

  “Nana took me to the park, and tomorrow she wants to take me to get my pictures in the pretty dress she bought me today.”

  “Yeah?” I give my mom a kiss before I settle down next to her on the couch.

  “Yes, Nana says it’s my birthday present. I’m gonna be this many.” She grins, raising four tiny fingers.

  “Well, I better get some of those pictures, so I can have one in my wallet to show everyone that I have the most beautiful niece.”

  “I will.” She sits on my lap, her little eyes scanning my face. “You didn’t shave.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll shave when I’m not so busy. I promise.”

  “It’s scratchy like sandpaper.” She sulks, placing her palm flat against my cheek.

  “It doesn’t hurt. It kind of tickles.” I tilt my cheek to her as she rubs her tiny hand over my stubble.”Try it.”

  “It does tickle a little bit.” She slowly brings her tiny lips to my cheek and closes her eyes, anticipating the pain but smiles when her lips touch the stubble without incident.

  “Not so bad, right?”

  “Nope.” She continues to rub my cheek.

  “Good.”

  I catch the look on my mom’s face when I put Lily down in front of me. I carefully lower my gaze, hoping I didn’t do something to upset her in some way. I don’t remember anything, but who knows with Mom.

  “I think it’s time for someone to go to bed.”

  I raise my eyes and look at the clock near the kitchen entry to my left. It’s approaching eight o’clock. I need to get to the bar before I hear shit from Micah. This is another open mic night, and he won’t be too happy if he has to multi-task.

  “Can Daddy tuck me in?” Lily yawns as she reaches for my hand, peeking at my mom from behind her curls.

  “If...uh...” She hesitates for a moment. “Daddy has time,” she finishes, smiling between Lily and me.

  My eyes skitter to my mom when I rise from the couch and squeeze Lily’s hand. “Let’s go, pumpkin.”

  Flipping on a dim light in Meadow’s old bedroom, my gaze catches on a picture on the wall. I remember the picture so well. We were in high school, and Meadow was dressed for her junior prom with her first real boyfriend. I can’t remember his name, but I do remember scaring the shit out of him that night. Meadow came home early, and she wasn’t too happy with me. There were a million moments like that, moments I’ll never forget, and one day I’m going to share them with Lily.

  “This is the prettiest room in the house!” Lily yelps as she grabs her favorite doll and skips to her bed.

  “Yes it is,” I murmur, tucking her in to read her a bedtime story. “What story do you want me to read?”

  She looks up at me and shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. You pick!”

  “All right.” I run my finger over her extensive collection of books on her bookshelf next to her bed. I choose Guess How Much I Love You.

  “That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

  I glance at her as I squeeze myself into the rocker next to her bed. “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Nana told me.”

  “She did, did she?”

  “Yep! Nana tells me stories about you and Mommy and Micah, too. Those are really my favorite stories. Do you have stories about Mommy?” She sits up, hugging her doll to her chest.

  Taken aback by her question, I clear my throat. My head’s swimming with memories, and it hurts. It fucking hurts.

  “Yes...so many.” My mind races, my heart careens with my rib cage. “Which one did Nana tell you?”

  “The time you and Uncle Micah tried to teach Mommy how to ride a bike.”

  I chuckle softly at the memory. “Yes...your mommy was scared that I would let go of her as she was riding her new pink bike. She didn’t want to scratch it. Micah was on one side, and I was on the other. I told her nothing would happen to her. I would catch her if she fell.”

  “But she did fall. Nana told me.”

  “Just once because she wanted to go fast, but I was there for her every other time.”

  “So, why isn’t she here?” She crinkles her brow, assessing me.

  I stare across the room, feeling the pain well up in my chest, like verbal daggers to my heart. A sense of unease roils in my stomach like a tornado whirling out of control. I want to say something, to answer one of the most painful questions that I have been putting off telling her until she got older. I can’t ignore it for much longer. She’s too smart.

  I train my attention to this the angel staring at me with hopeful innocent eyes.

  “Your mommy and I grew up, and we had our own lives. I was there for her when she needed me. Sometimes we can’t...always be there.”

  “I know, Daddy,” she says, fighting through a yawn. The pain in my heart ebbs just a fraction when I see the smile on her face. “I want a brother or sister to have memories with, too.”

  I freeze and look at the picture of us as kids hanging on the wall above Lily’s bookshelf. “Maybe...someday.”

  “Someday is good, but I have a gazillion memories with you already.”

  “Just a gazillion?” I tease.

  “Yep...plus a gazillion more.”

  “Ya know what?” I flip open the book and stare at the first page of words through cloudy eyes.

  “It’s way past your bedtime, and I don’t want Nana to yell at me for keeping you up late.” I give her a wan smile.

  “Okay.” She yawns again. “I’m kinda tired.”

  After about ten minutes of reading, she’s sound asleep. I kiss her on the cheek and turn off the light and trudge down the hallway. It feels like a boulder is lodged in my chest after having such a profound conversation with a young child. I don’t know if I can handle another one like that.

  Mom looks up from her Kindle when I return to the living room, her perceptive eyes connecting with mine, her mouth a thin line. I know this look all too well, dreading the lecture she is about to spring on me. I think I have an idea why she may be upset with me.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea that you have Lily calling you daddy?” she asks as she sets her Kind
le down onto the coffee table. “It will only confuse her.”

  “I know.” I exhale raggedly, thrusting my hands through my hair as I collapse onto the couch. “I want her to be happy and like the other kids at school. I don’t want her to miss out on anything.”

  Her eyes shift to the window, and she stares out at the twilight.

  “She won’t, Mason.”

  I clench my hands at my sides, thinking about that asshole that left her. What the fuck was his name? Something with a “C”. Shit. Fucking Cole. Cole fucking Foster. I shoot up from the couch and shove my hands into my pockets, not in the mood to take my mind to dark places.

  “I know how much you don’t want it to happen, but it can. Think for a minute. I know you love her, but really think about this. I know your dad died when you were too young to remember him. I know you mean well, but Lily’s dad is still alive, so you have to consider that.”

  I focus on the seriousness of my mom’s words before a litany of memories of my dad assault my consciousness. Even though I was only six, I remember Dad like it was yesterday. I want Lily to have it all, so in the meantime, this seems right to me. Taking deep breaths, I focus on the vision of Lily, her happiness, and not what she has lost. She has gained so much more.

  “I’ll figure it out.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Lock the door,” I remind her, gently placing my hand on the doorknob to leave.

  “I will. Oh, before I forget, can you swing by Aria Photography around three tomorrow? I had to schedule a last-minute doctor’s appointment for my hip, and I didn’t want to cancel the photo shoot since the studio is booked for the next couple of months.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Thanks, honey. The place is right in town.”

  “I’ll Google it.”

  Resting the camera on my desk, I pull off my white blazer and drape it over the back of my chair. I smooth down my short pink strapless dress to free it of wrinkles after being crouched behind the camera all day and grab my sunglasses and wallet, needing my double espresso badly. I’ve had clients since nine this morning, and all I want to do is go home and relax by the pool with James.

  “Ashley, when’s my next shoot?” I ask, walking down the hall to the front reception area of my studio.

  “In fifteen minutes,” she answers as she hangs up the phone after booking another photo shoot.

  One more shoot for the day.

  Thank God.

  “Okay. I’m just going to run and get a coffee. Can I get you anything?” I stop at the reception desk to scan the appointment book.

  “No, thank you. I’ve got my water.” She lifts her clear water bottle. “I’m trying to kick the whole caffeine thing.”

  “You’re definitely stronger than I am.” I chuckle as I read off the name of my last client. “Lily Marks. If she’s early, tell her to wait in the reception area,” I say as I straighten up and head for the door.

  “Will do.”

  I opened my studio, Aria Photography, over ten months ago, just two months after we moved up here. Aria is my middle name. Brie Aria Malone. My mother is French, and my father is Italian. The space I’ve leased is beautiful with golden hardwoods with white accents, glass tables, and simple clean-cut lines. The lighting is dim with large opaque bulbs and modern Italian fixtures. My office is private with honeycomb blinds that cover the glass so I can look through my photos and film at my large mahogany desk in solitude and rest my eyes between shoots.

  The lease is up in a couple of months, and I hope to buy it from the landlord. With James’ salary and the success of my business, I don’t see why it can’t happen this year instead of next year. I didn’t anticipate my business taking off like this, but thanks to all the online advertising and word of mouth, my dream of owning a successful photography studio is becoming a reality.

  There’s something about capturing moments in time that brings joy to my heart. There’s a story behind every photo. Birth, bliss, love, and desire. I’ve seen it all behind the lens. Loving couples, doting parents, and happy families. I recall my eighth birthday when my parents gave me my first camera. What started off as a hobby growing up has now transformed into my livelihood.

  Photography became my obsession throughout high school, along with my first serious boyfriend, Carter, whom I met my sophomore year. I was assigned to take pictures of the football games for the school newspaper when he noticed me. He was at the top of his class and the star quarterback, already being hounded by colleges for his football prowess.

  He was tall and charismatic with a gorgeous smile and dark brown hair and green eyes. He had the world at his feet, and he wanted me, the girl always hiding behind the camera. All the girls wanted him, especially Julia Patterson. She tried so hard to come between us during the two years Carter and I dated. With a popular boyfriend, friends, and parties, my life was where any girl wanted it to be, but then it all shattered the night of the bonfire. I never quite looked at relationships the same way after that night.

  Heartbreak is devastating. I fell into a deep sadness, believing something was wrong with me. I didn’t realize the extent of my obsession with him until I lost him. That’s what some friends said of the photos I took of him on the football field, at practice, and pretty much everywhere. He was my muse, and it was difficult to let go, but I had to. Why would I want to continue being with someone who betrayed me that way? The last I heard of him was the New York Giants had drafted him, and he moved to New York City.

  Sighing, I shake my head of the old memories, throw on my sunglasses, and head outside into the sultry summer afternoon and blend into the sea of people. I proceed to the Starbucks,where my college eye candy is behind the counter waiting for me.

  “Hi, Mrs. Fleming.” He grins, widening his eyes as he slides the double shot of espresso already in the paper cup.”The usual.”

  “David, I told you about using ‘Mrs. Fleming.’ I’m not much older than you,” I reply, removing my sunglasses. Looking up, I see his eyes float over my body in admiration. I don’t know what it means.

  Stop playing dumb. It’s called flirting. He’s attracted to you.

  I can’t be more than six years older than him. Everyone says I can pass for twenty-four.

  Did I do something different today? My hair? Makeup?

  I drop my chin to my chest, noticing my dress does enhance my cleavage nicely. Trying to break the anxiety building in my stomach, I open my wallet and grab my credit card to pay for my coffee. Maybe this flirting thing has gone too far. I clear my throat and stare at the contents of my wallet while ignoring the part of me that is enjoying the attention.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “This one’s on me.” He leans across the counter as I go to hand him my credit card. I can smell the scent of his cologne as his gray eyes skim down the front of my dress. Yes, I admit he is very handsome. I don’t want to have to stop coming here, so I make it a point to place my left hand onto the counter so he can see the enormous rock on my finger that I don’t think he can afford by working at Starbucks. He doesn’t care or doesn’t bother looking down at my hand. His eyes are still pinned on me.

  “You look nice today, Brie,” he says. “Pink is your color.”

  My name slides off his tongue like warm melted chocolate. Perhaps, having him call me Mrs. Fleming isn’t so bad after all.

  “Thank you,” I force out.

  I don’t know what to do or say since his behavior is so sudden it makes my head spin. He went from being a sweet Boy Scout to a confident cocky man overnight. Was it something I said? Something I did? I’m questioning myself again. I have to get out here. I grab my coffee and smile politely before I turn to leave.

  “See you tomorrow,” he says from behind me.

  I exit the Starbucks and inhale a breath of fresh air before I blow on my espresso and take a sip. One thing about David is that he does make the best espressos, but now with the awkwardness of the moment, I may have to go elsewhere to get my caffein
e fix or I can suck it up and pretend it never happened. I hate being forced to make changes when I’ve grown accustomed to my routine.

  I plop my sunglasses on my nose and check the time on my watch, noting I have ten minutes. Walking down the crowded sidewalk, I cross the street to the florist shop to purchase a bouquet of flowers for the studio and feed this extreme curiosity of mine. I’ve come here a few times to buy flowers, but now, I see this place differently. The enigmatic Mason comes here. His girlfriend is here. This is insane.

  Why is Mason suddenly taking over my thoughts?

  I don’t answer the question because I have no answer.

  The florist shop has been here a while. I remember how James’ mother complained about it, telling me that I wasn’t going to get my wedding bouquet from here because she had a bad experience with the owner, so we ended up going a town over to get fresh flowers. That’s Barbara Fleming. She spared no expense for the wedding. Everything was immaculate, down to the toothpicks. Regardless of Mrs. Fleming’s experience, Lily of the Meadow looks to be doing really well. As a small business owner, that is a promising sign for my own business.

  Needless to say, standing in front of this place evokes other memories of James’ old friend that used to appear every time he was in town. He never told me her name. I didn’t want to know her name. All I wanted was for her to go away, and she did. Where she went, I don’t know, but wherever she is, I hope she’s happy and has found a man she can call her own.

  I stroll inside the colorful airy shop. White wicker furniture, brick-colored slate floors that match the exposed brick wall, extravagant floral arrangements set atop glass tables, and freshly cut tulips greet me. I browse around for a couple of minutes and select a vibrant bouquet of pink hydrangeas and make my way to the register. My senses are on high alert, especially my tired eyes, which have now perked up when Mason’s girlfriend appears from the back carrying a bunch of white lilies. I’ve always exchanged pleasantries with her and an older woman the few times I’ve been here, but I’ve never lingered to chat. Today I feel compelled to talk as I get a glimpse of her name on the tag pinned to her yellow blouse. Cindy.