Deeply Personal

Chapter 13

Jessica

After they’d said their goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan, Paul and Jessica embraced the cold air outside the restaurant. Groups of people strolled past, and traffic on the street crawled by, congested as it was. The wind whipped up around them as the noise of the city hummed along. With the Buchanans now out of earshot, the two turned to each other, then broke out in a fit of belly laughter. They’d pulled it off. Jessica felt like shouting at the moon. She’d gotten in front of Mr. Buchanan, he was interested in her work, and he hadn’t suspected a thing. She felt as if her feet had left the ground.

“That was great and fantastic and everything else,” she said. Her hair was blowing in the wind. “He’s going to give me a second look. I can’t believe it. I’m shaking. See my hands.” They were trembling. “Thank you so much, Paul. I had no idea this would work out so well.”

She was so excited that she stepped up to him and gave him a hug, allowing her body to press against his, her eyes closed. She couldn’t help it—her adrenaline was pumping. He drew her close as well, wrapping his arms around her.

“Do you really think they bought it? That we were really a couple?” she asked after releasing him.

“So how about that lake house, huh? It sounds pretty awesome,” he said.

“One thing at a time, Mr. Russian Literature.” She forced herself to take a step back and pointed a finger at him. “It’s still a fake date, remember?” she said, mostly to remind herself.

A shadow fell over Paul’s face. He took a step back as well. A horn honked behind them. “Oh, right.”

Jessica felt so confused right now. She was attracted to him for sure. Being so near him, even if just for a moment, had stirred her. This was terrible. Awful. If she was feeling this much attraction on a fake date, what in the world would it be like on a real—

Don’t even think about it!

She had to maintain distance. Distance. Lots of distance. She had to protect her heart. Be strong. Patty Preston strong.

“I was so impressed by how much they care about you,” she said.

“The main thing is he liked your work,” Paul said. “That’s what it’s all about in the end— you impressing him. I was just the go-between. But I may ask for a finder’s fee if this all comes together.”

“We might work something out.” Jessica played with her hair.

He glanced at his watch. “Hey. Would you like to go for a walk? It’s only seven-fifteen. The night’s still young.”

“You mean continue on with our fake date?”

Jessica tried to say no—she really did. This was a business transaction, after all. She tried to open her mouth to remind him, and herself, of the need for distance, but instead, her treacherous lips said, “Sure. Why not?”

Her heart grew soft. His smile, those eyes. His simple, shy, and almost naive honesty. She felt drawn to him, no matter how much she tried to avoid or deny it.

“Okay, then. Let’s just—”

Suddenly, two teens rushed past them on skateboards, pushing their way forward. One of them bumped Jessica, forcing her against Paul. She leaned into him and grabbed onto his jacket sleeve, clinging for support.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going,” Paul called, speaking in a commanding voice and standing tall. He glared at them as Jessica continued holding on to him.

The two boys turned to look at Paul, realized who they were messing with, then quickly ran down the street, skateboards beneath their arms.

“Man! How rude was that?” Paul said.

“Seriously. Didn’t even say sorry.” She finally let go of his jacket. They were just teens, but still. She felt so protected with Paul. And holding his sleeve had left her with the desire to be, well, even closer to him. Dammit, she needed to get a grip.

They strolled down the sidewalk side by side. Tall condos rose, like monoliths, into the sky, and the crowds, the traffic, the lights of the city created a kind of cocoon-like atmosphere that was pleasing to Jessica’s senses. There was something rhythmic in the way their bodies strode together that felt natural and right, felt harmonious.

Passing a chocolate shop and a clothing store, they came to “The Pottery Palace: Wine, Dine, and Design.”

“Ever tried this?” Paul asked, pointing at the store.

Through the large windows, Jessica saw several people inside crafting pottery. In the back of the store, there were potter’s wheels and three people standing together for what looked like a class. The instructor, a tall college-aged woman wearing a gray smock, was talking to them and showing them how to use the wheel.

“I’ve actually tried my hand at it before. So, yes.” Jessica winced within. Adam. She still hadn’t texted him. She’d been avoiding the issue. Or should she just ignore him?

“Want to do it again? It could be fun.” Paul laughed.

“I don’t know . . .”

“Oh, come on,” he said, grabbing Jessica’s hand and pulling her inside. “Live a little.”

“Sure,” Jessica said. “Why not?”

A long-haired man with a beard and a ring in one ear greeted them at the door. He explained the process. “Heather’s just about to start the pottery class, and we had two cancellations, so you’re in luck,” he said. “Tonight we’ll be making salsa bowls.”

“I’ve always wanted to make a salsa bowl,” Jessica said. “Why, just this morning, I woke up with this strange urge, and I looked at the salsa in my cabinet and said to myself—”

“Salsa bowl?” Paul asked.

“You bet!”

Paul laughed as a surge of happiness streamed through Jessica.

“Two for the class, then,” Paul said. “And we’d like to order two glasses of your best red.”

“Perfect.”

He tried to pay for them both, but Jessica took out her card first.

“Are you sure?” Paul asked.

“Fake date, remember? Gotta keep things even, and you paid for the meal. Besides, I owe you for getting me in front of Mr. Buchanan. Way more than a glass of wine. Consider it your finder’s fee.”

“If you insist,” Paul said with a chuckle.

“I insist on my insistence.”

Heather introduced them to their classmates—four women in their forties with bright smiles on their eager faces. The long-haired guy brought them their wine, and Jessica drank hers down quickly. She ordered another one right off.

“ I’m paying for that one,” Paul said, leaning close to her ear and whispering in a way that made it impossible to remind him about the fake date. Something tingly rippled across her skin, and she couldn’t say no.

Paul and Jessica donned their smocks and prepared for the action.

“We want to massage the clay for the best effect possible,” Heather was saying. She had a great theatrical voice, loud and dramatic, as she explained what they would do when they got to their stations. “Always keep it wet and very liquidy,” she said, emphasizing the l . Lllliquidy. “Smoothing and pushing down with your hands, smoothing inward as you exhale, reaching for water as you inhale, keeping it as slippery as you can . . .”

Jessica nudged Paul. “I thought this was a pottery class.”

“You can adjust the centrifugal force at varying speeds,” Heather went on. “Okay, is everyone ready?”

The rest of the class nodded.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Jessica said, a bit too loud. “But I’ll need more wine.”

The group laughed.

The class was paired up, with two people sharing each pottery wheel. Paul and Jessica sat down at the one at the end of the room. Jessica felt stirred by his nearness, his muscular body, his woody cologne, and those eyes of his. Watercolor eyes , she thought, awash in a seascape of blue . Mr. Blue Eyes.

The wine had loosened her up nicely, offering a sweet buzz. Oops. She hadn’t wanted that to happen. It was as if the hand that held her glass had a mind of its own, raising it to her lips, making her drink. She hadn’t drunk alcohol since the night before the Turkey Trot, and now, a sideways grin erupted on her face.

She accidentally brushed against Paul as she reached for more clay. He touched her hand and held it, and her heartbeats quickened with excitement. The clay felt so oozy. It matched the woozy feeling swimming around in her brain now. She had to smile to herself. Finally, here it was: a skill she’d developed with one of her boyfriends finally getting put to good use. Wonders never cease.

A minute later, Jessica dabbed Paul’s nose with a dot of clay. “You look marvelous,” she said, laughing.

He gave her the very same look he’d had on his face when she’d splattered him with whipped cream at the Frothy Monkey. But a second later, he dotted her nose right back. “And you, as well.”

They took selfies with the smudges on their noses, their faces flushed, their smiles as wide and as broad as a clown’s.

Jessica started stoking the clay with her hands, trying to copy the technique the teacher had demonstrated, first making the clay rise into a mountain in the center of the wheel and then squeezing it up in a long, thick, erect . . . erection . . .

Oh, no.

She blushed wildly, then smashed it flat. She looked over at Paul, but it didn’t take a mind reader to know what he was thinking as their eyes met. The way he tilted his head at her said it all.

Oh, God. This was getting out of hand. What was she thinking? She stood and went to use the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face and neck. Party girl stared back at her in the mirror, and she immediately wiped the smile off her face. This was not what she’d planned at all. She needed distance between them.

Distance.

Things were looking too good. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, resolving to settle down and keep things the way they were supposed to be—colleagues on a fake date. But thinking of Paul and those blue eyes of his, she swallowed as a new sensation of warmth rose inside her. This was ridiculous. She felt so confused that she fumbled with the lock on the bathroom stall.

When Jessica returned, she moved away from Paul as they finished their works of art.

“I wonder if this is how Rodin got his start,” Paul said, laughing.

But she didn’t laugh at his joke and he shot her a questioning look.

Finishing up, they handed their creations to the instructor for heating in the kiln. The bowls would be ready tomorrow. Jessica said she could run by and pick them up in a few days since her office wasn’t that far away.

“Ready to go?” she asked with a straight face, clutching her purse.

“Sure.” Paul looked confused and shrugged. “I’m ready if you’re ready.”

“Well, I’m ready,” Jessica said.

Ready for a new relationship? No, she couldn’t be, could she?

***

When they stepped outside, the night air had grown chillier. Jessica was buzzed more than she realized, and when Paul asked if she wanted to sit on a bench for a bit, she agreed. She needed time to sober up.

The wind felt good against her warm face. A couple who appeared to be in their early thirties passed them on the sidewalk, all dressed up, holding hands. There was a glow about them that Jessica envied.

“How did you get into interior design?” Paul asked.

It was nearly nine o’clock now, and there were still many people out on the sidewalks, a party atmosphere in the air.

“By snooping around, I guess.” Jessica gave him a direct look and shrugged. “I just sort of fell into it.”

“Snooping around? What do you mean?”

“My mother was a real estate agent, and she used to take me with her sometimes to all these open houses when I was little. I loved seeing all the latest furnishings and how they were placed in these gorgeous homes with artwork and everything else. Every room was always a masterpiece. I knew right away that’s what I wanted to do. And also, how I wanted to live. And then when my mother left us, it was pretty rough.”

“Your mother left the family?”

“Yep. Pretty much galloped away.”

“How’s that?” He gave her a questioning look.

“She found another man, a rich horse breeder, and rode off with him into the sunset. Left me and my dad and Lenny high and dry.”

“My mother left in a different way,” Paul said, looking away. “She got cancer when I was only nine. When she died, it destroyed me and my dad.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Jessica touched her throat.

“Yeah, broke us up big time.” He rubbed his hands together and looked down, taking a long breath. Then his gazed settled on her face and she noticed a well of sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry for you too.”

A silence ensued, but it was the kind that filled Jessica with a newfound closeness to him. Losing his mother at such a young age. That was the kind of thing people never really got over.

“Is that why you work so hard—so you can afford the finer things?” he asked.

“Partly. I worked part-time at an interior design firm throughout high school, doing whatever needed to be done that no one else had time to do.”

“Like a gofer?”

“Exactly like that. But it was good, because I learned what the industry was all about. I even started my own part-time business putting up wallpaper. Then, after high school, I found a better firm and went from part-time to full-time. I got my degree from the University of Tennessee, and after that, I developed a name for myself and was able to start my own interior design business. My dad loaned me some money to get things off the ground. But I’ve paid him back since then.”

“It’s hard owning your own business, isn’t it?” Paul said.

“You bet. There are some days when I’d gladly just walk out of there if someone would take it over. I’d just give it to them. I swear!”

Paul nodded. “I’ve had those days too. Employees not showing up. Business gets slow. Bills pile up. It’s up and down. Fortunately, I’ve been doing it long enough that I’ve been able to build up a good clientele. And when Travis Trillwell joined, that really increased my business a lot.”

“Travis Trillwell? The country music singer?” Jessica asked, her eyes wide. “How’d he find you?”

“I trained his producer, and he told Travis about me. Next thing I know, I got a call from his assistant, and he showed up early one Monday morning. He’s a great guy.”

“That’s so cool. I’m surprised he doesn’t have someone just come to his house, rich as he is.”

“He had that, but he says he likes getting out and training with other people. He’s a down-to-earth kind of guy.”

“I’ve got an appointment with a big client coming up as well,” Jessica mused.

“Who?”

Jessica’s voice rang with the excitement as she relayed the news. “None less than Mrs. Mildred Dudley Worthmore herself.” The call had come in this morning, and she was so excited she could hardly stand it.

“You mean Worthmore Industries? Isn’t she a billionaire?”

“Yep. She needs some updating for her new home. It’s a marvelous estate. I’ve seen pictures of it.”

“Good for you! See? Maybe you don’t even need Buchanan.”

“I need Buchanan. Trust me.” She touched Paul’s arm. “This one isn’t that big of a job. Just two rooms. But still, if I can get in her good graces . . .”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you ever do advertising?” Jessica asked.

They spent the rest of the evening exchanging business stories—the trials and tribulations. Managing employees, acquiring new customers, advertising, finding good accountants. Jessica was surprised to find they had more in common than she’d anticipated, despite owning very different types of businesses.

“Owning your own business,” Jessica said. “I never really thought I’d be doing that. Who knows what you’re going to end up doing with your life, you know?”

Paul smiled and inched closer to her. “When I was a teen, I was wondering what to do with my life. And so I was walking outside in this field one day and I said, ‘I need a sign. Someone, show me the way. If only there was a sign!’ And you know what happened?”

“What?”

“I looked up into the sky, and just at that moment, a UPS advertising balloon flew past overhead. It said, ‘UPS . . . now hiring!’ True story!”

“Did you go to work for UPS?”

“Nope. Wound up with a job at a sports equipment store. Didn’t last long, though.”

Jessica laughed hard at that. Still sitting on the bench, their bodies grazed against each other’s, knees brushing knees.

Paul turned to her, and his gaze ran all over her face as if he were memorizing each and every feature. “You’re an interesting woman, Jessica Chandler, you know that?” His voice grew soft.

“I am?”

“Very interesting.”

“And you’re interesting too, Paul.” The words dropped from her mouth, words that sprang from her heart.

It was true. Though maybe fascinating was a better word.

A cold wind whipped past her ears, and they stood and started walking again, strolling out into the night. Jessica felt exhilarated. She couldn’t deny it—she hated liking him this much. Her feelings were walking her straight into the danger zone, where relationships became deeper, stronger, but also far more fraught with the possibility of hurting her.

“Oh, look. Another one of those pedal taverns! They’re all over the place!” Paul said, pointing at about six or seven females—bachelorettes, no doubt—dressed alike in pink sweatshirts and white cowboy hats, on a mobile rigged-up tavern with a bar. The participants were pedaling as they drank, and a muscly, college-aged guy was steering as the tavern moved down the street and music blared.

As they looked at the women, Jessica and Paul leaned closer to each other, and soon they were so close that Jessica could feel the heat of his nearness, his warm breath caressing the side of her face. The pedal tavern passed, and Paul put his arm around her. Jessica swallowed. She knew she should put a stop to this.

And yet, he felt so strong, they felt so natural and good and . . .

All she could do was lapse into silence as they continued walking, joined together. The feel of his body . . . She thought about his mother leaving his family, her mother leaving her family.

They were approaching Annie’s House again and stopped walking at the corner.

“I guess I need to go. This was so fun, truly,” Jessica said, pushing some hair off her face. “I’m sorry I got a bit rowdy doing the pottery.”

“I don’t think you got rowdy enough.” Paul let his arm collapse to his side. He stepped closer to her.

“Sometimes you just have to let loose,” she agreed.

Paul whispered in her ear, sending tingles throughout her body, “I actually loved it when you let loose.”

She turned to him, her breath quickening, blood pulsating in her ears. Paul bent down and angled his lips to meet hers. They kissed, tongues sliding to meet, and Jessica, eyes closed, felt herself inching down that slippery slope of letting herself go—but then she froze. What was she thinking?

An emotional brick wall slammed down, and she pulled away. Distance, remember?

“I can’t,” she said as she put a hand on his chest. It took all her self-control to do it, and she felt muted inside, as if she’d been forced to turn down her feelings like people turned down the volume on their radios.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “It’s just that I was, I don’t know, feeling a vibe. And I thought you—”

She needed to get it out once and for all. She had to stand her ground and protect her heart. “You see,” Jessica said, gathering her courage. “This guy broke up with me about six months ago, and it was a pretty intense relationship, and, basically, I—well, I took it hard, too hard, and it’s made me very vulnerable and fragile, and honestly . . .”

Paul moved back from her, creating an empty cavern of space between them.

“It was horrible, and anyway,” she went on, taking another breath, another plunge, “I just don’t have it in me to start another relationship with someone new right now. And I’m so busy at work, and my life is one big, gigantic whir, and—”

“Bad timing. I get it.” Paul rubbed his forehead, then looked away.

Words left her. They fell into the kind of silence two people shared at the end of a stalemated chess game. No one won. It felt like such a letdown after their great evening.

“Are you good to drive?” Paul asked. He suddenly looked tired.

Jessica felt miserable and confused and everything else. She hated disappointing him. But even worse, it also felt like she was turning off a part of her that needed to breathe again, a part that had been silenced and choked down for too long.

“I’m good. The walk sobered me up. Cold air, you know?” she said.

Paul blinked. “Okay, then.” He sighed. “I guess I’ll see you later. Let me know when my project is ready to start.”

All she could offer was a soft, “Will do.”

As she headed to her car, she turned around hoping to catch one more glimpse of Paul. But he was already gone.