Sunday was like a race to touch and kiss and be together as much as we could. We took a short run and came back for Harriette, walking to get some coffee and a muffin to split. Exercise meant something different to Layton. It wasn’t about control like it was for me; it was about release. Letting go of the past and being a better person.
It was hard not to get swept up in the emotions and lose myself in the raw beauty of him. Lord knows, I’d been lost in him for two glorious days and I was a goner.
We showered when we got home—not together because we’d probably still be in the shower if we did, and afterward, Layton wanted to show me his studio.
It was the most amazing place I’d ever seen. Wood paneled with soundproof padding on two walls. A huge steel L-shaped desk, tons of audio equipment with lots and lots of buttons. He sat me on his lap and placed a set of headphones over my head.
When he flicked a switch, something hoarse and feely filled my ears. A song for lovers, lyrics that were like tears. Instruments played in the background, but it was the words that captured my attention.
It was a lullaby about warm, sticky nights and twisted sheets and hearts.
Our fingers weave together, gripping palms and fingernails, the sheets twisted around our legs, our souls tangled in one another. I can’t ever let go, my heart would shrivel and die, the sheets would evaporate with the world around me... the singer crooned.
“That’s for my next project. It’s an epic love story. The book sold millions of copies and now it’s a movie. This is for the scene where they break up. You know, before they get their happy ending.”
“It’s ... wow ... it takes my breath away. Play it again.”
He did and we kissed, his hands holding my face tight to his, cupping my cheeks as he made love to my mouth.
And then it was time to go to the airport.
I felt like the sheet was pulled out from under me. My heart shriveled like a prune, just like the song said.
Long kisses and hurried moments—that’s how we spent April and May. Layton came to me next and then I went back to him, both of us delaying going to the airport until the last final second.
This long-distance romance was both all-consuming and freeing. I couldn’t stop thinking of Layton, yet I’d never felt better about myself. It wasn’t only him, although he was the one who got me thinking .. . the man behind my life change. He didn’t even know it, but he was.
Seated in 2D, he’d altered the course of my life, pushed over the first domino until all the other tiles fell, and I was writing. Really doing it, and happy. Blissfully at peace.
Except I missed Layton. His scent, touch, and rich laugh were all I was hungry for ... and ice cream. I was eating it daily, and I didn’t care. It was all part of the new me—Charli v. 2.0.
Oh, a small piece of me belonged to Harriette. That dog, she actually made me want to go to California. Her floppy ears, fur everywhere, and sweet eyes (much like her owner), the way she padded around after me, laid at the foot of the bed or the threshold to the bathroom. She was woven into my heart.
Janie was shocked, and I didn’t care. My best friend rode it out, accepting all my new nuances. She couldn’t help but notice my happiness. I was like a unicorn these days—shooting out rainbows and sparkly stars, that was me.
Me!
In June, Layton and I took a few days off and had a staycation in New York. I locked up my apartment and we checked into Layton’s hotel, the one he stayed at when he visited the city.
“Let’s paint this place with a better memory than you rushing out on me,” he whispered in my ear as we crossed the threshold to a suite.
The air outside was humid and the city quiet while everyone escaped to the Hamptons. We didn’t care.
Holed up inside our small bubble, Layton played a playlist from his iPod while we lazed in bed, leaving only to take a run or eat. The restaurants weren’t crowded and we lingered at the table, laughing and talking. Mostly staring into each other’s eyes and holding hands.
On our last night, we escaped to an Italian bistro and shared a bottle of red and a plate of pasta. Tucked in next to each other in a booth, we didn’t even bother with two forks.
“Remember when we had sushi but we didn’t share a plate? This is better,” Layton said as he pulled me in tight.
He kissed my ear, his breath garlicky from the food and grapey from the wine. I grabbed his cheek and kissed his lips. A closed-mouth kiss, soft and tender, trying to say what I wanted.
Don’t go. Stay.
How could I ask that?
I couldn’t.
The questions loomed. Where was this going? When would it end? Who would be more brokenhearted?
