TWENTY-SEVEN
AARON
What does a day in the life of a normal person look like?
I don’t ask that to be a dick. I ask because I genuinely had no clue what time Gemma would be heading off to the library today, so I got to her place at five-eighteen on the dot, to be safe.
It’s almost eight-thirty now, and I’ve yet to lay eyes on her, so I’m starting to think “Nine to Five” isn’t just the name of the best song Dolly Parton ever did. Maybe that’s, like, a normal person’s schedule?
Most days I don’t have to be on set until eight forMidnight Empire, but on movies, it’s not uncommon for the call time to be pre-dawn. My earliest was three-thirty, but those are kinda rare. I wanted to be safe, so I went with earlier rather than later for her, but I think I was wrong.
Still, I haven’t minded waiting out here. Since seeing her yesterday—her hearing me out—those words she threw at me on my way out (not only that she broke up with him, but that she wanted me to know she did), nothing can kill this buoyancy inside me. It’s deep within my soul, no getting rid of that hope that sprouted, settled in and took root. It’s done nothing but grow overnight.
My hand cramps, tired of holding the same pose for half of the last three hours. I ignore its complaining, just transfer its contents to my other hand (also sore, mind you), and tell it to fuck off and not fuck this up.
I’d rather not be able to use my hand for the next week than ruin her first glimpse of me today. The first day of the rest of our lives, if I’m luckier than I deserve.
From my vantage point in front of the walkway to her front door, I can’t even see her bedroom to know if a light was turned on yet, so I keep waiting. I’ve stood around sets for days. This is nothing. (The numbness in my feet disagrees, but who’s listening to those fuckers anyway?)
At last, the sound of a lock clicking, a knob turning noisily, and her door swings open.
My breath lurches in my chest. This is the first time I’ve been able to take her in since I’ve realized the things I’ve realized. Since I started apologizing and made my intentions clear. Since we’re both, finally, single. I’m not wasting this opportunity to absorb as much of her as I can.
My eyes soak in her appearance, admiring the simplicity of my same old Gem with this newfound elegance that lookssogood on her. She’s wearing these kinda tight, not-quite-dark blue jeans, with this tan sweater that looks huge on her, but in a good way. It swallows her frame, highlights how delicate her features are, how tiny her body is, makes her look so feminine I have a hard time standing here and keeping my hands to myself. Not sure how I missed her beauty all these years, if I’m being honest with myself, and with you. Starting to think I must’ve been actively denying it to not have had it slap me upside the head sooner. She’s got these knee-high, brown leather boots on that I’d do a lot of awful things for the chance to take off of her. Her keys jangle in hand as she backs out of the house, locking the door behind her, and when she turns around to start headingto her car (more onthatmonstrosity later), she finally notices me.
I lean forward, off of my G-Wagen, and walk up the sidewalk, stopping at the bottom of the three little stairs that lead up to her entrance.
She shoves her dark sunglasses up on top of her head, giving me full viewing rights to that gorgeous face, and I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my own in response. Even though she looks like she might slash my face with those keys she’s clutching tightly. A small burst of satisfaction hits me when I spy the key to my house, my life, on her ring there, peeking out of the side of her fist.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t come back until I asked you to.”
Oh yeah, she’s definitely still pissed at me.
“Breaking promises already?” The smile she gives me is zero sweet and all sour. If there were teeth involved, it might actually give me nightmares.
“I don’t plan on breaking another promise to you, Gem. Ever.” I flash her a smile of my own, and she rolls her eyes. “If you recall, I promised not to comeinsideyour house until you invited me in again.” I wave my free hand at the sidewalk still separating us. “As you can see, I amoutsideyour house. Ergo, promise kept.”
The smirk might have been a tad too much for her, but being on speaking terms with her is making me a little high on life right now, can you blame me?
“Did you really think you wouldn’t see me so soon, Gem? You’re not getting rid of me that easily, baby.” My confidence surges when her cheeks pinken at the endearment. “I’ll be here for whatever you need. Like coffee.” I gesture toward her with the paper cup in my hand, which she takes reluctantly and brings to her lips. “Vanilla latte, half sweet, just how you li—” butmy description is cut short by the cartoon-like sight and sounds of her gagging when the coffee hits her tongue. Her slight frame twists to the side rapidly and she spits the coffee out into the grass, holding the cup as far away from her person as possible, making noises that would be comical if they weren’t coming from the woman I love nearly puking her guts out (again) at something I gave her.
“Aaron! What the fuck! This is cold—it’s disgusting!” Her mouth seems to be rejecting her tongue, which is doing a series of moves last seen by Simone Biles in the summer Olympics in an effort to get the taste off itself.
One of my hands comes up to the back of my neck, scratching my hairline there. “Yeah, well, it’s a few hours old now…” I trail off.
“A few hours? How long have you been here, you psycho stalker?”
Not exactly the response I was expecting at my romantic gesture, if I’m honest, but it can only go up from here, right?
“I didn’t know what time you started work,” I offer in defense, shrugging and lifting my arms up with the motion.
“Nine,” she says coldly, handing me the coffee back and crossing her arms in front of her chest protectively. Like she’s trying to keep me out of her heart or some shit. Tough crowd.
“Roger that,” I reply cheerily. “Not five-thirty then. So eight-thirty tomorrow good?”
She rolls her eyes again, pursing her lips in annoyance. “You’re not going to bring me coffee every morning are you? This isn’t some montage from a rom-com where you bring me coffee for thirty days and suddenly everything is going to be fine between us.”
She starts walking toward her car—that old as fuck, half-decrepit, if well-kept thing—and I keep pace with her easily, our strides in sync like we’ve always been.
