Love on Hold Page 14

  After the accident, Joel and I fell into a new routine. We were together at the children’s hospital, had study sessions over coffee, and had been together almost every night. I didn’t know why I had postponed having a romantic relationship for so long. Falling asleep tangled with your besotted was one of the best feelings in the world.

  I squinted my eyes, exiting the UN building in Washington, looking for him. I saw his athletic body on a bench and sped toward him. His face lit up and he lifted from his seat, searing my lips with a hot and wet kiss.

  “How did it go?”

  “Better than I expected!” I couldn’t contain my excitement. “There is a Middle Eastern languages interpreter going on maternity leave at the end of June. She is taking at least one year of unpaid leave, wants to stay with her child. Is this meant to be, or what?”

  His eyes mirrored my joy.

  “So, you will be starting right away?”

  I nodded, and considered we’d never had that definitive discussion, covering all of our bases and understanding what would happen to us once school was over. He seemed more relaxed than I was, though.

  “Great,” he said and then kissed me.

  We remained still in our embrace, and he rested his forehead on my shoulder.

  “Leonie?” he said.

  Okay. Here came the moment. We would talk about our relationship status. The day I was meeting one of my first career goals was the day my first real relationship would come to a halt. I lifted my hand.

  “Hold up, before you say anything.”

  He raised his head and stood still in front of me, all six foot two of gorgeous. He lifted a brow and waited for me.

  “I love you, Joel.”

  Was that joy or relief on his face?

  “I didn’t want to be in love with you for the longest time,” I went on. “But I can’t not be in love with you. The world makes no sense without you, and maybe that opens me up to a world of hurt, but living in your absence hurts me infinitely more. Stop me from babbling, would you?”

  He hugged me closer to him.

  “Love you too, Sweetness.”

  “Okay. You can kiss me.” I gave him a wobbly smile, but he didn’t move to fill the request. He just shook his head.

  “I have something I would like to tell you too,” he said. “I think we’ll need to stay in DC for one extra day.”

  “What?”

  If he drew this out any longer, I was going to lose it. He just needed to say whatever he needed to say and put me out of my misery.

  “I had a phone interview at The Post, and they want to see me for a face-to-face interview,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Oh my gosh!” I hit his chest. “How could you keep this from me? That is freaking amazing!”

  He chuckled.

  “I didn’t want to say anything until we knew something for sure about your position. There are newspapers all over the country. There is only one Leonie.”

  I felt like my feet were melting and went closer to him.

  “It’s just a junior writer position, and I’ve had assignments from my chief editor for the past couple of months, which are what I’ve been working on.”

  I clapped my hands and squealed again.

  “This is amazing! Does your dad know?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I applied and wasn’t immediately told the position was filled … that he does …”

  I held on to him and squeezed his waist.

  “And just so you know, I’m not giving up the blog. I think we’re onto something, and I will drill down on those cases until I can at least help one person.”

  “I can’t wait to tell Aunt Theresa about all of this!”

  “Well? What are you waiting for? Call her.” He nudged my side. “While you’re at it, call Amaya too. Call every person in the world and talk their ears off. But then, we’re shutting off our phones. I need you all to myself,” he said, his eyes still filled with mirth.

  The beauty of all the new beginnings and possibilities ahead of us was overwhelming.

  “Kiss me, Joel,” I asked him. And that time, he listened.

  Epilogue

  “Yes.”

  JOEL

  Two Years After Graduation

  I watched Leonie smile in her sleep. I’d spent years watching her sleep, and I would never get enough. When I was by her side, I understood the meaning of the word “enraptured.” It totally made sense how people made sacrifices and plundered and murdered in the name of love.

  I wanted to kiss her eyelids and mouth so badly it was borderline painful not to, but I knew that she’d wake up, and I wasn’t ready yet.

  As carefully as I could, I slipped the ring on her finger and found it fit perfectly. I stilled, holding my breath and making sure she didn’t stir. Once I was positive she wasn’t going to ruin my plan, I slid from the bed and tiptoed into the kitchen, unraveling the velvet ribbon that was tied to her ring, as gently as I could as I went.

  Then I took a deep breath to calm my frantic heartbeats, straightened my shoulders, and lightly pulled on the rope. I felt it move.

  “Joel?” I heard her sleepy voice call.

  “Oh my God!” she called, her voice clearer and louder. She’d seen the ring.

  I didn’t answer. I waited for her to catch on to what was happening and follow the cord to me. I felt the rope move in my hands and, as Leonie was approaching, I knew what she would see.

  A snapshot of our first texts back and forth. The first, sexy but headless pic she’d sent me of herself. My dick pick, which I was still damn proud of. A selfie of us walking Glue in Escondido. A pic of us in our graduation robes. A collage of the last three Pajama-Thanksgivings we’d had with Theresa. Our trips to Europe. My first article in The Post. Leonie’s promotion letters. Leonie, Amaya, Levi, and me drinking cocktails during one of our yearly reunions.

  She stepped into the hallway, a stack of photos in one hand and a ring-clad hand pressed against her lips. Slowly, she bent to pick up another picture.

  Three years had passed since this magnificent woman entered my life by mistake, and I couldn’t imagine breathing without her. My heart pounded in my chest, and I almost called out her name, almost yanked the ribbon to get her to move faster. I needed to see the light in those gorgeous eyes. All mine.

  Seconds ticked by like eons, and she finally reached me. Lifting her drop-dead gorgeous face to mine, she gave me that dazzling smile I couldn’t have enough of. That was my cue. I sank to my knees, her eyes following mine.

  “Oh my God, baby!” Her words were laced with emotion.

  “Leonie. Sweetness,” I started and felt myself choking from all the feelings. She lifted her arms and clung to my neck, her gaze never dropping from mine. “I didn’t even know that I was lost until I found you. You make me a better person every minute that we’re together. You couldn’t be more perfect for me if I’d designed you myself. I want all my mornings to start with you. I need all my nights to end by your side. Let me give you everything you ever wished for, and give me the gift of becoming my wife.”

  “Oh, Joel, I love you so much! Yes.”

  Like that morning in front of the hospital, she jumped up and down on every other word and punctuated her elation with a small squeal before I caught her in my arms, and she wrapped her legs around my hips, circling my shoulders in a tight grip. I could drown in her eyes and die happy.

  Like that night at Halloween, her mouth covered mine in a kiss that made the world around us come to a stop.

  THE END

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Leonie and Joel’s story. I set out to write a darker book, but it came out light and sweet. My intention was to entertain you, and I hope I have achieved that goal.

  I’d love to hear your thoughts about Love, on Hold!

  If you have a few moments to leave a review, I’d be incredibly grateful.

  Send me a link at authormia@miamillerbooks.com, and I’ll than
k you with a personal note.

  XO

  Mia

  P. S.

  Keep reading, for an excerpt of my upcoming book.

  Acknowledgments

  There were a few people who generously volunteered their time in helping me during the creation and strengthening of the world in Love, on Hold.

  My editor, Ashley, you are a gift sent from above. I was truly fortunate to find someone with your experience and your incredible light, but firm, touch.

  Renita and Curtis of A Book A Day – it was great to see your reactions to my little world (and receive the associated corrections during developmental phase. Thank you!

  My alpha and beta readers – Ramona, Seb, Mihaela, Irina, Kasey, Clare, Emily: you rock!

  Special thanks to Noelle who gave me (and Joel) the tough love we needed.

  Kimmy – thank you for taking the plunge with me. ;-)

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  Truly Yours

  PROLOGUE

  (Subject to change)

  The boy slouched his shoulders and looked at his reflection in the water. His feet were dangling above the small pond, and he seemed forgetful of his surroundings. He didn’t hear the shrieks and taunts of the other boys and didn’t see the stones that were being thrown in his direction. They didn’t hit him. Yet. They just threw them near enough for him to stop ignoring them. They’d been chanting something, and at first, I didn’t understand it, but when I got within earshot, I was horrified.

  “Ginger - minger

  What’s that carrot top?

  Ginger - minger,

  Satan’s ugly tot!”

  I realized they were saying those ugly things because of his hair. It was reddish-brown, and then, under the sun, it looked like a flame over his head, maybe because he had a set of hair that looked wild, and longer than that of kids our age.

  A rock thudded next to him, close to his hands extended backwards and only then did he look back to the other boys. How dare they? I skipped the last few steps to the pond and picked it up. I threw it in their general direction, as far as I could. They looked like they would pee themselves laughing at my attempt.

  “Mrs. Williams is coming. She’s just behind me with some other teachers!” I hollered in their direction.

  They looked to the trail I’d appeared from, but the trees were too close together to make out anyone. Mrs. Williams and the other teachers were so far behind me that the boys had time to stone both of us under the water if they wanted to. Luckily, they took leave and went towards the soccer field, to find a new victim for their stupid songs.

  I sat near the boy and dangled my feet above the pond too. There were tadpoles in the shallow water, and I guessed that was what he was looking at so carefully, before. Now, he was looking at me. The sun was in my eyes if I turned fully to face him, but I tried to make out his features. He was the first redheaded person I was seeing outside of a TV set. He was also the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen in my twelve years of life. His skin looked a little transparent, and he had freckles all over his face. Come to think of it; I’d never seen freckles either. But it was his eyes that gripped me. They looked like they were made out of gold. I didn’t even know what the name of that color could be, but I wanted to paint it.

  “I can take care of myself, you know,” he said, and he looked back to the creatures with their black wavy tails.

  “I know, I did it for me. I don’t like them,” I scrunched my nose and shrugged.

  He turned his head abruptly and smiled at me.

  “I’m Delia,”I said, extending my hand. He took it and looked at our handshake.

  “Most people call me Oshy, but to you, I am Oscar,” he murmured.

  “I’m twelve. And you?” I asked, wanting to keep the conversation going, and also because momma was always pestering me about being able to strike conversations with anyone.

  “Same.”

  “What field are you in?” I asked him and started moving my feet at the same rhythm as he did.

  “Music. You?”

  “Drawing. What do you play?”

  “Piano,” he said faintly.

  We were quiet after that, and I looked at the watch momma had given me as a present right before I left for Art Camp.

  “Do you think they mind it?” Oscar asked after a few good minutes, breaking the silence abruptly.

  “What?”

  “Those peepers,” he said, nodding towards the water. “Do you think they mind being so alike?”

  “I don’t think they can tell,” I answered, trying to remember if a frog had a brain or not.

  He picked up one of the rocks that had landed in his vicinity and threw it towards the water surface, making it jump. One, two, three times. I squealed with delight.

  “How did you do that?” I asked him, which caused a small smirk.

  He showed me how to hold the rock, and how to throw it using just your wrist and fingers. We raced in making splashes, but my rocks never jumped more than once. He promised to practice with me for the rest of the camp.

  I had been very happy getting to Camp, two weeks prior to that. It had been all I’d thought about in the upcoming year, and it had proved to be worth the wait, since the workshops, and the games and the courses I’d participated to had helped me learn new techniques and produce some pieces I was proud of.

  There were kids from all over the country there, and I remember my mom saying we were close to 2000. We were eating in multiple cafeterias, in different shifts, and we reported to our cabin counselors three times per day. We had mandatory activities during morning for the art of our choosing. There were games and sports activities, and also swimming, and hiking and scavenger hunts. I made a lot of friends, but none of them were like Oscar. He was wittier, funnier, and better than anyone else. We didn’t meet every day, but we tried to go to as many activities together as possible. He went to swim practice most afternoons, he’d just started swimming that summer, and I sometimes went along and taught him how to float. In return, he taught me how to whistle. He was sharp, and he knew a lot of stuff about history and geography, so any group we were in won at trivia. There was a music competition one night, and I put on the prettiest dress I had with me and sat in the first row, listening to him play. He chose a modern song that had just come out, ‘Paparazzi,’ only he slowed it down a lot. I’d never heard live piano played before, and the way his fingers moved over the keys was mesmerizing. I thought he was the most talented friend I had. Then he added his voice to the key strokes, and his tone simply commanded the whole room. I remember looking at everyone in the room from the corner of my eye, and almost almost all the kids had their mouths open in admiration. I remember a teacher whispering to someone behind me ‘what an old soul he was.’ But most of all, I remember how my whole skin was covered in goosebumps, and my heart was racing to get out of my chest.

  The next week, we’d gone swimming, and a few kids had stayed on the pier long after the classes were over, enjoying the orange sun melting towards the forest. I was bent over my sketch pad, my palms covered in charcoal. I was upset that I covered five new pages with things I didn’t want to show to anyone, and I had an assignment due the next morning. I just didn’t like my results. Oscar was reading somewhere near my feet and, without warning, raised himself on his shins and touched my forehead, right between my eyebrows, with his long finger. I unfurled my eyebrows, not even having known I was so tense.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked me.

  “I can’t find inspiration!” I said and wondered at the pitch of my own voice.

&
nbsp; “What’s the homework?”

  “Beauty,” I said, making a face.

  He seemed to think about it, but just for a second or two, and his hand wondered to my curls. I watched fascinated the finger with smooth, pale skin, contrasting against my black mane of hair, as he took one of my frizzy strands and circled it around his index.

  “Have you ever done a self-portrait? I’ve never seen hair like yours,” he murmured.

  I guffawed, but inside I was so happy. Oscar thought I was beautiful. I couldn’t remember when anyone besides my family said that, and they had to believe so. In fact, I hadn’t thought of myself as that at all. I was taller than most boys I knew, except for Oscar who was exactly my height. It was normal since my dad looked like a giant and my brother was already taller than mom, but I didn’t find it an advantage. I was flat as a board, and I didn’t think I had anything girly about me, but for my black curly hair. Which Oscar was now admiring. I beamed at him.

  “I think that would be called Narcissism, though, not beauty,” I said.

  He shrugged and lowered his hand.

  “Wait,” I asked him, stricken by a flash of inspiration at that sight. “Give me your hand.”

  He complied, and I held his hand for a little while, our fingers intertwined. I sketched something with just my right hand, and filled it in much later, after the bonfire, in the cabin. I fell asleep on the sketch of hands holding each other, my cheek smudging a portion of the charcoal over the night. But my teacher really liked it, so Oscar helped me with that assignment in a way.

  He came to one of my painting workshops one afternoon and sat next to me. He didn’t paint anything, just watched me mix colors and experiment with the shades.

  “I want to show you something,” I whispered, taking out my sketch pad.

  He took it and started skimming through my drawings.

  “You’re really good, Delia,” he murmured, and I felt my heart swell with pride.

  “Open it at the middle.”

  He looked at the middle pages, which I’d chosen because they offered me a bigger canvas to play with. His brows furrowed for a bit, but then he started chuckling.