Passion in Portland 2016 Anthology Read online

  Becky and Ryan had met her sophomore year of college. He was just about to graduate and had already lined up a job at a big CPA firm, staying in Eugene. I’d left school the year before and had loved my experience in the college town so much that I’d stayed. It was home and I enjoyed everything it had to offer. Plus, I loved being near Becky and wasn’t ready to return to Portland just yet.

  They were married just six months later, right before Becky started her junior year, and bought their first home right after Becky told me she was pregnant with Kimmy. She managed to continue school with a newborn, graduating with a degree in Elementary Education, and had been a stay-at-home mom ever since. She was truly happy with her life and I was truly happy for her. But in being so, I realized how much my own life was lacking.

  She didn’t understand when I suggested, in passing, that it might be time to return to Portland.

  “You can’t leave!” she insisted. “Eugene is your home!”

  “I’m not sure I have a home,” I shrugged. “I mean, yes, I’m comfortable here, but I’m not sure this is home anymore.”

  And I wasn’t. If I were comfortable, I wouldn’t have felt so… so restless.

  Within three weeks I’d found a newly-converted large studio loft apartment in the Pearl District, in a hip and trendy part of north Portland. There were restaurants galore and all the shopping I needed within walking distance. And if I did want to venture out further, public transportation was easily accessible. The automobile expenses for my car were going to drop substantially.

  It was difficult to leave Eugene. After all, it had been my home for nine years. I’d made good friends and had a comfortable routine, but I was excited at the prospect of moving to a new place and experiencing new things and making new memories.

  Becky cried when we’d finished loading the small U-Haul truck with all my stuff. She hugged me like she would never see me again and I chuckled as I felt her tear-stained cheeks brush against my neck.

  “We’ll see each other all the time,” I promised.

  Ryan and his friend, Adam, drove the truck and I followed behind in my car that I’d filled with my clothes and all my bedding. Ryan was a good brother-in-law and I was grateful for his help. Not only did he and his buddy haul all my furniture and boxes down two flights of stairs and load the truck in Eugene, they unloaded the truck and hauled them up to my new apartment on the fifth floor in Portland, although there was a nice big elevator, for which they were extremely grateful.

  I offered to buy them a pizza and a couple of beers, but Ryan declined, saying he needed to get back home. They’d placed my sofa and chairs in what I’d determined as the living room, the small, new table and chairs in the dining area next to the brand new kitchen, my bed and dressers in the opposite corner, now the bedroom, the bed frame set up and box springs and mattress ready to be made up, and my desk and office stuff in my new office space. All the boxes had been placed in their respective areas, according to the writing on the outside of the boxes. There really wasn’t anything else to do.

  “Thank you,” I said as I gave him a loving hug. “I appreciate it. Really.”

  “That’s what family is for,” he smiled and returned the hug. “See you soon?”

  “For sure,” I nodded.

  And then they were gone and I was all alone.

  ~~~~~

  Even though the words alone and lonely are similar, they are far from similar in meaning. I was alone in my new home – a state of physical being – nobody around me – all by myself. And it was okay. I had things to do, lots of things to do.

  I started in the bathroom and put up my black and white shower curtain, the Eiffel Tower majestically filling the vinyl, and emptied a tote filled with shampoo, conditioner, candles, gels and lotions, and placed them around the edges of the bath tub. I sat my toothbrush, in its brushed-chrome cup, on the counter next to the sink and filled the drawers with all of my hair products, blow dryer, curling irons, a hair straightener, make-up and towels. Then I moved to the side of the loft that was to function as my bedroom and made up the bed with new crisp white cotton sheets, my lavender duvet and a dozen decorative pillows. Excessive, I know, but I love pillows and manage to buy them whenever I’m in a department store or Bed Bath and Beyond. I hung up my clothes in the closet and emptied boxes of clothes as I folded and placed them into drawers. I ordered pizza for dinner, watched a rerun of Notting Hill on Lifetime, and went to bed, exhausted from the physical exertion of the day.

  The next morning, I ventured into the kitchen, ready to tackle the mountain of boxes that had to be dealt with before I could cook a meal or even make coffee, which was definitely the most important purpose of the space. I needed my coffee in the morning in order to function. Those who know me well understand that talking to me before my second cup has been drunk is a risk most are not willing to take. Because the factory conversion to lofts had only been completed a few months earlier, I was the first renter to use the high-end kitchen; granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and cherry wood cabinetry. It wasn’t small, unlike my last apartment, and I was able to put my coffee machine near the sink for easy water access, and I had space in the floor to ceiling pantry for all my food and other small appliances like my waffle maker (no one should ever have to live without homemade waffles in their life), and my toaster. I had an island that I would eventually buy stools for but that could wait for another day – no urgency felt. It took most of the day, but when the last box was empty, my kitchen was neat and organized and I felt a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent eating leftover pizza and watching several episodes of I Dream of Jeanie on TVLand, a perfect way to spend a Sunday.

  Finally, it was time to set up my office in the far corner of the loft. I had enough space to make all four areas defined and orderly, but I wasn’t sure how to place my desk. I wanted to be able to sit and look out at the park across the street, the view from a large window, but I also needed to concentrate on work and not be constantly distracted by the park across the street. Unable to make up my mind where to put anything, I eventually gave up and decided to venture out and find a bakery to satisfy my sweet tooth.

  It was when I arrived back home, two cupcakes, three chocolate-glazed crullers, and a couple of bagels boxed up neatly in a bag that I’d carried six blocks, that I came to understand the word lonely – an emotional state of feeling isolated… wanting… empty… apart… solitary. I was alone, had been for years, but I was also lonely, something I had tried to ignore. And it was much easier to avoid when I was living near Becky. She’s my best friend and we saw each other several times a week and spoke on the phone, whether through calls or texting, even more often than that. The calls and texting probably wouldn’t change with my move, but I certainly would not be seeing her as often now that we were one hundred miles apart.

  I had to face that fact… eventually. For the time being I ate crullers and cupcakes piled high with decadent pink icing and colorful sprinkles.

  ~~~~~

  Hello Gina,

  I am going to be in Eugene over the weekend and wondered if you’d join me for coffee. Does Sunday morning work for you?

  Jackson Wright.

  Well, that certainly came as a surprise as I sat on my bed, legs crossed in front of me, my laptop balancing on my calves. I responded immediately.

  Good Morning Jackson,

  I no longer live in Eugene so unfortunately I will not be able to make coffee.

  Have a great day,

  Gina Walters

  The reply came back within seconds.

  Where are you living now?

  Should I answer him or just let it go? It’s not like I’d ever planned on seeing him again or anything. My fingers began typing before I knew what I was doing.

  I’m in the Pearl District. I decided it was time for a change of scenery.

  By the time I’d lifted the laptop from my legs and placed it on the bed, a reply was wait
ing in my inbox.

  Well then. How about coffee tomorrow morning? Since you’re so close now J

  Damn! Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to tell him I lived in Portland. And coffee with him? Again? What was the point?

  Sure. Where and when?

  The next morning, I showered, blow dried my blonde hair, straightened it, and then put it in a high ponytail. I slathered my face and neck in moisturizer, one with SPF 25, and used mascara and some pink lip stain. I dressed in well-worn and well-loved blue jeans, my favorite knee-high leather boots, and a cashmere sweater in the palest of blue. I had an infinity scarf around my neck and my leather satchel held my wallet, keys, and cell phone. I was ready to go and meet Jackson for coffee.

  He was on time.

  Without asking, he proceeded to the counter and ordered two coffees, and then set a venti mocha latté in front of me with a smile.

  “I remembered,” he said proudly.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, you’re all settled in your new place?”

  “Mostly,” I nodded. “I still have to deal with my office, but everything else is pretty much done.”

  “What prompted the move?”

  My eyebrows rose.

  “I’m sorry. That’s a very personal question,” he admitted softly.

  The thing was, I wasn’t sure I could explain the reasoning behind the sudden need to change my surroundings to anyone, least of all myself. And I definitely didn’t want to delve into my psyche to try to figure it out because I was pretty sure I didn’t really want to know the answer. But I knew I needed a change and the idea seemed to have satisfied me… for the moment. I had no way of putting that into words for Jackson to understand, nor did I see the need to answer his question. It’s not like we were friends or anything.

  So, I didn’t. I took a sip of the delicious latté he’d bought me and changed the subject.

  “What’s taking you to Eugene?”

  “I’m covering a benefit concert to raise money for the baseball stadium that burned down a few months ago. There are several Oregon bands playing and a couple from Washington. They hope to raise enough money to finish the demolition and start the planning of a small baseball museum.” He glanced up at me after setting his coffee cup down, knowing I’d refused to answer his question, but willingly answering mine.

  “It was unbelievably sad when it caught fire.” I remembered watching the news in horror as the flames destroyed the historic stadium after a couple of idle school aged punks had set it alight. “And that seems like a very worthwhile cause. I hope they do well.”

  “It should be a great evening of good music. Too bad you aren’t there anymore. You could have come with me.”

  I smiled and drank some more. “I have a new book to start this weekend, once I get my office sorted, that is.”

  “Ah,” he looked up with an expression I couldn’t read. “A new book.”

  I heard something into his tone. “Is there something else you’re wanting to say?” I asked.

  “Tell me,” he challenged. “After writing such an amazing book, why was your last release back to the same old romance you’d written before? Why not continue with another book that was fresh and emotional and worth reading?”

  “Worth reading?” I spat. “You’re telling me, an experienced author who tracks individual book sales and reviews, that I should have written another book worth reading?” I was fuming. “I’ll have you know that my latest release made the USA Today bestsellers list for two weeks in a row. My first time… ever! Apparently there were lots of people who thought it was worth reading.”

  “Gina,” he sighed. “Just because a book is a bestseller doesn’t mean it’s good.”

  Is he freaking serious? I stood, grabbed my satchel and stormed out of the coffee shop. If I hadn’t left quickly, I doubted all the four letter words swirling around in my head would have stayed unsaid. I walked quickly and with purpose to the corner, halting suddenly at the red light and the cars whizzing in front of me. My hands were fisted, my muscles flexed and my teeth biting down hard on the inside of my lips. I can’t ever remember being so angry. And then I felt a hand grip my arm.

  “I’m sorry that came out the way it did,” Jackson sighed. “It wasn’t meant to offend you.”

  “Really?” The sarcasm dripped from my words as I spun around to face him. “I don’t really care what you thought of my book. It isn’t written for your demographic, so if you don’t mind,” I spat as I pulled my arm free of his hold, “I need to get home and back to work. I have another piece of garbage to write.” The light was still red so I turned sharply to the right and headed in another direction.

  It took all of about two seconds and he was walking in step beside me. I ignored him. Not that I could have done much else. I was walking so fast that I was already feeling beads of sweat form on my forehead and my breathing was becoming labored with each additional step I took. As I began the fifth block of my journey home, Jackson still at my side, he spoke… cautiously.

  “I’m… sorry.”

  I continued to pretend he wasn’t there and kept marching toward my building.

  ~~~~~

  “Will you stop for one second… please?” Jackson snapped as he grabbed me by the arm once again.

  I felt the electric tremor shoot through my body at his touch and I tried frantically to ignore it.

  “Why?” I yelled, focusing instead on my anger. “So you can insult me some more? I’m not that desperate for company that I’ll stand here and listen to you tell me what a terrible writer I am. If I want to hear that, I’ll just go and read my reviews on Goodreads!” I tried to step away but his grip was too tight.

  “Wait!” he pleaded. “Please, just hang on a minute.”

  “Say what you need to say and hurry up.”

  He looked exasperated, like I had frayed every one of his nerves. I didn’t care. I wasn’t the one being the jerk.

  “Is there some place we can sit, maybe? And talk?”

  I rolled my eyes and knew that most of the restaurants on the block didn’t open for another half hour or so, but my apartment was just around the corner. I didn’t really think it through, just ordered him to follow me and then speed walked to my building and stormed inside. He was right behind me as I pushed the call button for the elevator and the doors instantly parted. I stepped inside, Jackson at my heels. We didn’t speak as we rode up to the fifth floor and I stormed down the hall to my front door.

  “Make it snappy,” I barked as I stood just inside my apartment, holding the door open and gesturing for him to enter.

  He didn’t. He took a couple of minutes and looked around, walked over to the tall windows and peered outside, wandered into the kitchen and ran his fingers across the granite counter on the island, and then casually wandered over to the couch and sat down, leaning his forearms on his thighs.

  “I think you’re a fraud,” he said calmly. “And you know it.”

  “Excuse me?” I choked.

  “You heard me. You’re a fraud, pretending to know all about romance and writing love stories as if you know what you’re talking about. You don’t.”

  “And I thought you were going to apologize for being an ass. Stupid me, thinking that you were a gentleman.”

  He smirked. “I am a gentleman, but I’m also a reporter and I like to find the truth. I’m pretty sure I know your secret. You know nothing about love and romance. You’re faking it and your readers are buying your shit.”

  “How dare you?” I spat through gritted teeth.

  “I can’t believe that anyone who has read any of your books hasn’t figured it out already. I mean, some of the stuff you’ve put in there is so ludicrous it’s downright hysterical. And the way you have your men talk? There isn’t a man alive who speaks so flowery and emotional as you make them. Men aren’t like that. Women are!”

  “And its women who read the books!” I rebutted.

  “So you’re all frauds!”

&
nbsp; “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “You’re probably right,” he agreed with an expression on his face I couldn’t read. “It would be dangerous for me to stay.”

  “Yep. I might just bludgeon you with a cast iron frying pan.”

  He chuckled. “Not what I meant, but okay. Goodbye Gina. See you around.”

  As I closed the door behind him, locking the deadbolt securely, I hoped I wouldn’t see him anytime soon.

  ~~~~~

  Jackson leaned against the polished faux wood wall in the elevator as he rode down to the lobby. His breathing was slightly heavy and the bulge in his jeans strained against the metal zipper. Gina Walters was one of the most beautiful and sexy women he’d ever met… and she was positively clueless. He shook his head as he thought of one of the love scenes in her most recent book. A slight smile escaped his lips. He’d like to show her how a real man made love to a woman - how a real man spoke to a woman - how a real man made a woman feel wanted and desired. But more than that, Jackson wanted to feel Gina’s lips against his. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close, having her press against him. He wanted her to snake her arms around his back and feel her fingers run through his hair.

  He had it bad. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since he’d come face to face with her at the book signing several months before. He’d even begged for the assignment to cover the benefit concert, knowing he’d have a reason to be in Eugene and an excuse, albeit a feeble one, to see her.

  Yeah, he had it bad, and he’d probably just blown his chances to hell.

  4.

  If I said I hadn’t thought about Jackson after I threw him out of my apartment that day, I’d be lying. The truth was, I thought about him all the time and it was pissing me off. He was arrogant, rude, and irritating. His abrasive personality did him no favors where I was concerned. The problem was he was also gorgeous and had the most fascinating grey eyes. His hair was almost black, shaggy at the ends as it danced with his collar, and each time I’d seen him he’d had a days’ growth of stubble on his chin. Seriously sexy. He was considerably taller than me and most definitely stronger. Definitely a man who could take charge in the bedroom. And I dreamt about him every time I closed my eyes. It was driving me insane.