Page 13 of Courage, Dear Heart

I press my lips together as Jamie climbs a mock rock wall. “No, never.” My voice comes out in a whisper.

Sheila waits for me to look at her again.

“Then extend yourself the same kindness. Give yourself grace. You are no less deserving of being happy than Jamie is.”

I try to speak, but she puts a hand up again.

“And before you go on with an excuse that it’s different with your child—don’t. Kids learn what they live and see, not what you tell them. They learn by example. If you want Jamie to be happy, then you have to start with yourself. Show him you both deserve to be happy.”

My chin trembles and I gnaw the inside of my cheek. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But I don’t know how to do that. How to be happy when I’m so alone.”

She puts an arm around me and tugs me into her. “You’re not alone. You have me and Jamie and your family, even if your mom is a pain in the butt. I know we are not a replacement for CJ, but we all love you.”

“I love you too.” The words come out garbled with sniffs.

“Maybe it’s time to make room in your heart for someone else, Jill.”

My body tenses.

She squeezes me harder. “Now, now. I’m not saying you should go on Tinder and announce you’re DTF or anything like that.”

I frown. “DTF?”

“Girl, you’re so out of touch. DTF. Down to fuck.”

This has me giggling through the tears. “Definitely not on Tinder and not down to fuck.” I murmur the last three words.

Sheila lets go of me. “Allow yourself to be open to the idea that there’s someone else for you out there. Promise me that. Promise me you’ll be open and kick guilt in the ass next time it shows up.”

I nod. I don’t want to be a ghost of myself anymore. But how can there be someone else like CJ? How could I ever keep from comparing him—this future man, whoever he is—to CJ? Meeting someone, dating someone, wouldn’t be fair to them. They will always lose.

SEVEN

Jillian

He’s back.And this time, he’s in a suit—charcoal gray, tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders and lean but muscular frame. A flutter low in my stomach makes itself known and I immediately try to tamp it down, but it’s no use. My eyes keep darting his way, tracing the sharp lines of his jacket, the way the fabric hugs his chest. He was handsome enough last time, all disheveled and sweaty in a T-shirt and running shorts, but this? This is downright unfair.

I swallow and turn back to my customer, forcing myself to focus. But my heart betrays me, skipping at the sight of his cautious smile. Warmth crawls up my neck, my pulse quickening despite my best efforts to keep my cool.

Get a grip, Jillian. He’s nothing more than a customer.I straighten my spine and focus on processing the credit card for Mrs. Smith, pretending not to notice the way he fills out that suit—like it was made for him and him alone. But the small thrill in my chest tells me my resolve is alreadycrumbling.

“You are all set, Mrs. Smith.” I slide the arrangement toward her. “Do you need help carrying the flowers to your car?”

“Oh, yes, please. I don’t think I can see over the top of this vase.”

She’s right. She’s barely five feet tall. Mrs. Smith turns when Elliott approaches us. Her hand immediately goes to her head, and she fixes her silver-white hair. Not that she has a strand out of place. I bet Mrs. Smith single-handedly keeps the Aqua Net factory alive.

She looks back at me and winks, a broad smile on her red-painted lips.

I look for my assistant and find her staring at Elliott as well. Annoyance swells inside me. “Angela?”

Nothing. She’s transfixed like one of those snakes and that guy with the flute.

“Angela?” I call her name louder this time.

Still nothing.

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Smith glances down at her wrist and a non-existing watch. “Look at the time. Angela, dear, help me to my car, please.” She takes Angela’s arm, and that finally snaps Angela out of her trance.

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