Page 92 of From Air

“You want to own a man?”

She turns and lifts her hair off her neck.

He’s mine.

Leaning back in the chair, I lace my fingers behind my head and exhale. “Well, what are your plans for this rental that you’ll have to return in two days?”

Checking her watch, her nose scrunches. “I have a class in an hour.”

“I thought you took four days off too.”

“It’s not for work. It’s a jewelry-making class.”

“Really?”

“Yes. One of the other nurses I work with suggested I learn new things. Explore my artistic side. She’s been a nurse for nearly forty years. She said nurturing your creativity is the key to longevity in this field. It’s a way to relieve stress while feeling a sense of accomplishment. Working in psych is rewarding in some ways but also a slow process. Mentally ill people heal at a much slower pace than someone recovering from surgery or something like a stroke or heart attack.”

When I don’t respond, she pushes off the counter and straddles my lap, hands resting on my shoulders. “The mind is complicated.”

I hear everything she stops short of saying. “Can I watch you?”

Her grin swells. “You want to watch me? I’m not good at making jewelry.”

“Well, I’m good at watching you, so one of us will feel successful today.”

Her thumbs slide along my jaw. “It’s only a five-minute drive. We have a little time. Maybe I can earn another rose.”

This woman was made for me, just not in the right life.

I grin. “Let’s see whatcha got.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

JAYMES

My person.

Calvin Fitzgerald is my dream—the kind that doesn’t come true and ends with a pounding heart and an aching reality.

Our time together ends too quickly. He watches me create a copper-and-leather bracelet and matching earrings. We take his grandma for a walk, and I have the privilege of meeting Terry, her older man.

The following morning, Fitz jogs next to me while I ride my skateboard, and I’m the one who struggles to keep up.

“You’re such a show-off!” I giggle, pumping around a turn into a headwind.

He runs faster.

After I’m exhausted and he’s barely broken a sweat, we eat lunch at a rooftop café.

“Why do you suppose Maren never told me she saw your tattoo?” I ask, sipping my pink lemonade while watching him eat the rest of my lunch. Calvin consumes an enormous number of calories.

He chews, giving my question some thought. “I think she feels sorry for you, but she knows there’s no changing the situation. So why bring it up?”

“Why does she feel sorry for me?”

He shrugs. “She thinks you have strong feelings for me and knows I will only disappoint you. I’m a disappointment to everyone who invests time in getting to know me.”

He’s not a disappointment. He breaks my heart, but not in a conventional way.

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