Page 3 of Loving Josy
For the first time, I feel like I belong to something bigger than myself. Violet includes me in everything from Sunday breakfasts to bedtime stories. She’s woven me into her family, and I couldn’t be happier.
The loneliness I carried for so long feels distant now, like a memory from another life. But it shaped me, rooted in the vast, echoing house where I grew up. My Dada bred and raised horses, his life’s work spilling out across sprawling pastures and barns that always smelled of hay and leather. I woke early every morning, the sky barely beginning to lighten, to help him in the barn. The soft rustle of straw beneath my boots, the rhythmic swish of a horse’s tail, and the low nickers of greeting became the soundtrack of my childhood.
Dada was my rock, his weathered hands steady as he taught me to care for the horses. I remember the way his voice softened when he talked to them, as if they were old friends. “They listenbetter than most people,” he’d say with a wink. And he was right. The horses became my confidants, their large, understanding eyes meeting mine as I told them secrets I couldn’t share with anyone else.
Nana was the heart of our home, bustling around the kitchen with her apron tied tight, her laughter echoing through the house. Her meals were legendary, the kind that made you close your eyes with the first bite. She had a knack for making even the quietest days feel full, her stories of her youth painting pictures of a world far more vibrant than the one I lived in.
But even with Dada and Nana’s love, there was always a shadow. My mother’s absence left a void I couldn’t fill. Her rare visits were like rain after a drought—brief, exhilarating, and never enough. She’d sweep in with stories of exotic places and photos that took my breath away, her passion for her work radiating from her every word. I knew she loved me, but her love was like the wind—felt but never held.
And my father? He was a name without a face, a story whispered in the quiet of the kitchen when Nana thought I wasn’t listening. My mother met him one night at a bar, a fleeting moment that left her with me. She chose to keep me but let my grandparents raise me, a decision that both hurt and comforted me.
Now, as I look at Violet and Adrian, I realize how much they’ve given me—not just their presence, but the sense of belonging I’ve craved for so long. For the first time, my life isn’t just about surviving the loneliness. It’s about living, about sharing joy and laughter and love with the people who matter most.
In school, I was the girl who had everything but felt like she had nothing. My classmates saw me as the girl who lived in the big house with the horses, but they didn’t understand the loneliness that came with it.
From a young age, I had to learn to depend only on myself. I grew up loving and caring for horses, preferring their company over humans. Yeah, I had friends at school, but I never knew what real friendship was until I met Violet.
One time, I really thought I had a best friend in a boy, and I was obsessed with him. I thought that if we became friends, I could make him fall in love with me. I used to feel like I was on cloud nine whenever he talked to me. Eventually, we did become friends, while I secretly pined for him. He never knew that I had fallen in love with him.
That boy I was obsessed with was my first lesson in unrequited love. I would daydream about him, imagining scenarios where he’d realize he was in love with me too. We spent a lot of time together, and he always treated me kindly, but he never saw me the way I saw him. When he started dating other girls, my heart would break a little more each time, but I kept my feelings hidden. It was a bittersweet experience, teaching me that love could be both beautiful and painful.
Meeting Violet changed everything. She was my first true friend, the one who showed me what real friendship looked like. Ever since that first day of freshman year, she has been my confidante; my partner in crime. For the first time, I felt seen and understood. She made me realize that friendship could be as fulfilling as any other relationship and that I wasn’t alone.
Reflecting on my upbringing, I realize how much those early experiences shaped me. They taught me resilience, independence, and the value of true friendship. They also made me appreciate the importance of being there for those you love; something my mother never quite mastered. It’s why I cherish my bond with Violet so much and why now I only want people in my life that will make me feel seen and happy.
When I am done filling out the papers, I put them away and stand from my desk. My office is in the back of my coffeeshop and it’s tiny. It has my desk, my chair, and space for a file cabinet. I added a few pictures on the wall to make it more pleasant but that’s it. I don’t need much. Besides, I have a big office at my house. I close the door and walk to the front of the shop where I see customers sitting down enjoying their coffee and treats.
“Are you leaving now, boss?” Anna asks me from the counter.
“Yes. Are you okay? Do you need anything before I leave?” I ask her. Anna started working for me about a year ago. She needed a job that gave her good hours after she was done with school. Now in her senior year, she has been a blessing. She is the one who closes the shop every day.
“Nope. I’m good. Remember that I can’t come to work tomorrow. I have to stay late at school to finish planning the prom.” I don’t know how she can do it. She is part of so many committees at school, plus has a job, and on top of that she is a A-grade student. I wish I had her energy.
“Yes, I remember. Have a great night, pretty girl.” I wave and walk towards the door. As I walk, I look around my shop. I feel so proud of what I have done.
The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee greets you every time you walk inside, instantly enveloping you in a sense of comfort. The interior has round tables, each accompanied by a set of mismatched chairs, giving the space an inviting and eclectic feel.
Two comfortable couches sit near the entrance, inviting costumer to sink into their plush cushions and linger over their drinks. The walls are painted in soft, pastel hues, gilded with delicate floral patterns and whimsical quotes that add to the shop's girly charm.
One wall is dominated by a large bookcase filled to the brim with an eclectic selection of books. From romance novels tomystery thrillers, the shelves offer something for every reader to enjoy while they sip their coffee.
As I near the door, I glance back and smile at Anna who waves cheerfully before returning her attention to the counter. Just as my hand reaches for the door, it swings open and I freeze.
Standing before me is a set of dark brown eyes—deep and rich, like melted chocolate on a rainy day. They’re framed by thick, dark brows and lashes so long and full that they could make anyone envious.
I lean back, my breath catching as I take in the rest of his face. A strong, angular jaw covered in a neatly trimmed beard. His cheekbones are subtle but high enough to lend a chiseled elegance to his features. Wavy black hair, slightly tousled, crowns his head like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot. And those lips, so full and inviting, the kind that could tempt someone into making all the wrong decisions.
This man is undeniably, heartbreakingly gorgeous.
And I know because I memorized every detail of Noah Ross’s face when I was younger. Back then, I studied him like he was my favorite subject, tracing the contours of his profile in my mind until they were etched into my memory. But now, years later, those boyish features have matured into something dangerously magnetic. He’s hotter than ever, and it’s not fair.
This is the man I once believed I’d end up with. The man I built quiet dreams around, only for them to crumble when he made it clear I was nothing more than a little sister to him.
Noah’s wearing his usual uniform of black: a long-sleeve shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and lean frame, paired with work pants and scuffed boots that tell the story of a long day.
“Hey, Josy.” His voice is a low rumble that makes the air between us shift. It’s the same voice I used to adore, the sameone that soothed my restless thoughts and made me believe in possibilities.
“Hi,” I reply curtly, the chill in my tone sharp enough to cut through the tension. I can’t let him see how much his presence still affects me. Not after what happened. Not after I spent years avoiding him, hiding whenever I saw him around town, and convincing myself that my feelings for him were a thing of the past.
