My Better Life

25

Jamie

When Gavin putshis mind to something, there isn’t anything that can stop him. After we spent the night together in the studio, he had a chat with Gran, Diedre, and Tom. Then after supper he asked me, point blank, would I be willing to let him help make my dreams come true?

At first I thought he was asking if I’d be willing to spend the rest of my life with him. Then I realized he already thought we were doing that. No, he was asking if he could help spread my glass art around the world.

From the second I said yes, he’s been on a mission. We’ve spent every spare minute after the kids are in bed, and before they’re awake, writing the business plan, applying for a business license, working out how to run a business with no start-up cash, sorting what pieces I can sell, deciding on pricing, working out the plans for converting the barn to a storefront gallery.

In two weeks Gavin built display shelves, tables, and a counter, all from donated lumber (thank you, Tom). Granny helped us price everything. Diedre has the website up and running, and she wouldn’t hear of me giving any money to pay for her time.

It’s like a dream. For years I imagined what it would be like if I could ever really, truly sell my art and make a living. I thought that when Gavin contacted me by email inquiry through the studio in town, I’d gotten my big break.

I hadn’t.

And I see that what I’d been doing for years was stalling and hiding and making excuses. Because in two weeks Gavin has managed to create what I’d been dreaming of doing for ten years. It’s extraordinary actually.

He went at it with single-minded passion. Getting up early, going to work, spending time with the kids until their bedtime, then going back at it again until he collapsed in exhaustion. Only to start up again the next day.

I was right next to him the whole time. Working just as hard and just as much. Driving myself to do this if not for me, then for Gavin. Because he believes in me.

I also worked to exhaustion so I didn’t have to think about the fact that we still aren’t kissing, still aren’t doing…that.

When he was building, I’d bring him sweet tea, the glass dripping with condensation. He’d smile a thanks, brush his hands over mine as he took the glass, and I’d shiver, like water drops vibrating. Then he’d tilt his head and swallow long gulps of the tea, and I’d watch his throat work, sweat running down his neck, and I’d find myself touching my neck, my mouth, imagining it was him, drinking me.

When I’d walk past him in the studio, organizing my glass pieces, working out stock and prices, he’d cross my path, and sometimes his fingers would stroke low across my back or my hips, his touch as subtle as the breeze over a leaf of grass.

I’d look over my shoulder at him, and he’d smile happily, then get back to work.

But me, every time he did that, it’d take minutes for me to come down from the honeyed imprint of his hand running over my spine, wrapping around my legs, and pulsing through me.

Not to mention that we’re sharing a bed now. If I wasn’t drop-dead tired every night, I don’t know what I’d do. Still, every morning when I wake up, somehow I find myself tangled around him, or tucked into his arms, and I have to very, very carefully extricate myself without waking him. Because if he were awake, I swear, the temptation would be too much.

It’s nearly been a month with Gavin. And I told Gran and Diedre weeks ago that Gavin would’ve repaid his debt in a month’s time. Honestly, if I could go back in time, I’d acknowledge there was no debt. There never was.

In fact, now I owe him more than I can ever repay. Not in a month, not in a lifetime.

I’m in the studio, walking through the area that Gavin and Tom renovated, running my hands over my glass, the smooth shelves, smelling the smell of recently sanded wood. Gran put out handwritten labels on ivory cardstock for each piece. The kids put up white Christmas lights on the beamed ceiling. Gavin put in old speakers he found in Gran’s kitchen to play soft music. Everything is set.

I have the twinkle lights on, the music playing, Gymnopédie Number One, my favorite, and I’m taking it all in. I’m in awe. How did he manage to change my life so much in only a month?

The door to the studio clicks open, and like I conjured him from my thoughts, Gavin strides in.

My heart pounds at the smile on his face, the warmth in his eyes, the love I see so clearly written there.

“I came out to congratulate you. You made your first online sale.” His eyes light up, he reaches out, tugs me to him. “You’re official now.”

I look up at him, captured in his arms, my mind going blank. “I’m…what?”

He grins down at me, his dimple showing. “Twenty Christmas ornaments, to be shipped all the way to California. You did it, Jamie, you did it.”

Twenty? Twenty ornaments? They’re thirty dollars each. That’s…huge. I can put it towards next year’s little league, or Shay’s treehouse, or Tanner’s canoe trip. A laugh bubbles up. I can’t hold it in.

Gavin laughs too, then he lifts me up and spins me around in his arms.

I feel like the blow pipe, spinning as I’m blowing a piece of glass, and I’m formless and free, and all the rough edges of the past are smoothing out. I hang on to Gavin’s shoulders and laugh more, with relief and happiness and gratitude.

Finally Gavin stops, the studio tilts and spins as he lets me down, dragging me down the front of his body. My breasts press against his chest, and my legs mold against his. I grip his shoulders and hang on as sensations rush over me.