I was reeling.
I was ashamed, hurt, angry, confused, heartbroken, and lovesick, and I had no one to blame but myself. Somehow, I had to figure out a way get Lance to understand how much he meant to me, but I couldn't even think straight, let alone put together a coherent string of words.
I was not going to leave that place until I knew I had given everything I had to straighten things out—to make things right—to make him understand. Only the perfect words would do, but they simply weren't coming to me.
Everything I thought of saying felt wrong.
Everything that crossed my mind felt inadequate.
So, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I prayed.
I prayed that God would give me the words to show Lance my heart.
That prayer, and the thought of God in general, made me think of the conversation he and I had about the sky.
"The sky," I said, looking at him with tears still welling in my eyes. My voice broke a little, but I continued. "The sky is this huge part of my day, Lance. I see it when I look out of windows, or when I step outside… it's just always there. And now, when I see it, I notice how it changes... how it's different every time I look at it. I appreciate its beauty, and I'm truly thankful for that gift. Something you said, even though it was just a little piece of our conversation, brought me closer to God—made me see and appreciate a new aspect of Him." I put my hand over my chest. "That's real, Lance. Or, when we were walking on the beach and we talked about having kids and the type of parents we wanted to be… the type of life we wanted to give to our children. That was real. The feeling I got when your dad hugged me and called me sweetheart. That was real. I am real with you. I can see how you would think the conversation I had with that guy was different than the things I say with you, and it was, but it doesn't mean it's real and the things I say with you aren’t. When I'm with you, I leave out the humiliating parts of my life—not because I value you any less. It's the opposite. It's because of how important you are to me. In the short time that I've known you, Lance, you have become precious to me. I experience you and get to know your family, and I can't help but want to be a part of it all. I didn't want to jeopardize my potential place in all this by telling you the things I hated about myself—the stuff I wish I could forget or would go away."
I stood there, staring at him and feeling totally exposed. I had nothing to lose, and I knew I needed to come completely clean, so I continued.
"I didn't care what that guy thought about me, so it was easy for me to tell him all the ugly stuff, Lance. But, with you, I care. I care very much. I don't want you to know that my mom barely got out of bed for almost a year when Dad left us, or that he doesn't know how to spell my name. There's so much that happened when I was a kid that I'm embarrassed about. I don't want you to know that my mom and aunt have barely scraped by all these years—that they hate their jobs, they complain about going to work, and they are always behind on their bills. I cringe when I think about you meeting my cousins or me having to introduce any of them to your perfect family. I didn't keep any of that stuff from you because I wasn't being real, Lance. I did it because I didn't want to mess things up with you. I wanted to be the right girl for you—the one who could just seamlessly, miraculously step into your perfect life and share it with you. I wanted to be everything you wanted and needed."
"My life isn't perfect," he said. He seemed a little softer when he said it, which gave me hope.
"Lance, I did not tell that guy any of that stuff because I cared more about him. The opposite is true. I didn't care what he thought about me, so I just unloaded all the ugly stuff. I've been so scared of you seeing that side of me that it kind of felt good to get it off my chest. I guess I was hoping that running it past someone else might give me confidence to let you see that part of me eventually. It doesn't make it right, but I hope you can at least try to see where I'm coming from. I just assumed you would lose interest if you knew that stuff about me, and…" I trailed off, feeling overcome with emotion. I touched my chest again, and tears gathered in my eyes. "I already had my heart so set on you," I said, trying not to cry, but failing. "I wanted you so badly that I tried to just ignore that part of me—wish it away—pretend it didn't exist."
He regarded me thoughtfully for several seconds before reaching out for me. He took me by the arm, pulling me toward him, pulling me into his arms. I collapsed onto his chest. I had never been so relieved in my entire life. I had no idea what he was going to say or if things were going to be okay, but at least I was in his arms—at least I made it this far. I rested my face on his chest, and tentatively wrapped my arms around him. Lance did the same thing, softly taking me into his warm, all-encompassing embrace.
"The stuff you're so ashamed of, Sidney," he said thoughtfully. "The ugly stuff, the stuff you wanted to hide… it's what makes you who you are. It's what shaped you into the caring, compassionate, hard-working person you are. All that stuff you want to forget is exactly what makes you a good daughter, a good teacher, a good steward of your things… that stuff is what makes you the woman you are. The woman I can't help but love."
My stomach flipped. A hot, gushing, electric sensation happened in my body as he spoke. Had he just said he loved me? I dared not hope I had just heard that.
Carefully, I shifted to stare up at him. We were holding each other and standing so close that all I could see was the underside of his jaw as I stared upward. I regarded his tan skin and little indention at the base of his neck. I stretched up and placed a delicate kiss near it, right on the side of his neck. He smelled like Lance, masculine and woodsy with a hint of salt that I could both smell and taste. I absentmindedly surmised that D.J. and Emily must have a saltwater pool. He held me tighter when I kissed him, rubbing my back with long, gentle strokes.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered.
"I'm sorry too," he said.
I didn't know what he could possibly be sorry for, but I didn't ask. He pulled back, looking down at me and taking my face in his hands. He kissed my cheeks, two and then three, four times, right on the tracks of my tears.
I stared into his dark blue eyes. They glittered with hope and sincerity, like he was looking directly into my soul. "I want to be the man who hears it all, Sid. I don't want you feeling more comfortable with anyone than you do with me."
I nodded. "I'm sorry," I repeated.
"I don't want you to be sorry. I just want you to be mine."
I nodded again. "That's easy," I whispered.
He gave me a little smile before he kissed me again… once on the cheek and then again closer to my mouth.
"I'm jealous over you," he said. "I saw you on that couch, and I hated myself for ever even thinking of that commercial. I seriously wanted to storm in there and fire everyone the spot. If the whole thing hadn't been pretty much finished, I probably would've done it."
I held him tighter, smiling a little even though my face was tight and sore. He dropped his hands from my face and wrapped them around me again, still staring down at me.
"I'm glad you thought of the commercial," I said, sincerely. "I had so much fun doing that. I never dreamed I'd sing in front of people, much less dress up and do the whole act… Plus…" I added.
"Plus what?"
"Plus, I got to work with some super-hot musicians."
Lance's face crumpled into to one of mock disgust and disapproval, and my smile broadened. I was obviously teasing him, and we both knew it.
"Too soon?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, the hint of a smile touching his lips.
He could tell by the way I was holding onto him, staring up at him, that he had nothing to worry about. I was a hundred percent devoted to this man and couldn’t see myself ever feeling any different.
"No, what I was really gonna say was that if there had never been a commercial, things might not have turned out the way they did with us. If I had never sung the song that day, you might not have ever talked to me."
"Oh, I would have figured out a way to talk to you, believe me. I wanted to talk to you the instant I saw you. I remember seeing you walk toward the tunnel that day. I thought please, God, let that girl be coming to this wedding."
"I saw you too," I said. "I was checking you out, and you waved in my direction, and at first, I thought you were waving at me, so I waved back."
"I was waving at you," he said.
"I thought you meant it for the lady behind me."
"So did she," he said.
I smiled thoughtfully at that, remembering everything I had been feeling that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I reached up, letting my fingertips roam over the side of his face and through the closely cropped hair over his ear. He was larger than life, bigger, more gallant, more handsome, more masculine, more everything than any other man I knew. I wanted no one but him. I was gone, taken, stricken, smitten, charmed, besotted. Completely enraptured—wholly devoted. Any lack of male attention I had suffered early on in my life was made up for in this man. He was the essence of masculinity, and he was holding me and looking at me like I was his everything.
"I have no idea where Sheila went," I said, noticing for the first time that she had ventured off.
"She's drinking out of the fountain," he said without taking his eyes off mine.
I glanced in that direction, craning my neck to see around his car. "How'd you know?" I asked.
"I can hear her."
"Is it okay?" I didn't want her to hurt anything, but I also didn't want to leave my current position to go deal with her.
"She can't hurt anything," he said. I stood there, taking him in. His t-shirt was thin and I placed my palm on his chest, loving that I could feel the warmth of his skin and the hardness of his muscles. He just stood there and watched me while I slowly moved my hand, feeling him, appreciating his presence. My chest still felt tight from all the emotion, but I now had a general sense of relief and happiness.
"I thought I lost you," he said. "I thought I was mistaken—that I just felt something totally different than you—that I was totally off base. I heard that Van Morrison song on my way to the studio, and I thought everything was right with the world, and then, it was like I was in a dream when I stood there and heard you saying all that."
"I'm so sorry," I said. "That was the absolute craziest piece of the conversation you could've possibly overheard." I took a deep breath. "If either of us feels more than the other one, Lance, I can assure you, it's me."
"Not possible," he said dryly.
"Has to be," I said. "I'm maxed out over here."
"I'm maxed out, too, and I'm bigger than you."
I let out a laugh. "Oh, so that means you have more capacity for feelings?"
"Yeah," he said. "What'd you think I was? Just bones and muscles?"
I laughed again and pinched at his chest. "You are pretty muscle-ey."
"Sidney, you're…" he trailed off. I assumed he was gonna tell me I was funny for calling him muscle-ey. "You're mine, okay? I want you to be mine. Only mine."
He was serious. He meant it. He stared at me like he couldn't bear the thought of me belonging to anyone else. This came as such beautiful relief to me. The serious, possessive tone to his voice combined with hearing him say my name made me feel weak in the knees.
"Okay," I said as I nodded. "I want that too."