LIFE IS BETTER.

Everything’s going smoothly. John is furnishing his new apartment, and has been more absent lately — the kids haven’t even noticed. I’m deep in the middle of my annual spring cleaning, organizing and getting rid of tons of stuff. I’ll probably have about ten boxes for Goodwill. I’ve been packing John’s things too, and that’s been kind of tough.

I’ve finally taken the elephant painting out of my closet, and hung it over the fireplace in my studio — it looks perfect there. The purple accents in the painting tie in perfectly with my purple loveseat. I’ve also sat the little mermaid on my windowsill. She lives there now, looking down at the pool down below. It’s quite fitting, I think. Speaking of the pool, we’ll be opening it soon, and with spring finally here and the summer coming, I know my mood will lift.

I set the beautiful paperweight on the corner of my desk. Underneath it is a stack of information leaflets and applications I’ve collected; art classes, volunteer opportunities, and Marketing jobs — I’ll let destiny lead the way.

It’s been almost a month since I sent that message to Eli — I don’t regret it anymore. I needed to write him those words. Whether he read them or not is not the point. I still think about him every day… I think I always will.

But every single day, it hurts a little less.

I think about Paper Island. That day was perfect until I ruined it all. Eli had written, ‘Be happy, my beautiful Gabriella’ on the scrap of paper he hung in the tree next to mine. It’s all he ever wanted… my happiness.

And for him, I resolve to be happy. Even if that means being happy without him.

Every day, I think about him, and what could have been in an alternate universe. My mind full of him, I doodle absentmindedly and scribble in my notebook. I’m not sure if I’ll ever share this one…

My bookshelf is full…

Lined with stories,

And adventures.

Little knick knacks

I’ve collected over the years.

One of my favorite books

Sits on the top shelf.

I’ve only read it once.

It was colorful and exciting.

It moved me,

And will stay with me forever.

It was meant to be opened only once,

And I’ll never touch it again.

Content to simply gaze at it,

And remember…

The beautiful story it told.

I flatten the skirt of my dress nervously. It’s been forever since I’ve been on an interview. I feel confident. I’ve worn my best suit, a slim-fitting red two-piece. Red is my best color — it’s my power color. I always feel confident when I wear red. John says I look fantastic in red. And I never forget to apply matching lipstick. I’m a force to be reckoned with.

I check my watch. It’s 10:57. Any minute now.

I look at my watch again. 11:09.

And again. 11:24.

And again. 11:31.

Finally, a petite young blonde in a sleek black suit makes an appearance. “Gabriella Moore?” she asks.

I stand eagerly. “Yes, that’s me.” I offer her my hand, and she leads me down the hall to a large stylish office. “Mr. Walker will be right with you.” She gestures to one of the modern white leather chairs across the giant desk. “Please take a seat.”

I settle my rear down on the stylish chair, very tentatively. My curious gaze darts across the space. It’s elegant, and the art is stunning.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” The man’s voice makes me jump, and I stand to greet him. He’s tall and absolutely gorgeous. I’m a little flustered as I shake his hand.

“Ryan Walker,” he says. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Moore.” He assesses me very quickly, but I don’t miss his onceover, the swift shift of his gaze along my body, down to my red heels, and back up to the classic silver necklace I’ve worn just for the occasion. “Please take a seat.”

I hand him my résumé with a smile. I wish I could snap a photo without him noticing — Corrie would go gaga over this guy. He’s just her type; tall, dark, and handsome, and in a nice suit.

He peruses my work experience and education. “Have you ever volunteered before, Mrs. Moore?”

“Yes.” I beam. “I’ve volunteered at my children’s school, and for the Breast Cancer Foundation. It’s all there on the second page.”

He flips the page. “Oh, I see. Yes, there it is.”

He lifts his gaze and studies me for a beat. “I need to be honest with you, Mrs. Moore. You’re more than qualified for this position. In fact, you’re overqualified. As you know, this is just a volunteer—”

I know,” I cut him off. “That’s all I want. I’ve been at home with my kids for years, and I’m ready to get out there again, but they’re still small, and I’m not ready to leave them too long. I’m not looking for anything too time-consuming. This is perfect.”

He smiles, for the first time, and he has quite a nice smile.

“And your gallery is beautiful,” I add for good measure. “I’d love to be a part of it.”

“Thank you,” he says and his gaze falls back on my résumé.

He flips to the third page where I’ve included some of my work. “You’re an artist yourself, I see. Great work.”

I smile and blush. “Thank you.”

We go over the duties and hours of the position, and we chat about art, and some of our favorite artists. He mentions many local artists I’m not familiar with, and I nod knowingly. I mention famous artists I like, such as Klimt, Matisse, and Van Gogh. I also mention Eli. “And there’s this glass artist I love,” I tell him. “He works out of Copenhagen.”

The conversation flows easily, and before long, his assistant knocks on our door. “Your twelve o’clock is here, Mr. Walker.”

He rises and apologizes. “Sorry, Mrs. Moore. Sadly, I need to end our meeting.”

“I completely understand,” I say. “Thank you so much for your time.”

I walk out of there, giddy as a school girl. I have a good feeling.

I sing along to the radio as I drive home. It’s about noon, and I try to figure out what I’ll have for lunch. I decide on the leftover lasagna, and an Oreo cookie for dessert. I’m sure I’ll get the job. It’s not a paying job, but that doesn’t matter. It’ll get me out of the house, and I’ll probably meet tons of new people like me; artists and art lovers. I’ll be surrounded by art.

I park my car, walk around the garage, and…

I drop my purse.

I stand frozen for an eternity, not believing my eyes.

Eli is sitting on my stoop. Those eyes… that smile. He hasn’t changed a bit. He stands up slowly. He’s wearing dark jeans, his work boots and the same jacket and scarf he had on when I last saw him. The old vintage satchel I bought him in Christiania hangs across his chest. “It’s just as chilly here as it is in Copenhagen,” he says.

I laugh. “I know, summer is slow to come this year.”

I can barely breathe. I still can’t believe it. I actually pinch myself.

He inches closer. I’m still a statue.

He closes the distance between us, and cups my face. His touch warms my entire core. I close my eyes.

He kisses my forehead. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”