When the Heart Falls(51)

Cade strokes my hand as he watches the clouds. "I can't believe thousands of pilgrims used to come here and still do.”

"I can.” This place feels magical with the stone buildings built against the mountains. Around us, flowers sway in the light breeze, dancing with the wind. Elegant stone columns give structure to the garden, setting us in history. It’s so old, so full of the past, that it makes my world in New York feel like an infant in comparison. The busy streets and honking horns and people everywhere… it’s so different from here. A sacred quietness lives here that, even bustling with tourists, is more peaceful than New York. “It’s beautiful. Full of mystery. I can see how people thought, and still think, that it’s a place of power.”

Cade lays out the lunch we packed, courtesy of our hotel kitchen—cold meats, fresh bread, fruit, a salad and sparkling water. With a grumbling stomach, I fill my plate with yumminess and dig in like I haven’t eaten in a week.

Cade laughs at my chipmunk cheeks full of food. “Someone’s hungry.”

I chew, swallow and grin. “Someone gave me quite a work out last night. And this morning. I need my strength if this keeps up.”

He feigns injury. “Me? I think you have it backwards, my lady. You are the one who lured me into bed with your towel clad body.”

“Only because I forgot my clothes.”

“Likely story.”

“I’m sorry, next time I’ll be sure to stay fully dressed in your presence.”

With great care he pins me to the ground, his eyes hungry and body hard against mine. “That’s not what I meant at all. In fact, if we weren’t on holy ground, and in public, I’d have you out of these clothes right now.”

If I could teleport us back to our hotel, I would, but instead I kiss him and ease out of his embrace. “But alas, we are at the mercy of our environment, and so I shall content myself with the company of my computer while you read or engage in more cloud watching.”

I flip to my stomach, laptop open, and browse through my Facebook stream while he continues to stare at the sky.

Clicking on a link, an article pops up about another one of my friends who have hit the bestseller list after self-publishing. And not just any list, the New York Times bestseller list. I whistle and scan the article.

Cade turns toward me. "Something exciting happening in your book?"

"Doing research. Which is code for wasting time on Facebook.”

"Sounds like exciting research." He moves closer to me, looking over my shoulder at the screen.

I show him the article about my friend.

"Impressive," he says. "So it sounds like this self-publishing stuff is a legit way to get your book out there. Are you going to try it?" He takes a drink of his fizzy water while I form my response.

"I don't know.” This surprises me. “A few months ago, I would have taken a traditional deal in a heartbeat, but now I’m not so sure. Part of me wants the accolades that go with being traditionally published. When you have the stamp of approval from one of the big publishers, people seem to respect your work more, you get entered into more awards and there are more reviewers willing to review your book. There’s still a stigma to self-published books, and while that's changing, it seems the more authors become successful on their own, the more articles pop up bashing self-publishing."

I sit up, closing my computer to face Cade, hands now in his. "But, there are a lot of downfalls to the traditional deal that I’ve been reading about," I say. "Shitty contracts, less money, minimal marketing, and no control. It scares me to think that the book I worked so hard on for so long could end up ruined, and I’ll be powerless to do anything about it. But it also scares me to think about putting my book out there all by myself, no net, no backup, no stamp of approval. Nothing but my name. Like being naked in front of the world, standing there as they judge me.”

"Whichever you choose, I know you’ll do great.” He says this with such confidence, such absolute assurance, that my heart flip-flops in my chest. No one has ever shown that kind of faith in me before, not when it comes to my writing.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me." We lay back on the grass together, and I'm content to watch the clouds with him, grateful that I’ve found someone I can share my dreams with. He wasn’t just being polite; he really cares about my career and my ambitions, just like I enjoy hearing about his architecture and knowledge. We complement each other, filling in the spaces left by the other.

Filling in the spaces left by the world.

This moment is perfect, our time here pristine, a mini-paradise that I wish we could stay in forever. I wonder what it would be like to live here with Cade, never leaving this island as we enjoy good food, go on long walks, talk, make love and daydream with clouds. He doesn’t know he’s my first. My body wouldn’t have shown that, but my heart does. Rodney can never claim to have taken my heart, taken my love, taken the innocence that I gave willingly to Cade.

"Last night, what does it mean for us?" I ask.

Cade is silent for so long that my heart beats erratically and my hand trembles in his from fear. Still he is silent. Did it not mean as much to him as it did to me? I’m sure he’s had other women, enjoyed casual sex. Lots of my friends have, too. It’s normal, I guess. Especially at our age. Given the situation, the setting, I can’t blame him if this is just a fling, and part of me thinks I should pretend that’s all it is for me too, but last night was too profound, too real for me to lie to him like that. And so, I bare my soul and open myself up to him. "I don't want this to end.”