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Elvis snorted.
"I know." I liked men. And I doubted either a sudden swing to women or celibacy would actually be any easier. I glanced around the dark quiet kitchen, the old fashioned clock over the door ticking loudly in the silence. "I just wish I wasn't so lonely," I whispered.
Elvis whined, tilting his head and sniffing at my ankles. I gave up on my yogurt, and lowered the spoon down to him, and the little dog sprang to his feet and licked the vanilla yogurt enthusiastically, making satisfied little snarfles the whole time. His little feet danced as his mouth worked and his big trusting eyes moved back and forth between the spoon and my face.
"Is it good?" I crooned, laughing at his little butt waggling in excitement.
After a few minutes, he'd finished the yogurt, and he staggered in a dazed circle and then toppled to his side, falling immediately into a snore-filled sleep.
"Aww, Elvis," I sighed. If only I could sleep so easily.
Though falling asleep anywhere and everywhere would probably not do good things for my career. It was okay for a pug, but less good for an actress, I decided. I put down the yogurt carton, left the spoon in the sink, and carried my dog up to his favorite jumpsuit-inspired doggy bed in my room. Then I headed back to the kitchen to start the dishwasher and try to get ready for bed.
I was just turning out the lights in the front hall, having sent Chad out an hour earlier, when I heard the kitchen door rattle and then open. Fear forced its way into my bloodstream, sending my heart rate climbing even though my mind knew it was probably Jace or Chad. I hoped it was Jace, and I tiptoed to the hallway so I could see into the kitchen.
In the darkness, I could see a big dark form moving with the self-assured grace that could only be Jace, and my heart leapt in happiness, like Elvis with yogurt. I knew it was Jace.
I was about to go to him, unable to stop myself from greeting him happily after missing him all day—after the way we'd left things the night before—but something stopped me. Once he was inside, he locked the door behind him and then stepped to the counter and sat. He didn't turn on any lights, and I watched as he sank onto a stool in the darkness, pushing his elbows onto the counter and dropping his head into his hands in silence. I watched, waiting for something, some cue that it was okay to interrupt, but he didn't move, and with every second that ticked by, the anticipation and excitement thrumming inside me dulled into something else.
He was upset, tired. Sad?
His life was about things I didn't know about, things he hadn't told me. His family, his brother ...
Was my infatuation with him selfish?
I stood in the darkness, watching him sit stock still in my kitchen with his head in his hands, and insecurity and self-doubt threatened to drown me.
Who was I to push myself on this man? He had an entire life I knew nothing about, and just because he worked in my house, I'd made myself believe he would want some kind of complicated romantic—or sexual, at least—entanglement with me? He probably felt like he had no choice about it. If I came onto him and he turned me down, he might worry that I'd fire him.
I'd put him in an impossible situation. And now I'd spent an entire day moping like a lovesick teenager, waiting for him to return, so I could what? Force myself on him? Show up unwanted in his room again? Though, I reminded myself, it didn’t feel like I was unwanted when I’d been there.
I let out a slow silent sigh, realizing how the life I led had tainted my objectivity. The entire world did not actually revolve around me. And I needed to give this man his space.
Slowly, silently, and with a heart that felt like a set of lead dumbbells strapped to my chest, I went upstairs to my room and closed my door.
Ten minutes later, I was going through the motions, readying myself for bed like an automaton. I needed sleep. And if I could sleep, then tomorrow this would be easier, I thought.
Elvis was snoring away, a fat little ball in his bed in the corner, and I took comfort in that. He was my normal, my every day. Me and Elvis against the world.
Too bad he was asleep half the time and would happily lick anything presented to him. He wasn't the most discerning partner—he'd eaten a helium balloon once when I took him on a walk before I could stop him—but he was mine.
Despite the fact I was in bed, teeth brushed, hair up, ready for sleep—physically, at least—I couldn't bring myself to shut off the light next to my bed. I was just about to reach for it when a quiet knock sounded at my door.
"Juliet? You up?" Jace's voice was a whisper like sandpaper against every cell in my body, and I was up instantly, awake and painfully attuned to the big man on the other side of the door.
It would be best to let him go. Not to answer the door. Pretend to be asleep. Let Jace have his life, and don't force on him the complications of my own.
I told myself all of these things as I crossed the room, laid a hand on the solid wood between us.
Let him go, Juliet.
On the other side of the door, I heard him sigh, a ragged exhale that tore at my heart.
I opened the door, knowing I was about to cross a threshold I couldn't recross easily. "Hi."
Jace stood like a tortured god in the darkened hallway. His dark eyes locked to mine, and they were full of pain and worry and sadness, even as his full lips lifted into a gentle smile. "You're up," he said, his deep voice rough and low.
"I'm up," I confirmed, my body pulled toward him like a planet into the sun's orbit. Everything in me was reaching for him, pushing me forward, but I kept my feet planted.
