Drawn to You Read online

  Drawn to You

  by Natalie Vivien

  "Drawn to You"

  © Natalie Vivien 2013

  Rose and Star Press

  First Edition

  All rights reserved

  License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Synopsis:

  Could you learn to trust--and love--again after suffering a painful betrayal?

  Two months ago, museum curator Molly Mason's lying, cheating ex-girlfriend Juliette left her for another woman. After weeks of loneliness and grief, Molly has finally begun to piece her life, and her heart, back together, but she doesn't know if she's ready for love.

  Still, she feels undeniably drawn to the new tenant of her empty cottage, Ash Rosenburg, a tall, gorgeous artist with intense grey eyes and fascinating tattoos. When Ash offers to give Molly painting lessons, the connection--and attraction--between the two women intensifies to a fever pitch.

  But the unexpected reappearance of Juliette at Molly's door makes Molly feel uncertain about everything. Should she give her remorseful--albeit manipulative--ex-girlfriend a second chance? Or does Molly's destiny lie in the arms of the smoldering woman next-door?

  "Drawn to You" is the heartwarming, sexy, romantic novel about two women who, over the course of one eventful week, realize that they are meant to be together.

  Dedication:

  For my darling

  Part One: The Art of Love

  I stagger beneath the weight of the dusty encyclopedia volumes in my arms but obstinately stumble out of the open front door.

  “Hey, She-Hulk, do you need any help with those?” Pauline calls, abandoning her earnest efforts at yard sale organization to run over to me. She hefts six or seven of the books from my pile and sets them down on the empty table beside us.

  “Thanks.” I sigh, exhausted, hurling the rest of the volumes—M through Z—onto the table in an untidy heap. “I’ll be so glad when those stupid things are out of my life. Along with all of the rest of this stuff.” I shove long dark strands of hair off of my forehead and place my hands on my hips. Sighing again, I shield my eyes against the sun as I survey the front lawn with a frown.

  The graffiti-adorned folding tables that Pauline borrowed from her school are now littered with CDs and kitchen gadgets, clothes and lampshades, old magazines and dangerously spiky high-heeled shoes. There’s the seascape painting that Juliette and I bought on our last trip to Provincetown. And there’s the cobalt vase that Pauline gave us as a housewarming present, etched with our initials in an ornate font: J & M.

  Pauline picks up the vase and shakes her frizzy brown head mournfully. “Sure you want to get rid of this? What if your next girlfriend’s name starts with a J, too?”

  I cringe when she says next girlfriend and turn around to head back into the shade of the house. “I just want it all gone, Pauline. Everything that makes me think of Juliette. Everything that we bought together, shared together.”

  “I know. I get it. Hey, I felt the same way after Travis and I broke up, except he kept the apartment, so all I took with me was the dog and my photography stuff. Though I left my self-portraits—for those lonely nights, to make sure he’d regret the righteous babe he lost.”

  I smile over my shoulder at her as we step through the door and move into the entryway. Earlier this morning, the space was packed with boxes and piles, a disorder of both practical and sentimental objects—many of which broke into pieces when I hurled them over the upstairs banister. Pauline arrived just in time to stop me from smashing a porcelain bust of Sappho on the floor.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” she yelled at me, dashing up the stairs to grab the heavy sculpture from my hands, then nearly toppling sideways from its weight. “Listen, Molly, you may feel like breaking things right now, but you can’t blame poor Sappho for the fact that your girlfriend’s a liar and a cheat. That’s hardly fair.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. And I’m the one who introduced her to Sappho in the first place. Before I gave her this bust, she thought Lesbos was the name of some planet from a science fiction novel.”

  “Well, it probably is, but still.”

  So I let Pauline carry poor Sappho out to the yard sale—though I insisted that the sculpture be placed on the “FREE!” table, to make certain that someone spirited her oversized head out of my sight.

  “Almost done,” Pauline says now, smiling encouragingly at me as she gestures toward the remaining mementos scattered at our feet. “But I have to say…” She strolls into the living room and scratches her chin thoughtfully. When she looks back at me, concern darkens her eyes. “The place is looking awfully empty, Molly. Are you sure—”

  “I’m sure.” I try to smile brightly at her, but by the odd expression on her face, I know I haven’t succeeded. “I’m happy to have a blank slate. You know, I’ll start all over—new furniture, new curtains, new artwork on the walls…”

  “New wardrobe, because you’re selling most of your clothes.”

  I shrug indifferently, tugging at my shirt collar and moving the fabric in and out to fan myself. It’s the hottest day of the summer. I picked the hottest day of the summer to peddle my worldly belongings outdoors. But it doesn’t matter. I’d rather sweat and burn than spend another moment surrounded by the taunts of memories gone sour.

  I draw in a deep breath. “Every time I looked at those things hanging in my closet, I just thought of all the compliments she used to give me—and wondered if she used the same lines on…her.”

  “Most likely,” Pauline scoffs. “Juliette never struck me as the imaginative type. Wouldn’t be surprised if she recycled come-ons like most people recycle soda cans.”

  “Well, she never recycled soda cans. I always had to separate our trash out myself, because she couldn’t be bothered with it. Though she claimed to be a ‘save-the-earth type.’”

  Pauline rolls her eyes and steps near enough to rest her hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry things have been tough for you, Mol.”

  “I’m all right.” Faux smile wavering, I fight back tears as my best friend draws me close for a hug. “I mean, it’s been almost two months since she left,” I murmur into her shoulder, “and I’m only using up, like, one tissue box a day now. Major improvement.”

  “Well, bravo.” Pauline draws back, smiling down at me warmly. Her long hair springs out like a frizzy halo around her head. “Maybe in another month, you’ll be ready to return to the dating pool.” She squints one eye and moves her arms in an exaggerated—and probably wildly inaccurate—imitation of someone casting a fishing line. “Then you can reel in a catch more worthy of your awesomeness.”

  “Wait. You’re making fishing metaphors now? Last time you brought up the subject of dating, you compared it to baseball. Bases loaded, two outs—”

  “And bam! Grand slam.” She beams. “I didn’t even think you were listening.”

  “I was, though I have no idea what a grand slam is.”

  “Oh, my sports-illiterate friend. Didn’t you play soccer in high school?”

  “Only for the girls…”

  She waves her hands dismissively. “A grand slam is, like, the ultimate baseball victory. And you, Molly, are years overdue for a romantic grand slam. Or…for hooking a big whopper of a fish.” Pauline’s mouth tilts to the side, pondering. Then she shakes her head. “Yeah. Forget the fishing metaphor. Not my best work. It’s just…Bra
d took me out on his boat last weekend and caught a couple of trout for dinner, so I’ve kind of got seafood on the brain.”

  I smirk at her and raise a brow. “I think you’ve just got Brad on the brain.”

  “Ma-a-aybe.” Her smile is bright enough to light up the sky. But it dims, along with her eyes, when she glances at me. “Anyway—we should drag all of the rest of this stuff out there and get this party started, don’t you think?”

  “The sooner my relationship with Juliette can be catalogued as ancient history, the better.”

  “Right.” Pauline bends down to gather some loose items in her arms, examining them curiously. “A feather duster, a jump rope, and a book of erotic poetry. Hmm…” She angles me a one-sided grin: a dead giveaway that she’s thinking nefarious thoughts. “You just got your first sale, lady. These will make a nice little gift for Brad—and me. Later tonight.”

  I place a hand over my heart and gasp, pretending to be shocked.

  “Have I offended your delicate lesbian sensibilities, Mol?”

  “I may never recover....”

  She digs a dollar bill out of her pocket and offers it to me with an expression of contrition. “Maybe this will help buy you a few seconds of therapy.”

  I laugh, shaking my head and pushing her proffered money away. “Please, take them free of charge. And…enjoy?”

  Pauline makes a tip-of-the-hat gesture. “No worries on that score. There might even be photos…”

  “Well, don’t post them on Facebook. Not again. Your poor mother!”

  “Hey, they were tasteful. Some people just have no eye for art.”

  I nod and lift a box of knickknacks from the floor, groaning. “There’s no question about that. You know, somebody came into the museum the other day, stood in front of our gorgeous Bouguereau, and had the nerve to call it ‘pornographic.’ I mean, seriously? Seriously?”

  “Uh-oh. Museum curator rage.” She tosses her “purchase” aside and picks up a pile of clothes from the floor. “You’re getting all huffy, Mol. Your eyes are, like, turning green.”

  “My eyes are green.”

  “Oh, right. Well, the point is—I like it when you’re mad. It’s so much better than sad.” We step over the threshold and out into the sun together, carrying our burdens and dropping them onto the nearest table. “Tell me more stuff you’re mad about. Venting is good for the soul.”

  I shrug and begin to unpack the box of its Christmas ornaments and empty picture frames. “I’m mad that this town has no appreciation for the museum, that the locals hardly ever stop in to view the exhibits.” I draw two bedside lamps from the box and scowl at them, slamming them onto the table so hard that Pauline, folding clothes beside me, jumps and makes a startled sound. “I’m mad that the library closed due to disinterest. I’m mad that your school cut its music and art programs and squandered that money on football, instead.”

  Examining a black lace negligee with a sharply raised brow, Pauline nods toward me, letting the filmy thing fall from her fingertips. “Go on.”

  “I’m mad that Juliette… She said we’d be together forever, and now she’s gone, and I’m…” Tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I shove a hand in the back pocket of my jeans to bring out a crumpled tissue. It’s so hard with overuse that it scratches my skin.

  “Whoa. You’re supposed to be talking about things that make you mad, not sad. Hold on.” Pauline runs into the house for a moment, and when she returns, she hands me a fresh tissue and gives me an admonishing look.

  “Thanks.”

  “Just try to avoid the J word altogether, okay? I mean, avoid all words that begin with J, just to be safe. No jogging or jesting or jeering or jiggling… Oh. Well.” She stares pointedly at my chest. “That may be a problem.”

  I laugh, despite my tears. “Honestly, Paul, you’ve got to stop flirting with me.”

  “Hey, can you blame me? You’re hot.” She hisses through her teeth and taps my shoulder, then shakes her hand as if it’s been burnt. “Sa-mokin’ hot!”

  I finish unpacking the box and begin to carry it back into the house, calling back, “My best friend is insane. Sweet. But…insane.”

  “Well, we’re all mad here.” She follows behind me, drawing her frizzy mane up into a ponytail while wearing a Cheshire cat grin. “Living in a place like Normal, Michigan, will do that to a person.”

  “Yeah.” I gather some more encyclopedia volumes from the entryway floor and sigh, dizzy from the heat and heartache. “Tell me about it.”

  ---

  Seven sweltering hours later, Pauline and I stand side by side on the lawn, taking turns wiping our sweaty brows with a blue winter scarf from the clothing table. Evening has fallen, but the temperature hasn’t dropped a single degree. If anything, it feels even hotter. And now that the last shoppers have slugged off with their spoils stuffed into paper grocery store bags, all that remains are the left-behind pieces of my life with Juliette—the stuff nobody wanted. My eyes roam the scattered relics and begin to water: it’s the saddest sight I’ve ever seen.

  As if she senses my mood, Pauline rests a comforting—if sweaty—hand on my back. “You did good, kid.”

  I sniffle a little and smile gratefully at her. “Thanks, Paul. I mean, for everything.”

  “Hey, you went above and beyond your best friend obligations after my split with Travis. Gave me a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on. You never even said a word when my mascara tears ruined your favorite shirt. Helping you set up a massive yard sale in the withering heat was the least I could do.”

  “Well, I really appreciate it. I couldn’t have done it by myself.” I put my hands on my hips and consider the disheveled tables, sighing. “Now I’ve just got to figure out what to do with the rest of this junk.”

  “Already got it covered.” Grinning, Pauline pulls her phone out of her pocket and waves it triumphantly at me. “I called Brad about an hour ago. He’s going to stop by with his truck, so we can take all of the tables back to the school—and make a quick stop at the donation center to liberate you of everything else.”

  My eyes water again, but for a different reason. “You’re amazing, Paul.”

  “I know.” She hugs me tight, but because we’re both so clammy, our skin kind of sticks together when she starts to pull away. Pauline chuckles and makes a face. “All right, so the best friend bylaws prohibit any and all future mentions of that gross, glue-sweat hug. But, sweaty squeezes aside …you know I’m always here for you, Mol.” She brandishes her phone again. “Just a text away.”

  I’m really crying now, but, oddly enough, laughing, too. Pauline tries to relieve my emotional confusion with her instinctive humor, plucking that black lace negligee from the table again and stuffing it into the back pocket of her shorts with a sly grin. “You didn’t see that, right?”

  “See what?”

  “Awesome.” She lowers her sunglasses to peer down the road, and her slyness gives way to an expression I never saw on her face, throughout our entire fifteen years of friendship, until she met Brad Rogers: pure, lovesick sweetness. “Oh, here’s Brad now,” she beams, standing on tiptoes and waving her arm in the air.

  I watch her, smiling softly to myself. Pauline and I went to college together and have nursed each other through more than one broken heart. She dated a lot of guys who abused her generous nature and took advantage of her forgiving spirit. But Brad is her grand slam, her whopper of a catch, and I couldn’t be happier for her. It does my bleeding heart good to see her so utterly in love—to know that it’s possible, that it can happen. Because maybe, someday, it could happen for me.

  When Brad swings his green pickup into the driveway, shuts off the engine and hops down to the ground, Pauline flies into his arms and attacks him with a rapid-fire assault of kisses. There are pale pink lipstick marks all over his grinning face. “Hey, Molly,” he greets me sheepishly, walking into the yard with Pauline, hand in hand. “So, did you make enough money to retire?”

  I
produce a thick wad of cash from my back pocket and wave it in his face.

  “Whoo! Gonna have to start calling you Ms. Moneybags now.”

  Pauline pipes up, “Or Lady Legal Tender.”

  “Wait. I’ve got it.” Brad pops the collar of his shirt and crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “The Duchess of Dough.”

  “Ooh, I like that one.” Shoving the money back into my jeans, I smile and shake my head. “Unfortunately, it’s not quite true. Still, the extra cash will help out with Juliette’s portion of the mortgage until I can find a renter for the cottage out back.”

  “I’ll ask around in the teachers’ lounge tomorrow morning,” Pauline offers, motioning for Brad to move to the other side of one of the tables. Together, they clear the surface and begin to break the table legs down. “Maybe my co-workers’ll have some ideas. Have you posted any rental listings online?”

  “Yeah.” I start to shove loose items into boxes, sweeping everything off of the tables in a haphazard heap. “I’ve got a couple of messages about it, too. I just…” I sigh, toting a box of stuff over to the truck and throwing it into the empty bed. “I just haven’t felt like dealing with it, I guess.” I shove damp strands of hair out of my eyes and smile weakly. “But it’s got to be done. I realize that. Maybe I’ll tackle it tomorrow after work.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Brad grins winningly at me, hefting a table in his arms.

  “Listen…” Pauline comes over to me and places her hands on either side of my shoulders, her face soft with empathy. “You go on into the house. Take a hot bath. Or…a cold shower.” She fans herself for a moment with her hand, grimacing. “And just relax. Read a book. Pet the cat. We’ll finish up here.”

  “But I should help—”

  She holds up her hand in the universal gesture of STOP. “I’m invoking best friend bylaw number 7832: If best friend A offers to give best friend B a few extra, well-deserved moments of peace, best friend B is obligated to accept.”