by Lisa Sorbe
“I get it. A little. Sounds out there, though.”
“Well, I don’t claim to be any good at it. I’ve been known to hold onto things I should’ve dropped years ago.” She sighs. “But no one’s perfect. As long as we try to go to bed each night a little bit better than we were when we got up in the mornin’, that’s all we can do.”
I rub West’s card between my fingertips. Without looking her, I ask, “Do you really see Robert?”
“I do.”
“Do you think you’re only seeing him because—and this sounds horrible, so I’m sorry—but because you’re so close to the end?”
Corrine ponders the question for a moment. “Could be. Although, he says he’s never left. Not the part of him that’s Robert, anyway.”
I shoot her a questioning look, but she just twirls her finger around in the air again. “Like I said before, missy. This isn’t all there is.”
In all the time West and I spent together over the summer, I’d never once visited him at work. It was like we existed in our own little bubble, keeping the lives we’d been living as adults outside, rewinding the last twelve years to a time before the lackluster responsibilities of adulting took precedence.
So when I pull up to his office, my mouth drops.
This is not an office. And if it is, then I want to work here.
The structure is a large lake house, presumably the model home used to advertise Midnight Sun’s talents, and it’s grand in absolutely every way.
The land itself sits on the west edge of Wolf Lake, the side that boasts the most trees, the rockiest shoreline. The autumn sun glimmers off the water, its light spilling over the deep blue surface like liquid gold. The contrast catches in the windows of the large home, and though I’m standing at the front of the house, I can see all the way through to the back, where a wall of glass appears to meet the open water. The wide front porch is laid with stone, and the beams that support the porch roof are actual tree trunks, the knotty pine adding a rustic quality to the cabin’s otherwise sleek appearance.
This is no Little House on the Prairie cabin. This is an architectural marvel.
When Corrine said that West was staying in his office, I assumed he was sleeping on an old couch in some multi-plex business center.
Man, was I way off.
I’m standing next to my car in the driveway, gawking, when the front door opens and West appears. He has a messenger bag strapped across his chest and what looks like a pair of rolled up posters in one hand—of which I can only assume are the plans for someone’s dream house.
He’s halfway down the porch steps when he sees me, one booted foot suspended in mid-air and his mouth dropping like his jaw really is chiseled marble and it’s suddenly too heavy for him to hold up.
I’m too caught up in him—everything about him, from the tip of his trucker’s hat down to the tips of his steel toed boots—to notice anything else. So I start, physically jerk, when I hear a familiar voice, see a familiar head of cascading blonde hair just over West’s shoulder.
“I’m so happy we were finally able to get together and—” Her voice stops abruptly when she collides with West’s back, who’s still standing in the same place as he was when we locked eyes, as frozen as I am.
“Laney!” Candy’s voice is too high, filled with too much enthusiasm. West shoots her a look over his shoulder, to which she grimaces. Something unspoken passes between them, and she nods slowly. “I’ll just go on ahead. See you there?” Without waiting for West to answer, she flashes me another megawatt smile before bounding down the steps. Her walk past me is quick and, with her head down, she rounds my car and heads for a Mini Cooper parked on the far right of the driveway.
Of course Candy drives a Mini Cooper.
I close my eyes and mentally scold myself for being such a bitch. Just because she’s here with West and looking gorgeous and voluptuous and all Cover Girl-ish is no reason to hate her. And just because West may have moved on in the two months since I’ve been gone is no reflection on how he feels about us.
Only it is. Because how can you go from being so completely in love with someone to shacking up someone else so quickly? Unless, of course, I misread our relationship. What we meant to each other.
I clench my fingers and inhale deeply, release them with a trembling breath.
I’m furious. I’m so angry I want to scream. Walk right down to the water’s edge and scream into the lake, howl into the wind like a damn wolf.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
West, recovering more quickly than me, makes his way down the steps. “What are you doing here?”
There’s a shadow over his face, the sun’s glare bright above us, so I can’t make out his eyes when he speaks. But his lips are pressed into a line, and with the careful way he’s approaching me, I’m going to guess that my surprise appearance here isn’t as welcomed as I thought it’d be.
The rumble of Candy’s car fades to silence while I try to think of an answer, a lie, as to why I’m standing here so unexpectedly. A few birds chirp overhead—laughing, no doubt, at my poor timing.
Try the truth, Laney.
For some reason, the voice that floats through my head isn’t my own, but West’s. As if on some level we’re still connected and maybe, just maybe, the truth—my truth—will set us free.
Free to be together, or free to be apart.
I wring my hands, stalling. “I’m here because…I quit my job.”
Coming to a stop a few feet away from me, West raises a brow. “Really.”
I nod. “Yep.” I pop my lips on the p and rock back on my heels.
West is quiet for a moment and my nerves are tweaking, so I ramble on. “This place is amazing. I don’t know if you remember, but we used to play kickball here. You, me, Mike, and those twins that ended up moving to Florida… What were their names again?”
“Claire and Denny.”
“Aha,” I say, pointing at him. “Claire and Denny. God, I haven’t thought about them in years. Denny was always trying to cheat by calling time out right before someone was about to score on him…”
West stares down at me, not at all interested in reminiscing. “You quit your job.” His voice, like his expression, is deadpan. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
I take a deep breath and remember Corrine’s words, what she said about not being fearful of love. “I’m back because of you.”
West laughs, like he can’t believe my nerve. “You sure have great timing, don’t you?”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “Pobody’s nerfect.”
West rolls his eyes, but a corner of his mouth tilts up, softening his features. Still, he’s reserved. “I have a meeting in ten minutes.”
I nod. “And then a date after.”
West frowns. “A date?”
I nod again, like a bobblehead. “Yeah. With, you know…” My voice is pinched, so I clear my throat, trying not to let on how much my heart is breaking right now. “…with Candy.”
“No,” West says slowly. “I have a plane to catch.”
My jaw drops, so that when a surprised “oh” escapes my lips, I don’t even have to move my mouth. I gape like a fish for a second or two (try ten), then finally spit out, “But you…her…she just left and said ‘I’ll see you there’? I just thought…”
And for all these years West thought I was the articulate one.
What can I say? The man has a weird effect on my brain.
“I’m designing a house for her parents.”
Oh.
“I’m not dating Candy.” West’s voice is teasing, and a smirk breaks through his tough exterior.
My heart does a little flip, though I know I’m not out of the woods yet.
“We don’t have anything in common.” West takes a step closer. And then another. “Or don’t you remember?”
I remember.
But I don’t say it out loud, because being this close to him after two months apart
is affecting my ability to speak. He smells so good, so familiar, and he’s here, right here, so close, close enough to touch…
West hooks his thumb under the strap of his messenger bag, pulling it up and over his head before dropping it onto the leaf-strewn driveway. The rolls of paper follow, bouncing against the concrete with a hollow thud.
And when he pulls me into his arms, he hugs me so tight my feet lift right up and off the ground.
Six months later
My new job is a pretty easy gig.
Not to mention, my boss is hot. So, you know, there’s that.
“Elena, can I see you in my office please?”
I toss a look at Casper, who’s sprawled out on the floor at my feet, as I push back from my desk. “Duty calls.”
Casper lifts his head and yawns.
“We’re paying you too much, you know,” I tell him, reaching down to scratch his head. He wags his tail in answer, the thump-thump-thump against the hardwood floor following me into West’s office.
“That dog of yours is a slacker,” I say, rounding the desk and crawling into his lap. I brace my hands on his shoulders, rub my thumbs against the soft flannel of his shirt. “Doesn’t do a lick of work.” I snort. “Get it? A lick of work.”
West pulls me into him, groaning. “You’re such a dork.”
“Takes one to know one. In fact…”
But he uses his mouth to shut me up, and I let him, if only because he’s the boss.
Well, not only because he’s the boss. The man knows how to work his tongue. And when I say that, I mean that. But I digress.
“You know,” he says when we come up for air, “in one month, he’ll officially be your dog too.”
I shrug. “Eh.”
West feigns confusion. “Didn’t you get the adoption papers along with the prenup I sent over last week?”
“Wow. You’re hilarious Mr. Brooks. You know that?”
I kiss the smirk off his face, and when I pull away, he scolds me. “You know, this isn’t exactly proper workplace etiquette. If Logan wasn’t at the work site and Marlon wasn’t out sick, this would be highly inappropriate.”
“Whatever. Technically I’m still an attorney, and I say it’s okay.”
West laughs, gently pushing me out of his lap. “You do realize attorneys uphold the law, not make it, right?”
“Potayto, potahto.”
West just looks at me. “That doesn’t even make sense. And if I knew hiring you on as my assistant would be such a distraction, I’d…”
I cross my arms. “You’d what? Still do it anyway?”
He pushes up from his chair and backs me against the desk. His hands slide under my sweater, warm against my fevered skin, and when he brushes his lips against my ear, his voice is a husky whisper. “Damn straight.”
And damn it all, but I can’t help the shiver that pings down my spine, a tingle that vibrates lower and lower and…
But West leaves me hanging, because he backs away suddenly and straightens my sweater.
“We have a client meeting in fifteen.”
I try but fail to hide my smile. “Yeah, about that. Harry Bono is actually me.”
West laughs. “What?”
“You’ve been so busy lately and I wanted some quality, one-on-one time with my fiancé.” I hop up on the desk and snag him by his belt loop. “I mean, I’m thrilled that Midnight Sun is thriving and all that, but it’s Friday. And since I’m your last appointment, you’re officially free to help me celebrate.”
His brows shoot up, and a smile spreads across his face. “Did you finish it?”
I nod and, without thinking, reach up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “Yep. The first book in the Devil Takes Hold series is…done. I’m turning it in to Mrs. Lekan—I mean, Jessica—for the final read through tomorrow. Turns out she’s a huge fan of YA.” I scrunch my nose. “You know, she told me to use her first name, but I can’t get used to it.” I shrug. “Once a teacher, always a teacher.”
“Laney.” West is looking down at me with so much pride, I blush.
I’ve been pouring my heart and soul into this series for the last six months, falling asleep next to my laptop more nights than West. But it’s okay, because he knows how much I need this. How I need to write stories about teenagers in peril just as much as he needs to be in nature, designing log cabins that aren’t just homes, but works of art.
Our passions keep us whole. Hell, I’ll go so far as to say that writing keeps me sane. Pounding the keys and scribbling story ideas into notebooks rather than menial to-do lists I may or may never finish is healing in a way nothing else was, is, or ever will be. It allows me to love West, wholly and completely, without fear or worry about the future. Creating characters and telling their stories, marveling at their strengths while finding empathy in their weaknesses…there’s just nothing better.
For me, stringing words together, finding their rhythm, is self-love in the most intimate form possible.
“Do I finally get to read it now?”
He looks hopeful, so I throw him a crumb. “After.”
“After?”
Looking up, I see not only the man I’m going to marry, but the boy who’s always, in one way or another, had my heart.
“After.”
I flash him a knowing smile, wrap my arms around his neck, and pull his head down to meet mine.
Corrine was right. There really is no rush. Life doles itself out at the pace you set, at whatever frequency you determine.
Because this right here?
This isn’t all there is.
And as for me and West?
We have all the time in the world.
THE PRAIRIE TALES
One Fluttering Heartbeat
Found in Silence
Beneath the Shine
Lisa lives in Minnesota with her husband, Chris, and their crazy mutt, Lindy.
THE MEMORY OF US is her fourth book and, so far, the closest to her heart.