That Forever Girl

by Quinn, Meghan

  “That’s what I thought too. I’d spent some time back there before Brig took it over, and even back then, it was so serene. And Brig’s improvements add a whole new element.”

  “And these trees? Spectacular. I’m assuming with snow, the branches droop like a canopy over the space?” Sally asks, examining the pictures closely.

  “Oh yes, and when it snows here, it’s like you’re transported to another world, especially after it freshly falls and no one has touched it yet. The air is calm, the streets peaceful beneath a thick white blanket. I always loved winters up at the lighthouse, being able to look over all of Port Snow. It’s absolutely stunning.”

  Elizabeth smiles. “Talk about stunning. Your dad has done a wonderful job with the lighthouse. These pictures are incredible. I’m not sure the scene you chose works with the lighthouse, but I’m tempted to write it in.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Carl chuckles. “I don’t think I could pass up having this in the movie.”

  “My dad would be over the moon! Oh, I almost forgot to mention. I spoke with Brig, and he has one stipulation about using his lot.”

  “He wants to be an extra in the movie,” Sally says with a laugh. “Griffin has already told us about him, and that won’t be a problem. I think we have the perfect role, and it even has a tiny line.”

  I giggle, thinking about how Brig is going to react to the news. “He’ll be beside himself.”

  “What about the Harbor Walk House?” Carl asks. “Weren’t we thinking about using it for Chris’s home? It’s the perfect fishing house, right in the middle of the harbor. In A Sweet Christmas, Chris is kind of a recluse and has only moved back to town to fulfill his dad’s dying wish to resurrect his candy shop. So the Harbor Walk House would be absolutely perfect.”

  Yup, I couldn’t have picked a better location, but I’ll be damned if I have to work with Rogan or ask his permission to use one of his properties. Unfortunately for me, the man owns way too much real estate in this town. I knew he was successful, but does he have to own every cute little building in Port Snow?

  “I thought about the Harbor Walk House, but there’s a house on the eastern edge of the peninsula that I thought might work as well. It’s a quaint cottage with beach access; I think it’s on page twenty.”

  “Yes, I saw that.” Carl doesn’t look impressed. “Is there something wrong with the Harbor Walk House?”

  Just that my ex-boyfriend who shattered my heart owns it, and I’m too stubborn to ask him.

  I’m about to answer when Sally cuts in. “You know, I’m not sure if the cameras will be able to get the angle we need on the Harbor Walk House’s narrow deck. This little house by the beach might be perfect.”

  Thank God for Sally and camera angles.

  “I don’t know . . . I think we should still try.” Damn it, Elizabeth.

  “Well, regardless, this all looks great, except there is one place I don’t think I’m sold on,” Carl says.

  “What’s that?” I ask, my hands twisting nervously on my lap.

  “The inn for the Governor’s Ball. The space is rich with history and well maintained, but it doesn’t have quite the show-stopping appeal I’d like. This is where Chris and Darcy see each other for the first time outside of renovating the shop. You see, Chris just sees Darcy in work clothes all day, every day, since he hired her for carpentry work. And the ball is where he finally sees who she is beyond a tool belt and frumpy clothes. She takes his breath away, and we need a location that’s just as gorgeous.”

  “I agree,” Sally adds. “We need something more monumental. This is where Darcy parts the crowd in a brilliant red dress. We need a grand staircase and an open space.”

  “What about that place we found that day when we got lost?” Elizabeth asks. “The large white house.”

  Large white house, large white house . . . There are tons of large white houses in Port Snow, especially along the coast.

  “Oh!” Sally claps her hands. “The one we drooled over for at least ten minutes?”

  Elizabeth nods. “That one. I have no idea what it looks like inside, but it seems grand enough to have a ton of space.”

  Nervously, I shift in my seat, hating that I don’t know which property they’re talking about. “Do you happen to remember where this house is?”

  When putting together all the locations, I knew the Governor’s Ball was going to be my greatest challenge. Port Snow may be beautiful and historic, but we don’t have much in the way of grandiose buildings. Even though it pained me, I thought about bringing them up to Pottsmouth to one of the mansions on Clearly Street—but that’s my last resort. If they find a place they like in town, I’ll do my best to convince the owners to let us use it.

  “I think we could find it again—right, Sally?”

  “Oh, for sure.”

  “Wonderful, could you show it to me?” I ask.

  “We would love to.” Sally stands and takes her binder under her arm. “Carl, would you mind driving?”

  “Not at all.” He loops his scarf around his neck, and we all deposit our coffee cups in the trash. I give Ruth a quick wave before heading out the door with my new bosses. We pile into Carl’s SUV; I sit in the front so I can point out more of the locations I’ve chosen on our way.

  “Go straight down Main Street toward the Lobster Landing and turn right before the candle store,” Sally directs.

  Right before the candle store? Where are we going?

  I don’t ask because I don’t want to sound obtuse, like I know nothing about my town. They hired me specifically because I hold the key to Port Snow scenery, not to be clueless.

  “Have you been to the Lobster Landing yet to get some fudge?”

  Carl pats his stomach. “Too many times. I brought some home to my family last time we were here, and my wife and children both warned me that if I come home without some, I’m not welcome.”

  I chuckle. “Sounds about right. Their fudge has been known to turn families against each other and start fights for the last piece.”

  “Turn right here, Vale Lane.”

  I whip my head, staring down the tree-lined road I’ve traveled too many times to count.

  “Oh, Sally, I think you must be mistaken,” I say as Carl turns down the street. “This is a dead end; it leads to Snow Vale . . . Manor,” I finish on a whisper as the home of my childhood comes into view. But instead of a rundown, moldering house, a picturesque, brilliantly white mansion stands before me. My mind goes blank with shock.

  “It is! Isn’t it gorgeous? Look at those pillars, and the front porch is absolutely stunning.”

  I blink a few times, trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  I’m not.

  There it is: Snow Vale Manor fixed up and shining like a beacon against the evergreen trees that surround it. The lights are on, there are cars parked in the paved—freaking paved—driveway, and the front door is open.

  I don’t . . . hell, I don’t know what to say. It’s everything I pictured when I thought about someone coming in and finally restoring the place.

  Carl parks the car; I take no time in unbuckling my seat belt and leaving everyone in the car as I hurry across the familiar lawn, straight toward the open door.

  In awe, I run my fingers along the polished porch banister. Black steps. Black railing. White siding. It’s all here, exactly how I imagined it.

  The porch is covered in new wood, no longer caving in from the years of neglect, and the front doors . . . the windows have been replaced and the gold knobs polished.

  How can this be? How did someone buy this house and renovate it?

  My breath catches in my throat when I walk through the front door uninvited, but I don’t care. I can’t possibly stop myself as I take in the stunning entryway with its curved staircase and freshly painted white walls. Everything is white besides the stairs and the renovated wide-plank, blond wood floors.

  It’s breathtaking, everything about it, from the original
gold fixtures, to the crystal drop chandeliers, to the restored moldings.

  “Oh, it’s more spectacular than I imagined,” Sally says, walking up behind me. “Do you know if there’s a ballroom?”

  I nod, my voice dying in my throat as memory guides me to the doors that lead to the room where I spent the best moments of my high school years, the same room where I said I love you for the first time, and the room where I lost my virginity to the love of my life.

  With a shaky hand, I twist the glass knob; the door swings open flawlessly, no squeaky hinges, no sticky door jamb. The bold white walls bounce the light from the windows off the floor and straight to the shining gold-leaf ceiling.

  Tears prickle my eyes as I spin carefully around until I find the fireplace. Simple white moldings flank black limestone that flows up to a white mantel—elegant and fitting the era of the house perfectly. How can this be? How can a dream I’ve had for so long come true?

  “Can I help you?”

  At the sound of his voice, I whirl around; Rogan is standing at the ballroom doors, holding a black leather folder and sporting a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. Wearing a black shirt, black pants, and an expensive watch—he wears business well—the only light part of him being his eyes, which snap right to me. And for a moment, I see a flash of something soft, something vulnerable, before he clears his throat and steps forward.

  “Yes, hi, we’re from Lovemark and couldn’t help but admire your home,” Sally says.

  He quickly glances at me. “Thank you.”

  Thank you?

  Thank you?

  As in, thank you for admiring my home?

  How?

  When?

  Tears fill my eyes as I turn away, unable to look at him anymore. I quickly wipe at my eyes and try to steady my rapidly beating heart. Don’t lose it, not in front of Lovemark.

  “Crap, Elizabeth, Carl, we have that meeting with Thomas Froth over in the harbor about using his boat.”

  “Ugh, okay. Harper, would you be able to talk with . . .”

  “Rogan Knightly,” Rogan answers for her.

  “My apologies. Harper, would you be able to speak with Mr. Knightly about our idea for this space? We would greatly appreciate it.”

  Plastering on a smile, I turn toward them and nod. “Of course. Go on ahead.”

  “What about a ride?” Carl asks.

  “Oh crap, we are terrible.”

  “I can drive her back to her car,” Rogan says, his eyes trained on me. “That’s not a problem.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Sally says, giving Rogan a firm handshake. “I hope we’ll be in touch. It was a pleasure, Mr. Knightly. Your house is just breathtaking.”

  They say their quick goodbyes and head out of the house as fast as they came in.

  A smartly dressed woman appears at Rogan’s side, and Rogan turns to her. “Gina, you can head home early. I’ll speak with Miss Sanders about Lovemark’s interest in Snow Vale Manor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Knightly.” She hands him a stack of old-looking papers, but his gaze never wavers from mine. “Have a good night too, Miss Sanders.”

  I give her a curt wave, unable to really do anything else. Once the front door shuts, leaving me alone with Rogan, I crumple to the floor and cover my face with my hands, tears falling past my fingers and down my cheeks.

  Why would he do this? Why would he take our house and turn it into something of such beauty? After he tore us apart, why would he resurrect the literal foundation of our relationship but not want to resurrect our love?

  The floor quietly creaks as he approaches. He sets down his folder and papers and squats next to me, hand on my back. I jolt from his touch.

  “Don’t,” I say, wiping my eyes and trying to scoot away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Harper, talk to me.”

  Standing, I brush off my bottom and shake my head. “How . . .” I suck in a deep breath. “Why did you . . .” I motion to our beautiful surroundings. “You . . . you made a dream come true, our dream, but you act like you wish I never came back to town. Why?”

  He grips the back of his neck but says nothing. The strong, loving man I’ve known for most of my life has turned into a stoic, emotionless human.

  His silence is deafening, but I can’t help when I ask, “Why? Why did you do this?”

  “I don’t know,” he says solemnly and walks toward the large window that overlooks the front porch.

  That’s not what I was expecting, though from his closed-off stance, I know that’s the best I’m going to get.

  Instead of focusing on Rogan and what could have been, what we used to have, I pull myself together and turn my attention back to the house and the job I enjoy. I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “Lovemark is looking for a space to film a lavish ball scene. I suggested the inn, but it wasn’t grand enough for them. They would like to film here.”

  “They can do whatever they want in this space. It’s for rent to the public for events.” Rogan turns around, his face an emotionless mask. “I’ll have Gina send you the paperwork.” And just like that, we’re back to business, as if we’re not standing on the same spot where we first made love . . . where Rogan proposed to me, asking me to be his forever.

  “That works.” I shoulder my purse. “You don’t have to drive me. It’s a quick walk into town.”

  “I can drive you, Harper.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I pick up the papers that are shoved in his folder, realizing for the first time that they’re the letters we found under the floorboards. My breath catches in my throat as I carefully run my fingers over the words that captured me so long ago.

  When you’re with her, do you think of me?

  I picture us dancing one day, the chandeliers glittering above us in our ballroom.

  A dog, that backyard needs a dog.

  When are we going to have the life we always dreamed of?

  Your Forever Girl.

  Rogan walks up beside me and gently tugs the letters from my hands before I can read any more. “You’re not walking.”

  He heads toward the front door and turns off the lights, casting the ballroom in shades of gray, reminding me of all the dimly lit nights we spent in this very room, all the nights we warmed it with our love.

  “Come on.” He beckons before slipping on his black jacket. I glance up at him, a shadow of the man I used to know looking back at me. Where did he go? Where is my beautiful, sweet, affectionate Rogan? And why do I care?

  I follow him out of the house and to his sleek black BMW SUV, parked in the same spot where his truck used to sit. Still showing a bit of gentlemanly behavior, he opens the door for me and waits for me to settle in before shutting it. He places the letters on the seat behind him and then climbs into the driver’s side. The car comes to life, the motor a sweet purr compared to the clunky rattle of his old truck.

  Right now, I prefer the old truck; it contained far less tension.

  “Where’s your car?”

  I look out the window. “Snow Roast.”

  “Okay.” He puts the SUV into drive and pulls out of the driveway, my eyes trained on Snow Vale Manor until it’s out of view. Another tear slips down my cheek, and this time I leave it there, letting my sorrow sink in.

  In minutes, we are in front of Snow Roast, and Rogan is putting the car in park. I reach for the door handle when he stops me with a hand to my leg. “Wait.”

  I turn toward him, and that’s when he sees my tears. His eyes soften, and for a brief second I glimpse the old Rogan in those Knightly blue eyes. With the pad of his thumb, he wipes my cheek and slowly lowers his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Harper.”

  “For what?” I ask, my throat tight.

  “Everything.” For a few silent moments we stare at each other. I wait for him to elaborate, while he looks like he’s trying to gain the courage to do so.

  But he doesn’t.

  Instead, he reaches behind him and opens up the leather folder he was carry
ing around at the manor. Retrieving a pamphlet, he holds it out to me. “Here is a list of my properties Lovemark can use. The Harbor Walk House is on there.”

  MFG Realty is emblazoned in bold at the top. What does MFG stand for? I scan the properties, my eyes widening and my heart thudding with each address I read.

  Harbor Walk House.

  Snow Vale Manor.

  Peach Tree Terrace.

  The Inn at the Sea.

  “These . . .” I swallow hard. “These are all the places I’ve dreamed of living in, all the houses I’ve talked to you about.”

  He scratches the side of his jaw and stares out the windshield. “They were good investments.” He clears his throat. “Let me know if Lovemark wants to use any of them. I’ll be the point of contact, so they’ll have to work closely with me when in use.”

  They’ll have to work closely with him? Which means I’m going to have to work closely with him. But I can’t think about that now, not with the name of the realty company staring up at me.

  “What does MFG stand for, Rogan?”

  Uncomfortably, he looks at his watch. “I have a meeting to get to. My information is on the card attached to the pamphlet. Call me when they make their decision. I’ll be sure to hold open filming dates.”

  “What does it stand for?”

  He doesn’t answer; instead he puts the gear in drive and continues to stare out the window, his hand casually covering his mouth.

  Heart pounding in my chest, my nerves dancing in my stomach, I take a chance. “Does it mean . . . My Forever Girl?”

  He pushes his hand through his hair and clears his throat. “I’ve got to go, Harper. Please leave.”

  And that’s all the answer I need.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief second before gathering my things and stepping out of the car. Just as I shut the door, I hear a faint mumble come from Rogan. “Fuck.” And then he pulls onto the street, leaving me more confused and heartbroken than ever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HARPER

  Freshman Year, Syracuse University

  “And then . . . my boob popped out.”

  “No it didn’t!” Claire shouts above the cheering crowd. “Are you serious?”