by Anna Lowe
He parked himself on the edge of a plush chair, folded his arms, and did his best to channel my-woman, keep-your-eyes-and-hands-off energy through the glass.
She got right to work with a marker, scribbling notes and numbers on a whiteboard. It was like a TV drama, with the glass wall forming an oversized screen. The way she punctuated each argument with insistent chopping motions of her hands, the way her eyes flashed. Hell, if it were him, he’d give her the bid in a heartbeat. And fire that idiot Enrique, who sat hunched in defeat in a corner of the conference room.
But it wasn’t up to Tobin who won and who lost. It was up to the suits in there. He hated them already. There was a groomed and styled Latino with poaching eyes. Yeah, that guy wanted Cara. The gray-haired boss looked at her with thinly veiled desire, too. All of them, in fact, looked highly suspicious. She could do better than any of them by a mile.
His soul slumped at the thought that came on the heels of that one. Cara could do better than Tobin Cooper, too.
He spent the next hour contemplating that reality as the meeting dragged on. He would always just be Tobin, and that would never be enough.
Maybe it was time to cut his losses and quit while he was ahead. Because somewhere between the rope bridge and the ping of the elevator, he’d finally figured out what he’d been hoping for over the last couple of days. It wasn’t a second chance at Cara or an adventure or even for a night of heaven wrapped around her body, blissful as that was.
It was closure.
Closure on six years of wishing. Wishing to see her smile at him, one more time. To win her trust, even if it was only while hanging off the back of a bike or hurtling off a waterfall. To see her look at him with that special shine lighting up her princess eyes.
And he’d gotten all that. So what was he sticking around for now? Yeah, they loved each other as much — or more — than any two people could. But ultimately, her father was right. Cara could do better.
Unless…
He started sifting through the possibilities, hauling out old plans.
The conference room opened, and the babble of voices shook him out of his thoughts. Cara skipped over and smacked into him with a giant hug.
“I did it! We got the bid!”
He couldn’t care less about which company won the bid, but he spun her around twice because he’d always cheer for her team. Even if it was filled with a bunch of stuffy-looking assholes in suits.
“That’s great!” He kissed her a couple of times, savoring every one.
She rewarded him with a huge smile and a pat on the chest. “It is great. But we have to negotiate a couple of points right now.”
“Right now?”
She shrugged. “It’s Friday afternoon, and the bigwigs want this settled now. It’ll take another hour or two at least.”
He shook his head. “No way. You’ve just crossed half of Panama. Jumped off a waterfall!” Whoa. Had all that really happened today? “You need a break. Food, water.” He was babbling, but damn, didn’t Cara deserve a break?
She patted his arm. “They’re sending food up now. You can snag some off the tray before they bring it in, too. But then I think it makes more sense for you to go to my place and wait there. The secretary can tell you the way.”
He didn’t want to go anywhere, but her gaze flicked back to the conference room where the suits were watching. Waiting.
“I really have to go.” She kissed him and backed away, and it nearly killed him, wondering if that might be the last one. “I’ll see you there soon.”
He didn’t like it, not one bit, but maybe it didn’t help to have her seen with a ragged gringo sporting three days of stubble. He looked around until he caught his reflection in a pane of glass. Didn’t look any better or worse than usual.
In other words, he stuck out in this office like a sore thumb. He gave himself a little shake, like a dog trying to shed a coat full of burrs.
Cara hurried back into the conference room, blowing him a kiss. “See you soon.”
“See you soon,” he whispered, wondering if it was a lie.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Her apartment wasn’t far, and with the secretary’s directions, Tobin was there in twenty minutes. He swung the door open and peered inside, feeling strangely alone. Three days with Cara and he was already spoiled for life. He sighed and stepped in.
It was one of those modern places where everything was a cool white-on-white. He walked around, feeling like a burglar who wasn’t sure what he was looking for. The only comfort was the little hints of Cara filling the corners of the place. The pictures of her family on the fridge. The scrappy college blanket spread across the couch. The picture books arranged neatly on the coffee table.
He scanned them and snorted out loud. Rain Forests of the World, said one. He flipped it over and read the back cover. This stunning visual journey will bring you to the heart of the rainforest and the fascinating cultures that live in harmony with nature…
Stunning visual journey? It was stunning, all right. His ass still throbbed from the bumps they’d hammered over, because he’d been treated to tactile impressions, too. Not to mention olfactory, because even the stink of the city hadn’t purged the rich jungle scent from his memory.
Visual, tactile, olfactory. What else? He rifled through the memories until he screeched to a stop at one.
Sensual. A sensual journey.
They’d had that, too, starting with the kiss under the waterfall and moving on to a night of sexual aerobics in her hut. His eyes strayed to the open door of her bedroom, two steps away. Him and Cara, together again.
His whole body sighed and fast-forwarded through a hundred happy scenarios. Inserted kids and a dog and summer sails on Serendipity. Winters on the slopes, autumns full of falling leaves, Halloween costumes, and Thanksgiving feasts. He played them forward, then played them back again. But he kept getting stuck on one scene.
There they were, at a cocktail party to celebrate her company’s successful bid, somewhere in the near future. Him and her, cleaned up and looking like a million bucks. Happy as can be until one of the slick suits ambushed him at the bar.
“So, you’re Cara’s fiancé, huh?” Slick Suit would start, sounding almost-but-not-quite chummy and sincere.
Tobin would stand a little taller and give a little nod, pretending his soul didn’t sing every time he heard those two words aimed in his direction. Cara’s fiancé. He was hers, she was his. Forever.
“Lucky guy,” Suit Guy would say, picking his teeth.
Luckiest guy on earth and he knew it, so yeah, he’d give a modest shrug.
And then the assault would begin. Subtly, craftily.
“So, what do you do?”
He’d open his mouth then shut it again, and Suit Guy would smirk. Never mind that Tobin was good at what he did, or proud of what he did. Never mind that it kept him healthy and happy. That it made him money, too — more than the average person would guess. None of that counted for anything, though, not in Cara’s world. He’d always be the ski bum. Never good enough.
Cara would come over just in time to rescue him, but it always started and ended the same way — with Suit Guy seeing him off with a look that said, She deserves someone better. Someone like me.
He could imagine the scene perfectly because it had played out exactly that way a dozen times in the past when they really were engaged. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. What if a couple of years slipped by and she started to think the same thing?
He looked out the window, where a dozen freighters waited their turn to transit the Panama Canal. Ships in limbo between two seas.
Every part of his body screamed for him to go soak in the shower, then crash among the dozen pink throw pillows on her bed and tune out until she woke him up with a kiss and slid in beside him. A fantasy that almost won him over there and then.
There was another fantasy, though, alongside that one. One in which he never had to wonder if he was good enough for he
r again.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Doing the right thing had a way of burning a guy, even when he had the best intentions. He’d proved that again and again. Chances were ninety-nine to one he’d lose her again — maybe even to one of those jerks in a suit. Because why would Cara want to wait for him?
He stared off into the boundless blue Pacific, wondering. Then he sat down at her desk, weary to the bone.
He slid a drawer open, knowing what he had to do to make this a start rather than an end. Knowing that the hardest part was still to be done. Harder than sleeping next to her without touching. Harder than jumping off a waterfall or riding across a rope bridge.
Writing the letter he had to write was harder than all that. And leaving would be the hardest part of all.
As he pulled out her stationery and stared at the blank page, his mind tortured him with images of what would happen after he left. The door would swing open and Cara would walk in, calling his name brightly, eager to share her triumph. She’d walk from room to room looking for him, and it shredded him to think how much it would hurt her to find him gone.
But if he didn’t do this now, he might never have the nerve to do it again.
He lowered the pen to the paper and began to write.
Dear Cara…
Epilogue
New England, four months later…
Cara held up the lavender paper, reading the lines for the thousandth time.
Dear Cara,
Please believe me when I say that leaving is the last thing I want to do…
She lowered it again to keep her eyes on the icy ground but let the words play on in her mind. She had them memorized by now, anyway, and played the letter back like a recording as her boots crunched over the packed snow of the parking lot.
But I need to do this, just like you needed to get to your meeting in time.
The meeting she’d come home from, ready to beg Tobin to stay, only to find him gone.
I never stopped loving you, Cara, and I never will. But I think you were right. We weren’t ready to get married back then. And even though I want to meet you at your door with a bottle of champagne and a ring and a promise, I think we’re still not ready…
That part of the letter hurt the most because she’d been so sure that after everything they’d been through, things would be all right.
I need a little time to set some things up.
That was the hook that kept her baited over the next couple of lines, which were full of cross-outs. If you love me… The latter two words were crossed out and replaced by If you believe me, which he’d crossed out in turn before settling on something else: trust me.
If you trust me…
Trust. She knew he wasn’t pointing the finger there, though he had every right to do just that. It was her who’d ruined everything their first time around by not trusting him. Her, who’d driven him away.
If you trust me, and trust that this crazy force field that starts up between us whenever we’re together can wait just a little longer…
When she’d first read the next lines, she’d been crushed to read that he wasn’t asking for days, but months. She’d already gone forever without him, only to live a lifetime in a couple of days. Waiting four months felt like death, but how could she not wait?
So she waited as long as she could — three months and twenty-six days, not that she’d been counting — and here she was, just as directed in the letter.
She looked down at the address he’d written, then up again. Beech Tree Hill.
A ski slope. A little tiny one.
It looked like a farm had been converted to a modest ski hill, with a quaint old barn that oozed New England warmth on this crisp winter day. It wasn’t a big place, but there was a nice vibe to it. Lots of happy kids and proud parents bubbling with good cheer, all of them winding down at what seemed to be the end of a busy day.
A sign over one door said Office, and the one next to it, Ski School.
Ski school. Surely she’d find Tobin there, right?
A bell jingled as she opened the door then waited as a young mother herded her children toward the desk. “Today was great! Is there any space in beginner lessons next week?”
“All booked, sorry,” the young man said. “But I can put you on the waiting list.”
The woman sighed, added her name to the list, and bundled her kids off.
“Can I help you?” the young man asked Cara. His eyes seemed to spend an extra minute analyzing her face, and she figured it was the tan.
Panama, she wanted to say. Just flew in. But she got right to the point instead. “I’m looking for Tobin Cooper, please.”
He flicked a thumb up. “Next door. That way.”
So she went back out and up the stairs to the office, wondering what business Tobin might have there.
The barn looked ramshackle from the outside, but it was newer and fresher the higher up she climbed. One story up, a sign pointed right, to the office. The staircase continued upward, but that part was cordoned off. Private.
She turned right, followed a short hallway, and peered into the office. The door was open, and she stared for a minute at the view. Two walls of the office were taken up by panoramic windows: one side overlooking the bustling slope, the other capturing a quiet scene of bucolic farms and wooded hills that stretched to distant mountains. Her breath caught, it was so beautiful. So different than the saturated greens of Panama. The wood-burning stove glowing in one corner made her wonder about the apartment upstairs. It had to be gorgeous up there, under the eaves.
She was about to rap on the open door when she saw the sign there. OWNER, said a dusty old plate.
Tobin Cooper, said the shiny new plate underneath.
Her knees wobbled just a little bit.
I need a little time to set some things up, he’d written in his letter, and sweet Jesus, it sure looked like he had.
The office walls were hung with pictures of young skiers. She looked from face to smiling face. Not one showed Tobin tearing down the slopes, or Tobin on the podium after winning yet another race. He’d won plenty in his time, but what was he showing off in his office? Joy. Youth. Happiness.
A little bit of Tobin was in every one of those pictures. And something else, too: pride.
She was still gaping at it all when the floorboards shifted behind her and a man spoke.
“Can I help you?”
She spun to face the stranger and mumbled for a minute before producing coherent words. “I’m here to see Tobin.”
He looked her up and down. “He’s outside. Can I help you?”
“I need Tobin.” Part of her winced at how that sounded, but heck, it was true. “I’ll wait.”
Wait? her body cried. She couldn’t wait another second.
It must have shown, because the man sighed and pointed down the stairs. “Follow me.”
Her heart beat faster with every step down the winding stairs and outside into the frosty air. The sun was dropping fast, bathing the snowy hills in pink. A crowd gathered at the bottom of the slope, huddled around a three-step podium grand enough for the winter Olympics. Each step was crowded with little red-cheeked girls wearing tiny medals around their necks.
“A big hand for the contestants in today’s under-ten girls’ event!” A familiar voice announced, and Cara stopped in her tracks.
There was applause, the flash of a dozen cameras, a ripple of approval from the crowd, but all she saw was Tobin.
Tobin, in his white ski parka and jeans. A microphone in his hand, a smile glowing on his face. The kind of smile you get from giving, not taking.
“Hey, Tob.” The man tugged on his sleeve.
“One second.”
“Um, Tobin,” the man tried again.
“Not now, Gus.”
“Tobin, I really think—”
Tobin turned to Gus, who flicked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at her. Tobin’s eyes followed the thumb and turned to wide fields of blue.
He froze, and she did, too, because seeing him here wiped her brain clean of all the words she’d wanted to say. She had the vague sense of a hundred pairs of curious eyes swinging in her direction, but the only gaze she cared about was his.
Tobin, looking at her like he’d won the Olympics, and she was the prize. Except this time, his reaction said he didn’t even know he’d been in the running. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a massive gulp.
There was a jangle as Gus took the remaining medals out of his hand. “I got this, man,” he said, sotto voice. Gus shoved Tobin her way, then turned to the audience, raising his voice. “Right, folks! On to the next event. Calling all under-ten boys to the podium…”
She didn’t catch the rest, because Tobin came stumbling toward her. Tobin, stumbling — that had to be a first. Her arms opened to catch him, and the next thing she knew, he was wrapped around her like a cape, his arms cinched as tightly as she’d once held him on the back of the bike.
The dead of winter in New England, cold enough for their breath to come out in swirling white puffs, but all she felt was warmth. Warmth and a pulsing kind of joy. Tobin clutched her, her head under his chin, nose to his chest, and he smelled so familiar, so good. She clung to him, making a thousand silent vows. To never doubt, to never leave again.
He made a little croaking sound and led her away from the crowd, up a little rise surrounded by trees.
“You came,” he said, holding her shoulder as if to assure himself she really was there.
“You’d have come for me. You did come for me.”
“You waited,” he said between two uncertain breaths.
She laughed, not too convincingly. “That was the hard part.”
You trusted, his eyes said, and when she dipped her head in a nod, he pulled her back into a hug.
“Tobin,” she started when he let her go. But her tongue couldn’t quite find the right words, so she rooted in her pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to him.