Falling for the Fling
Page 17
He loves me, he wants a future together, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn my trust, even if it takes a year’s worth of letters. Two years. Three. He swears he’ll keep writing until I agree to see him again, and by the time I finish reading, I believe him.
I close the last letter with a determined breath.
Melody and Aria are right. It’s time for me to grow up and do the work. Mason can only take the healing so far on his own.
Now it’s my turn.
My turn to prove that my love for him is more powerful than my fear, to prove that I’m brave and ready to put my money where my mouth is.
Luckily, several clients sent in their deposits last week. My bank account is in a healthy place, and I can afford a splurge in the name of love.
Now, to find a store that’s open on Sunday mornings…
I pull out my laptop and do some searching, finding what I’m looking for in a shopping center about three blocks from Mason’s condo.
Five minutes later, I’m in my car on the way to Atlanta, my hands shaking with nerves, my jaw tight with excitement, and my heart aching with hope that today will be the day that changes everything, the first day of the rest of my no-longer-lonely life.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mason
A week after I moved into my new place, I found the perfect brunch spot.
It’s a hole in the wall three blocks from my condo complex called The Root Cellar that serves obscenely good omelets, pancakes, and French press coffee in carafes the waiters leave on your table so you can enjoy it down to the last, gritty drop.
It’s busy during the breakfast rush, especially on Sundays, but the staff doesn’t mind if you linger at one of the outdoor tables on the sidewalk. And so, every Sunday, I buy the paper and head to The Root Cellar with my favorite pen and a spiral notebook to eat breakfast, drink too much coffee, and write Lark her weekly letter.
At first, I was worried that I might run out of things to say—being as addicted to email as everyone else, I haven’t written a real letter in years—but I find the process strangely soothing.
By the end of the first page, I connect to the words, and by the end of the second, I connect to Lark. I can imagine the look on her face as she reads each line, the parts where she might smile, and the parts that would make her bite her lip and put on her thinking face.
I pour myself into every letter, sharing everything about my new job and my new life in Atlanta, and then going back to a moment from my past I never told her about and describing it in detail.
I never want something I’ve held back to come between us again.
So, I fill her in on the darker parts of my childhood, the parts I deliberately left out when we were first dating, not wanting her to feel sorry for me or to expose old wounds that, at that point, hadn’t completely healed.
I fill her in on the events of the summer after my mother left, and the first few months living with Uncle Parker. I tell her about learning there are worse things than a neglectful parent, like living with a man who resented the fact that you were even born. I tell her stories about my residency, the crazy people I met in the E.R., and the old woman who lived above my apartment during my first two years in New York, but died the third, and how my roommates and I had been the only people at her funeral.
I also tell her all about my last meeting with Parker and how much freer I feel, and how much I love my new workplace.
But mostly I tell her that I love her. And miss her.
And that no good thing is quite as good without her around to share it. I tell her that I need her and that I’m never going to stop needing her, and that I hope someday she’ll realize that she needs me, too.
But, truthfully, I’m not expecting that day to be any day soon. I saw how hurt she was, and Melody said Lark hasn’t mentioned my letters. For all I know, she could be tearing them up and throwing them in the garbage.
But still I write, hoping for the best, but expecting nothing to change for a long time.
Maybe ever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mason
To say I’m surprised to look up from my freshly delivered brunch omelet to see Lark walking down the sidewalk in a white sundress toward me, looking like a sun-kissed angel, is an understatement.
I’m stunned.
Dumbfounded.
Rendered speechless, motionless.
Really, all I can do is sit and stare as she draws closer.
I’m sure she’s going to walk right by me without noticing the man gaping behind the low, wrought iron fence surrounding The Root Cellar’s outdoor seating area, but then she stops. Just…freezes in the middle of the sidewalk, as if I’ve called her name.
A beat later, she reaches for her sunglasses, pulling them from her face as she turns my way.
When her gaze connects with mine, her eyes widen and a tiny squeaking sound escapes her lips. She looks as shocked as I feel.
Hell, I begin to suspect this is some terrible coincidence, that she didn’t come here to find me and that she’s going to make a break for her car any second, when she says—
“I was on my way to your place.”
—and my heart does a backflip in my chest.
I flick my notebook shut and stand, facing her across the fence.
“You were?” I ask, wanting to touch her so badly I have to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her hand.
She nods, fidgeting with her purse strap. “I’ve…missed you.”
“Me, too,” I say quickly, my heart hammering harder. “So much. Every day.”
“And I…read your letters this morning. All of them.”
“You did?” I fight to keep my face expressionless.
It’s too early to start celebrating. She might be here to tell me to quit writing, for all I know. The missing me part was good, but she looks so nervous I can’t be sure what this is about.
Surely, if she’s read the letters, she has to know I’ll welcome her back in my life, any way she wants that to happen.
She nods again. “They helped me make an important decision.” She pulls in a shaky breath. “I mean, I’d already pretty much made the decision, or part of the decision—the most important part—but they helped me be certain I was making the right decision. You know what I’m saying?”
I shake my head, my pulse racing. “No, but you’d better tell me quick. I’m not sure my heart can take the suspense.”
“Oh. Right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you here, and—” She flutters her hand anxiously. “I’m screwing this up.”
“You’re not screwing anything up.”
“I am,” she says, wincing. “I had it all planned, and now I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m babbling and you’re nervous and I’m nervous and—”
“I’m not nervous,” I interject. “I’m just crazy happy to see you again, and…” I pull in a breath and risk adding, “And I hope I’ll be seeing more of you from here on out.”
“Me, too,” she says, holding my gaze, the tension slowly seeping from her features. “I don’t know why but staring into your eyes always makes me feel better.”
“Same here,” I say, my jaw tightening as a wave of emotion swells inside me. “They’re my favorite eyes to stare into.”
With another slow, deep breath, she reaches into her purse.
Out of the corner of my vision I watch her take out a small, red box before she bends down, kneeling on the concrete in front of me.
My jaw releases with a spasm.
“I would be down on one knee, but I wasn’t thinking and my dress is too short,” she says with a shaky laugh, “so you’ll have to settle for both knees.”
Her tongue sweeps across her lips as she opens the red box, revealing a thick, silver band with something etched on the side that I can’t read from where I stand.
But I don’t need to read it to know what it is.
And more importantly, what it means.
I open my mouth to tell her it doesn’t matter, but she hurries on before I can speak. “Because you did deserve it. You are the best man I’ve ever met. You’re kind and funny and gentle and strong. You’re compassionate and caring and sexy and the only person who has ever made me feel completely at home no matter where I am.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “You are my best friend and my only love. And I don’t want to live any more of my life without you.”
She takes a breath and continues in a trembling voice, “So…will you, Mason? Will you marry me?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mason
A ragged sigh of relief bursts from my chest along with a firm, “Yes.”
“Yes?” she echoes, her lips curving.
“Hell, yes.” I reach out. But instead of taking the ring, I take Lark in my arms, hauling her over the gate and into a hug so tight I can feel her heart pounding behind her ribs.
“Yes,” I whisper into her hair as she wraps her arms tightly around my neck and the other customers begin to applaud. “I will marry you, Lark March. I will marry you and work my ass off to make you the happiest woman in Georgia, or anywhere else.”
“You already have.” She pulls back, gazing up into my face. “I’m so sorry for the way I acted. I was afraid and it made me do stupid things.”
“You didn’t do stupid things.”
“Yes, I did,” she says. “I know that now. I thought I had to make a ‘safe’ decision, but love is never safe. There’s always danger involved. Yes, one of us could betray the other. But even if we have the perfect relationship, everything could still fall apart. One of us could get sick or hurt and…everything could change. We could lose it all. Just like that. There are no guarantees.”
I nod slowly. “You’re right.”
“But I’ve realized there are worse things than betrayal or heartbreak or loss.” She slips her fingers into my hair, just above the collar of my shirt. “There’s my life without you in it, and it sucks. Big time.”
The backs of my eyes beginning to sting, I smile. “It does. Huge donkey balls.”
“And I hate donkey balls,” she whispers seriously, making me smile wider. “Almost as much as I love you. So you should kiss me now, right?”
“Hell, yes, I should.”
And then I kiss her, summoning another wave of applause from the rest of the diners on the patio.
Lark pulls away with a self-conscious giggle. “I almost forgot we had witnesses. This place looks amazing.”
“It’s the best brunch spot,” I say, setting her down and taking the ring box she places in my hand. “You’re going to love it.”
Tugging the ring from the box finally, I glance at the inscription—For my Forever Friend—with a smile.
“You like it?” she asks as I slide it on my finger.
“I love it.” I take her hand. “Now we just need to get you something big enough to blind people at fifty feet and we’ll be set.”
“I don’t need a diamond big enough to blind people,” she says, squeezing my fingers. “I just need you.”
I lean in, pressing another quick kiss to her lips before turning to grab my paper and notebook. I dig a few bills from my wallet and toss them on the table, but when I look back at Lark she’s pulling out the chair across from mine and picking up one of the menus tucked between the salt and pepper shakers.
“What?” Her eyebrows lift. “You’re not going to leave that omelet uneaten, are you? It’s too beautiful to abandon. Look at that fresh basil. And I smell pancakes. Really good pancakes with real syrup.”
I smile, so happy she’s here with me, being Lark and smiling and wanting to eat breakfast together. It’s something so simple, but still so special, just because I get to share this memory with her.
“Is that your way of saying you want me to order you some pancakes, Sunshine?”
“I wouldn’t turn up my nose at a pancake,” she says, grinning up at me. “That’s all I’m saying.”
I sit back down, scooting my chair next to Lark’s, putting my arm around her and pulling her close. She leans into me with a happy sigh, and I kiss the top of her head.
“All right, how about you help me eat this omelet before it gets cold, and then we split a stack of the harvest pancakes?” I ask. “Sound like a deal?”
“Sounds perfect,” she says, tipping her face up to mine, glowing with happiness.
“And then we’ll go ring shopping and find something you won’t mind wearing for another fifty years or so.”
She smiles. “That sounds even better.”
“It does,” I agree.
It sounds pretty damned perfect, in fact, like the beginning of the life I’ve always wanted, one filled with love and laughter and this beautiful girl, who is my very best friend.
“And then we’ll go back to your place,” she whispers. “I want to see the new bedroom furniture you talked about in last week’s letter.”
“If you don’t like it, we can take it back. I saved the receipt.”
She rolls her eyes. “I couldn’t care less about the furniture, Mason. I want to see the bed. And you in the bed. And me in the bed with you.”
I arch a teasing brow. “Yeah? Think you’ll be ready for a nap soon?”
“No napping today, Doctor Stewart,” she says with a grin. “I’m going to need a thorough physical. Every inch examined thoroughly. Head to toe.”
“Head to toe,” I agree.
I’m about to suggest we ask for the rest of our breakfast to go, and get to the examining as soon as possible, but Lark is already lifting her hand, summoning a waiter. She then proceeds to order twice as much food as we agreed upon in a very assured, very sexy voice, before turning back to me, and asking, “You want anything else?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve got everything I’ll ever need.”
And I do.
THE END
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Sneak Peek: Falling for the Ex
- EXCERPT -
Aria
* * *
Twelve years ago
* * *
I slip through the woods on silent feet, my heartbeat louder than the cicadas buzzing and clicking in the trees.
It’s almost too dark to see the trail, I don’t have a flashlight, and being out of my cabin after lights out and on my way to meet a boy are both major camp handbook violations. If I’m caught, I’ll be kicked out. My mom and dad are on the Arts Council board, but not even that will spare me the ultimate punishment.
The staff here are really intense about following the rules.
And staying in bed after lights out.
And not kissing boys.
Or girls.
They frown—hard—at all varieties of kissing and displays of affection.
I should turn around. I really, really should.
I don’t want to be sent home. My friends are here, camp means another four weeks away from my bratty little sisters, Lark and Melody, and I’m having the time of my life sketching and painting and experimenting with new mediums during our five hours of daily art classes.
I love camp Arts Under the Elms. I love it like I love deep fried Twinkies at the fair and staying in my pajamas all weekend, and I wouldn’t put my future here at risk for anything.
Anything except him.
Nash Geary.
Just thinking his name is enough to make my blood fizzy. He is by far the most delicious boy I’ve ever met—taller than the ot
her boys at camp by at least five inches, built like a contestant of an ancient Olympiad, with moody green eyes a shade lighter than mine and a silky Georgia drawl I can feel whispering over my skin like warm summer rain.
He is flat out, no holds barred, drop dead drool-worthy.
Every girl at camp had her eye on him the first day, but by the time we walked through the dinner line to pick up our burgers and hot dogs, Nash had made it clear he only had eyes for me. Me, the girl with the messy hair and skinny legs.
Not that I’m a complete wallflower.
I’ve dated my fair share of boys—especially considering I’m not allowed to go on car dates until I’m sixteen—but I’ve never been with someone as close to a full-grown man as Nash. I mean, I’m no dog—my skin is pale, but clear, and my hair finally darkened to auburn after a decade of impersonating an orange construction cone—but no matter how much I eat, I stay scrawny. And, shame of all my shames, I barely fill out an A cup.
Meanwhile, Nash is six foot four, muscled all over, with hands big enough to wrap all the way around my waist, and an air about him that practically screams “I’m know my way around vaginas.” I would bet my snow cone hut voucher tickets for the entire summer that he’s gone all the way with at least one girl, maybe more.
At first, I sort of wondered what he saw in me, a girl who still looks like a twelve-year old if I make the mistake of forgetting to slip the padding into my two-piece swimsuit.
But then we started talking and things just…clicked.
Within a few hours, we were cracking jokes like old friends, making each other laugh so hard we snorted Coke out of our noses, all over a watercolor I wasn’t even sad to lose because being with Nash was so much fun. By the third day, we were taking long walks during our free time after dinner—chatting about our lives back home and school and the bands we like and which paintings make our brains tingle. And by the fifth day we were stealing kisses behind the mess hall dumpsters before lights out.