A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2)

by Jennifer Probst

  “Yes, babe. The coconut cream.”

  She practically shivered with delight in the booth. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Kyle cocked his head and stared. “I don’t get it. Why are you so freaked about pie?”

  Ophelia laughed and tried to explain. “Mia likes to watch her weight, but she also adores food. We call Ethan the gatekeeper. He helps her balance smart choices with occasional indulgences. Including pie.”

  Mia sighed. “I used to be a size-six Gucci dress. Now I’m in an eight.”

  “And hot as hell with your new curves.”

  “Agreed,” Ophelia said. “You look absolutely amazing.”

  Mia blushed. “Thanks, guys.”

  Kyle watched the couple across from them. They were obviously in love and connected in a way that made everyone else onlookers. Their intimate look gave him hope. Ophelia was the only woman he’d ever imagined sharing his life—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Now that he’d admitted he still loved her, he’d been hoping for some returned emotional exchange. Like an I love you back. But she’d been silent regarding his sudden confession.

  Now he was getting all freaked out that she was just using him for sex.

  Kyle was deathly afraid he was becoming the girl in this relationship.

  “Kyle Kimpton! About damn time you came back to my diner.”

  He looked up at Bea, the proud owner and a well-known face he’d never forgotten. She looked the same, with her famous beehive of gray hair, peacock-blue eye shadow, and hot-pink lipstick. A frilly pink apron wrapped around her hips, emphasizing her brightly colored leggings, tight T-shirt with a pink heart, and high-top Converse sneakers.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t come in sooner. Been locked up trying to get a project done. But I’ve been dreaming of your bacon burgers for years.”

  She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. “Always been a flatterer. My goodness, I can’t believe the three musketeers are back in their old booth. You know the trouble you caused this town when you three ran wild?”

  “We kept you young, Bea,” Kyle said with a wink.

  She laughed with delight. “Oh, you’re good. When are you going to stop making those big-time movies and come back where you belong?”

  Ophelia stiffened next to him, but kept her smile pasted on her face.

  He took her hand in full view and squeezed her fingers. “I’ve been wondering the same thing lately.”

  Ophelia’s gorgeous baby blues widened at the public gesture screaming of their coupledom.

  Bea caught it and whistled. “Always knew you two were meant to be an item,” she said. “Had a bet with Amy Hash for years. Gonna call that smarty-pants up and tell her I was right.”

  Ophelia cleared her throat and tried to take control of the conversation. “Well, we’re not really officially together yet. Kyle will be going back to Hollywood soon, and we—”

  “We’ll work it out. Love always wins. Right, Bea?”

  A sharp kick to his calf made him wince.

  Yep. She was pissed, and he was going to hear about it later.

  “That’s right. Now let me get those orders. Mia, I found another client for your PR company. She needs an entire marketing plan and website set up.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Want your regular salad?” she asked Mia.

  “Tuna on wheat, please.”

  “Good choice.” She took the rest of their orders and floated away.

  For the rest of the dinner, they kept the topics light and airy, but Kyle never let go of Ophelia’s hand, and she never tried to let go of his.

  It was enough.

  Later that night they lay naked, wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire. The scents of wood and smoke and warm apple pie drifted in the air.

  Muscles limp with satisfaction, Ophelia stared into the crackling flames and voiced the question she had always wondered about: “Did you ever think about how it ended between us?”

  His muscles tensed beneath her, but his voice was steady. “All the time. I went over both of our decisions like a statistician, trying to figure out what move would have changed the outcome.” He sat in silence for a while. She waited, sensing he was gathering his thoughts. “I blamed you for leaving, you know. Even though I showed up too late.”

  “I know. But you’d broken so many promises by that point, I couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t handle one more fight, or lonely dinner, or crying alone in bed because you slept at the production company’s office again. I realized then we had grown so far apart, you had no room in your life for me any longer.” She paused. “You know what I dreamed about? For days and nights after I left?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I dreamed you would come after me.”

  His voice was a whisper of sound, fluttering against her nerve endings. “And I dreamed you would come back.”

  He stroked her hair, his fingers tugging through the waves with a sensuality that melted her. “What’s going to happen this time?” she asked.

  He let out a breath, staring down at her bare breasts with a lusty look of reverence she’d never get tired of. After she’d left California, sex had meant nothing. It was a bodily function she’d indulged in sparingly with partners who never got past the surface. Now it was an all-encompassing need that throbbed through her and demanded she satisfy it with total abandon. It was beyond physical; it reached to long-neglected places she’d thought numb. It was a total rebirth—and it scared the living hell out of her.

  “I want to figure it out together,” he said. “I don’t want a divorce.”

  “I can’t live there again, Kyle,” she said honestly. “I’m afraid we’ll end up back at the same exact place—loving each other but wanting two different lifestyles.”

  “Right now, I want to soak in every moment with you without worrying about the future. We still have five weeks left. Let me finish the book and enjoy my time with you. Then we’ll make some decisions together. Can we do that?”

  She tilted her head and smiled up at him. She was so tired of trying to figure things out in neat, logical order. For the first time, she wanted to feel again—to give everything to the moment without regret. Her heart was finally open.

  She wished Kyle could give that same chance to his father. She’d been thinking of Patrick lately, and trying to find a way for Kyle to take that first step toward truly hearing him out.

  “Yes. But I want you to think about visiting your dad.”

  He flinched. “Why is it so important to you?”

  “I just don’t want you to turn your back on an opportunity to heal some wounds. You can’t change the past, but forgiveness can affect your future. I’ve forgiven you, and now we have a second chance. Doesn’t your father deserve one, too?”

  His voice held the slightest shakiness. “What if I can’t forgive?”

  She held him tight. “Then at least you tried.”

  A ragged sigh escaped his chest. “I ran into his AA sponsor in town.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “When?”

  “Several mornings ago. His name’s Tony. Met him getting fish at Fran’s. He recognized me and introduced himself.”

  Her hands stroked his arm soothingly. “What did he say?”

  A rough laugh escaped his lips. “Called my dad an asshole. Told me he has a ton of regrets and talks about me a lot. Then he invited me to attend his one-year anniversary of being sober. I don’t know—it was a lot to handle.”

  “I bet. But it also sounds like the Patrick I’ve been seeing. He’s definitely changed. And though I get why you’d say no, I’m still asking if you’ll try. Just once.”

  She held her breath, hating the thought of hurting him. Her gut instinct told her Kyle needed to see this new version of his dad—even if afterward he decided to walk away and never see him again.

  “I have a deal for you. I’ll think very seriously about seeing my father if you think very seriously about singing
at Crystal’s.”

  Startled, she stared at him. “Why do you want me to sing so badly?”

  “Because it’s part of who you are. Because I’ve seen how it brings you joy. And because I think you don’t realize it doesn’t have to be like the past. With what Albert is offering, this time you can sing for you, Ophelia. Not for me, or the cameras, or because you feel you need to prove it to anyone. Just for you.”

  The memory hit her full force. Being torn apart in the press. Gossip rags writing lies about why she quit the show, citing her thirst for attention and her endless bitchy demands.

  “It was so hard,” she said softly. “The story blew up and, suddenly, I couldn’t even go out. People would yell and make comments, and my social media feeds exploded with cruelty. I was all alone. Every time I tried to tell you, you made me feel like it was my fault for quitting.”

  Raw pain flickered over his features, along with regret. “I was wrong,” he said. “I was more concerned about my damn agent being pissed than I was about what you were going through. All I can tell you is that I see things now I never did before. I would never hurt you again. I swear it, baby.”

  She studied his beloved face and slowly nodded. Truth rang from his voice and his gaze. “Okay. I’ll think about singing for Albert.”

  “Okay.”

  A sense of peace washed over her. His answer was a gift, because she knew it would cost him a lot to see his father. And if she was being honest, she’d been thinking of Albert’s offer all day, wondering if it was time to truly leave the past behind.

  He rocked her gently in his arms, and she heard the distant sound of music like she always did when her mind quieted down—a constant companion since childhood.

  “Will you do something for me, Ophelia?”

  He pressed a kiss on the bare curve of her neck and she arched, her breasts warmed by the fire.

  “Of course.”

  “Will you sing for me? Like you used to.”

  The request was bittersweet—a haunting memory of when they’d lain together in the barn, stealing time and kisses, falling into each other. She’d sing to him, wrapping them in a cocoon of beauty as fragile and strong as a spider’s web.

  She closed her eyes. Her voice rumbled from her throat, spinning out the lyrics of a song that bruised as much as it pleasured, her husky tones blending with a quiet emotion that was somehow more powerful than the crashing crescendos she was known for.

  He held her as she sang, her back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. She sang for their past and for their unknown future, but most of all she sang for the present. She wanted to be in this moment, which she would never forget, with the man she loved.

  The final stanza drifted away as quietly as it had begun. And she wondered briefly if Kyle had been right—if she’d been neglecting part of herself that needed to shine before it was lost forever.

  “I used to hear your voice in my dreams after you left me. What song did you just sing?”

  “‘City of Stars.’ It’s from the movie La La Land.”

  He drew in a breath. “I saw that movie. I didn’t like the ending.”

  “Neither did I. But it was necessary.”

  His arms tightened around her. He tilted her chin up, and his gaze was fierce, possessing. He was a superhero bent on saving the day and giving her a happily ever after. “We can make our own ending. The one we want.”

  She touched his cheek. “I love you, too, Kyle Kimpton.”

  His gaze delved deeper, searching. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.

  They didn’t speak again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ophelia rushed into his room, her face etched with the rare lines of panic. “I’m in trouble. I need your help.”

  He sprung from his chair, still groggy from being ripped out of the scene he was writing, and clutched her shoulders. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “I need your room. I just got a last-minute call from a group of snowboarders who want to book three nights. They’re paying top price. I need four empty rooms, but I’m short one. I’ve never been fully booked in early March. Can you move in with me instead?”

  He relaxed, fighting a grin. It was rare to see his woman all hopped up about the inn since she was normally cool and capable, running a tight ship of ruthless organization that left little room for error.

  “Of course. We’ve been spending every night together anyway, and I can write in your room. When are they arriving?”

  “Tomorrow.” Her cheeks flushed, and curls escaped her topknot to curl wildly around her face. She was dressed in those heavenly, tight yoga pants he adored that showed off the lush curve of her ass and hips. She smelled of lemon polish and that honey-lavender lotion he could easily get drunk on. “I have a million things to do, but this could set me up with a nice cushion for the summer.”

  “Let me know if you need me to help.”

  “I’m calling Aubrey to come in for the cleaning and extra laundry. Do you think you can run into town for me and get some groceries? They’ve requested a March Madness viewing party in the main room. That’s basketball, right?”

  He laughed. “Yes, but a roomful of men watching basketball sounds a bit scary.”

  Her brows slammed together. “What happens? What do I need to be prepared for?”

  God, she was adorable. And smart. And sexy.

  “I’d just have some extra snacks on hand. I’ll pick up some hearty stuff that’s easy to stick in the oven and heat. Don’t worry—you got this.”

  She dragged in a breath and seemed to calm down. “Thanks.” She moved toward the computer with curiosity. From all the time they’d spent together, she knew to never ask to read what he was working on. He had a terrible superstition about leaking creative juices if someone were to read his words before they were done. “How’s it going?”

  Good. Bad. Past the slogging middle, with the end firmly in sight. He was beginning to slow down rather than speed up, which was his usual routine. It was as if the story had only one place to go, but he was fighting the true ending, forcing the characters into actions that felt foreign. But he couldn’t seem to stop it. It was becoming a wicked, tangled mess.

  “Been better. But I’ll get there.”

  She picked up the book to his right and smiled. “Whatcha reading, hot stuff?”

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest and quirked his brow. “Is there a chauvinistic comment about to emerge from those delectable lips? Something about men reading romance novels?”

  She flipped through the pages, her face registering pure delight. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. It’s too delicious. This book looks good.”

  “It is. Jill Shalvis is a master at contemporary romance. Emotion is key, and I like to tap into that segment of readers when I’m working in this genre.”

  “And this one?” She pointed to another one in his pile. “Kristen Proby?”

  “Her Fusion series revolves around a restaurant.” He shrugged. “What’s better than food, wine, and friendship? She’s also good at building in the family element, which is the core of a great story.”

  “I’m impressed. Sorry, I should have never assumed you were reading them just for the sex. That’s narrow-minded.”

  “Oh, I read them for the sex, too.” He gave her a wicked grin. “In fact, I’ll demonstrate what I learned tonight.”

  Her giggle charmed him, even as she backed away. “Later, Casanova. I have too much work to do, and I’m a bit tired.”

  “Too many late nights?”

  “Maybe.” She gave him her own wink and sashayed out of his room. “But totally worth it.”

  Damn right it was.

  He sat back down at the computer. The past few weeks had flown by much too quickly, until he realized he’d gotten into a routine. He helped her with breakfast, chatted with the guests, and they shared their first meal of the day together. Then he wrote while she worked, and
they reconvened in the early evening to eat, read, lounge by the fire, and make love all night long. The snow and cold shrouded them in a world of their own. Reality was a misty idea that had no place in the now. Because for now, everything was perfect. He almost wished the book would never get done. He had a few weeks left to deliver, and then he’d head west to take the most important meeting of his life.

  He rubbed his head, refocused, and got back to the page. Ophelia’s words from last month drifted in his mind, reminding him how brutal it must have been to feel ripped apart by the world. The press hounding her, people snickering and writing lies. And the whole time, he’d been focused on his own career—annoyed she’d quit the show and caused a hassle. Shame burned through him, but he took it to the page and began to write.

  “We need a rewrite.” Solomon threw the thick stack of papers on his desk in frustration. “I still don’t like the scene where Cassie and Jack kiss. It’s too emotional. I want it lighter and funny.”

  Kyle frowned and blinked through gritty eyes. He’d barely slept the last few nights. He hated fighting with Ophelia, but it was as if there were a wall of ice between them. Every time they tried to talk, his irritation with her blew up. He was trying so hard to understand why she quit the singing show and didn’t seem interested in pursuing her dream any longer. Had she buckled under the pressure? Had she been a different person from what he’d imagined? All they did now was fight, or ignore one another. Still, he needed to find some way to communicate with her. They couldn’t go on like this.

  He tried to focus on his producer’s words. “I don’t know, Solomon. I thought the scene had a nice balance and connected the hero and heroine on a deeper level.”

  “I don’t want deep. I want funny, maybe sexy. Have them kiss right before they crash.”

  Kyle blinked. “That’s just stupid.”

  “No, it’s funny. Work it out—I need it quickly, or we’ll get behind schedule.”

  He watched the producer’s retreating back and tried not to lose his temper. The rewrites were killing him. At this point, he couldn’t recognize his own story underneath the mishmash of opinions consistently thrown at him. It definitely wasn’t what he imagined, but he still loved writing for a living and being part of such a thriving, competitive industry. It made him feel alive. Big.