Proof of Love (Arden's Glen Romance Book 2)

by C. M. Albert

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement (including infringement without monetary gain) is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  PROOF OF LOVE

  Genre: Contemporary Romance

  Copyright © 2016 by C.M. Albert | Flower Work Press

  Original cover design by Calinda B

  Updated series cover by Marisa Rose Wesley of Cover Me Darling LLC

  Book design by Inkstain Design Studio

  Editing by Erin Servais of Dot and Dash LLC

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  Proof of Love is dedicated to my children, Evan and Gillian, who are my everything. When I am at my lowest and am seeking proof of God’s love, he always shines the light on them. “See?” he says. “Love is all around you.” Thank you for making me smile every day, for helping me learn and grow, and for just being incredible, unique, loving human beings. I am blessed to share this life with you.

  This book is also dedicated in memory to my aunt, Joyce Buscemi. The proof of your love lifted me higher every day and that can never be erased. I miss you.

  I am grateful to have many amazing people in my life to credit for the creation of this story.

  For Traci and Kayla of Modern Soul Society—my spiritual mentors and soul family. When I was experiencing some of my darkest moments, they stuck with me—encouraging me, shining the light on my shadows, helping me heal old wounds, reminding me to focus on love and not fear, and helping me rekindle my deepest connection to God/Goddess in a way that has humbled and grounded me like never before.

  For Marisa Rose Wesley of Cover Me Darling LLC—designer extraordinaire and super sweet human whom I’m now honored to call a friend. Thank you for rebranding the Arden’s Glen Romance series and bringing my new vision to life.

  For Erin Servais of Dot and Dash LLC—my long-standing and much beloved copy editor. As a former editor myself, people always want to know who I use for my own writing. Well, here she is, folks. The best of the best. (So if you spot any errors, they’re all on me!)

  For Kenya and Erin, my writing buddies. When I needed to escape and make headway on this book, they were gracious enough to volunteer. It was hard to come to the beach and write with me, I know. But that’s what good friends do! I adore you and am so grateful for your support and encouragement. I’ll never forget the crows, the basil, the god-gifted sunset, J.D. Gaines, the book cover eyes, the sugar overload, and all the belly laughs. What happens at the beach . . .

  For Kenya Moore of Book Nymph Publishing—I say it every time, because it’s always true. I would be lost without you. Thank you for all of your help with all of my releases. I am blown away by your knowledge of the industry and talents for publishing. Je vous adore.

  For Nadège Richards of Inkstain Design Studio—once I had you format one book, I was HOOKED. This girl is seriously the Queen, y’all. Pure magic.

  For William Cobb (a.k.a. Buddy), my friend and middle-school crush that never came to be. Buddy graciously allowed me to use his likeness as the “ex” in this book. He wanted a character named after him who had either really good abs or a tight end, and I promise you Will (a.k.a. Buddy) from Proof of Love has both of those things. Will is based 100 percent on Buddy’s physical likeness (I swear!), down to his (once) dark hair and killer blue eyes. I’m sorry I had to kill you off, my friend. But thanks for being a trouper about it and providing me with inspiration.

  For my entire Colleen’s Angels Street Team for being my biggest supporters. Extra smooshy hugs to Alicia, Christina, Gwen, Jen, Kate, Lynn, Phylis, Rorie, and Sophie for being fabulous ARC readers.

  Special shout out to Stars Go Dim, whose music I discovered this year. Whenever I need to be lifted, theirs is the first I play. Thanks for reminding me to “just look up” and that “you are loved.” These lyrics inspired me as I wrote this spiritual journey about searching for and finding “proof of love.”

  I’d also like to acknowledge country pop artist and singer/songwriter Dana Marie. I was inspired by a true story she posted on Facebook about praying for someone. It immediately reminded me of Dez praying for Celeste, Egan, and their unborn baby. Dana wrote: “Our God is a right now God . . . [My friend] didn’t need my prayer on Thursday . . . he needed my prayer right that moment; he needed to meet God exactly where God was—in that moment.” Thank you for the inspiration and reminder that God is there exactly when and where we are willing to meet him.

  To my readers—I am humbled by you. Thank you for taking a chance on me. There are so many books competing for our time and attention. Trust me—with hundreds of books on my need-to-read shelf, I know that the struggle is real. Thank you for taking the time to read the stories I’ve written. I truly pour my heart into every word and I hope you can feel that. Please find me on social media so we can say hello and stay connected!

  Finally, my husband, Derek, who is my real-life proof of love. He is every amazing book boyfriend rolled into one—the one who inspires me to write about nice guys and not assholes. Without him, none of this would matter. Thank you for being my biggest champion, my pimp daddy who supplies all the finances to make the book magic possible, and truly, my heart’s other half. You are the Egan to my Celeste.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  WE ALL SAY we want unconditional love, but that’s because it’s a fucking rainbow-colored unicorn. It doesn’t exist.

  Real love, truly dropping every wall, letting go of all your defense mechanisms . . . now that’s some scary shit. Most of us don’t have the balls to do it.

  I did once. He’s dead now.

  I’ll never do it again.

  I YANKED AT the sloppy bun that refused to stay on top of my head, freeing my in-need-of-a-good-hair-wash tresses from the chaos my rubber band was unsuccessfully trying to wrangle. I let out a huffed breath and blew one of the limp waves of hair from my forehead.

  “That’s a wrap,” I yelled, waiving my hands at the two artists I was photographing that afternoon. They were too busy welding pieces of their sculpture together to hear over the whooshing noise of their blowtorches. “Oh, who am I kidding?” I mumbled, lifting my Nikon back up to my eye. I zoomed in on the juxtaposition of soft skin as it disappeared into a scruffy-looking work glove, back-dropped by the fire and heat of yielding black metal.

  I mentally pumped my fist after scanning
the images I’d just captured. Bridgette and Inez were the perfect addition to my new coffee table book, Angels in Action. My gaze swept from the images on my camera to the two gorgeous women standing in front of me. They were living angels indeed, and I was grateful they’d said yes to this project. Their clout in the fine art industry, as well as Macy Cartwright and Nash Reilly’s connections, would surely make this book a huge success.

  Ah, crap. It just dawned on me that I still hadn’t called Macy for help with the book’s PR strategy. I set my camera on the white oak table next to where I was working and grabbed my phone to send myself a quick reminder.

  I crammed my phone into my back pocket just as Inez turned off her blowtorch. She set it on the workbench and lifted the mask on her welding helmet, running an arm along her forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat that had gathered. She sauntered over while her partner, Bridgette, continued to solder her section of the intricate memorial statue they were working on.

  “Hey, Dez! I almost forgot you were here, you’re so quiet.” Inez lifted a cold bottle of water to her lips and sighed gratefully. “Did you get what you needed?”

  I nodded, grabbing my camera from the table to show off the gorgeous shots I’d taken. I flipped through the hundreds of images on the back of my digital camera until I found the one I was looking for. All the pictures featured in my book would be printed in oversized black and white images, and the way the women’s bodies arched toward one another in an almost haphazard heart shape was pure gold.

  “I love this image so much it may just have to be on the cover,” I said, sighing dreamily as I stared at the image of the two women. “I mean, look at you two! It practically sizzles. I might even Photoshop some angel wings onto the both of you.”

  The image formed in my mind. I could see a set of translucent wings behind each woman, a gentle reminder of how angelic our actions are when we’re in service to others. “Oh yeah. This is gonna be amazing!” I said, already lost in the editing phase.

  Inez peered closely at the back of the camera. Even through the small LCD display, there was no mistaking the fire created from both blowtorches bringing life to the sculpture, and from the diverse couple on the screen. If sex sells, this book will make the best-seller list! I grinned. It wasn’t an intentionally sensual shot, but the beads of sweat running down the women’s breastbones, the heat from the torches, and their contrasting frames coming together in concentration over their work was enough to make even the coldest heart melt.

  Almost, I thought, a tight fist of pain reminding me that some hearts weren’t meant to melt. Some hearts were just fine as they were.

  “Si, bebé. Es mi bella novia,” Inez squealed, tearing me from my self-destructive thoughts. My Spanish was rusty at best, but I remembered enough from high school to make out the phrase “beautiful girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, she’s beautiful,” I agreed, admiring Bridgette’s long strawberry blond hair that was pulled away from her face in two fish-tailed braids. “You’re a lucky woman.”

  I took a pull from my lukewarm Pepsi, quenching none of my thirst after a long day of shooting in the heat of the warehouse. The cold outside would be a welcome relief, I thought as I massaged my aching knee with my free hand.

  Inez patted me on the back. “Don’t worry, amiga. Your day will come soon enough.”

  I choked on my drink, nearly spitting it from my mouth. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ll leave the fireworks to you. I’m too busy for that right now. Besides, I don’t do love. And you two clearly have the market on it.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Inez said as she slicked her long black hair into a ponytail. “That’s what I said once, too.”

  “What changed?” I asked, more for polite conversation than true curiosity. I found myself twisting the metal ring from the Pepsi can while I waited for her answer.

  “That damned redheaded angel is what changed. I had no intention of settling down. I enjoyed the perks of being an artist, if you know what I mean,” Inez said, winking. “Then Bridgette walks into my life, asking for one good deed after another to help get a youth center off the ground. What could I say? Fuck off?” Inez chuckled. “Took her a year to wear me down, though. But damn if she didn’t break through all my barriers and reasons why not, chiseled them away one at a time till there was nothing left but us.”

  I blushed when I saw the way Inez was staring at Bridgette, not because I was a prude—that sure as hell wasn’t the case—but because it was so openly raw and vulnerable. I shivered.

  As if sensing her gaze, Bridgette looked up. I knew that even from behind the darkened lens of her welding helmet, her eyes were zeroed in on Inez. I quickly exchanged my soda for my camera and captured the heated stance her body assumed as she gazed across the room at her partner, her blowtorch still firing by her side.

  Damn! That was my cue to leave. I packed up my portable supplies and grabbed my lighting, eager to get back to Tranquility and steal a quick shower and maybe even a nap before the dinner party that Celeste and Egan were throwing tonight. As if summoned by magic, my cell phone rang. I didn’t need to look down to know who it was.

  “Hey, Celeste! I was just thinking about you.”

  “In a good way I hope?” she teased.

  “Always. I’m heading out from my photo shoot in just a minute. Hang on,” I said, covering the phone. I gave Inez a quick side hug and told her, “I’ll call you later and send some proofs over for your approval next week.”

  I threw my backpack over my shoulder and waved goodbye as I stepped out of the warm warehouse and into the frigid afternoon air. The chill nearly took my breath away, and Celeste must have heard me gasp.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Damn it’s cold for having no snow on the ground. Isn’t this supposed to be the south?” I grumbled, making my way to my rental car.

  She laughed. “You never know! Maybe we’ll get a Christmas miracle this year and we’ll get a light dusting. Wouldn’t that be fun!”

  “Uh, yeah, says you . . . the girl who doesn’t live in New York anymore and isn’t buried in snow six months out of the year.”

  “Oh stop, you grouch! You’re here for the next few weeks anyway. It would be snow much fun to be snowed in together.”

  I groaned, throwing my work equipment into the back of the trunk. “Did you really just do that?”

  Celeste snorted. “I may have.”

  “Have you been drinking again, Celeste?” I mocked, knowing damn well she had just gotten through working with clients herself and wouldn’t anyway, all things considered.

  “No, just happy. I had an amazing energy session this morning with the group of new Reiki students who are here for the retreat. I can’t wait for you to join me tomorrow to work with them on their Manifest Your Miracle boards. These women are so intune, Dez. You’ll be blown away,” Celeste gushed. “I think I need to go get grounded!”

  “Uh, you think?” I said, laughing at the natural bliss that was evident in Celeste’s energy even over the phone. “Hey, do you need me to pick up anything at the market on the way home?”

  I made a right out of the Vega Farm and nearly creamed into the black wooden fence that surrounded Inez’s property after the loud blare of a horn almost ran me off the road.

  Fuck!

  I looked in the rearview mirror as I straightened the wheel and somehow, by the grace of God, avoided the water ditch alongside the gravel road. I couldn’t make out the driver’s face, but the old Jeep Cherokee in candy apple red was hard to miss. The thing was a tank compared to my rental car, and it was bearing down on me.

  I could hear Celeste’s voice somewhere in the distance as I pulled over onto the first shoulder I could find. Her voice was coming from under the seat, still asking if I was okay. I placed my car in park and threw a middle finger up at the male driver, whom I could barely make out behind tinted windows as he drove past me down the isolated country road.

  Where the hell did he come from?

  My han
ds shook as I followed the charger cord and finally located my phone, which had wedged itself between the passenger seat and the cup-holder thingy. “Celeste, you still there?” I asked, letting my breath out for the first time.

  “Oh my God, Dez, what just happened?”

  “Oh, some jerk just flew around that corner coming out of the Vega Farm. You know how hard it is to see with all those trees. It was perfectly clear though when I pulled out.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll make it,” I laughed, though my heart was still rapping its knuckles against my rib cage and calling me an outright liar. “Fine!” I mumbled to myself. “My heart’s racing like crazy, but I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll send you some clearing energy from here. You just go ahead and come on back to Tranquility. I don’t want you driving any more if you’re that rattled.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom,” I chuckled. “Besides, I want to make my fall cider sangria for the party tonight, so I need to pick up some supplies at the market. Need to run by the ABC store, too, for the ginger brandy.”

  “That sounds heavenly!” Celeste sighed.

  “You’d love it,” I agreed, setting the phone in its cradle. I looked both ways and saw nothing coming, so I pulled back out onto the road. “Hey, you never answered my question. Need anything at the market?”

  “Well, Egan is marinating the pork tenderloin now and it’ll go in the slow cooker. Everything else is pretty easy. Oh, can you grab extra glue sticks? We’re running low and I don’t want to run out during tomorrow’s session.”

  “Heaven forbid,” I teased, but my heart was lighter after our call. By the time I made it to the market, it had returned to its normal pace.

  I grabbed a handbasket and made my way to the produce section, quickly selecting a bag of red apples and a couple Bartlett pears. I’d been up since six a.m., and that nap was looking more and more enticing. I groaned as I headed toward the office supply aisle, daydreaming about the comfortable Tempur-Pedic bed waiting for me back at Tranquility while calculating how long it would take to make the sangria and get dressed.