I leave Nate a note on the breakfast bar.
Not running, just need some space.
I make sure Kaitlyn and Derek can cover for me for a few shifts before heading out. I pack a small bag with a couple of days’ worth of clothing. I’m not even sure where I’m going. Mom’s house is too close. Emma’s too far. Plus, I really want to be alone.
My phone chirps.
Nate: Who’s shutting who out now?
Me: Nate, I don’t want to shut you out but I can’t deal with all of your allegations right now. Please give me some time.
Nate: In ten days you’ll have all the time you need. Do you want me to leave now?
His words punch me in the chest and take the air out of my lungs. No, I don’t want him to leave now. I don’t want him to leave ever. But at the same time, I don’t want him with all his baggage. I’m so confused.
Me: I don’t know what I want. Please, give me a few days. I don’t ask you for much.
It takes a few minutes, but he finally responds.
Nate: Okay. Listen to the song, Brooklyn.
Before long, I find myself driving out to the coast to stay in a little hotel by the beach that Emma dragged me to after Michael died. I can still hear her words in my head.
“There is nothing like the beach, with the rhythmic sound of the waves and the hot sand under your toes, to make you feel better and bring clarity to your life.”
Clarity . . . that is exactly what I need right now.
~ ~ ~
I get up early to catch the sunrise, searching for that clarity that Emma assured me was here. I’m sitting on the beach trying to remember what drew me to Nate in the first place. Sure, it was his looks; I mean I wouldn’t be fooling anyone if I said otherwise. And it was his kind heart. I can still see that sometimes, like when he takes me dancing in the rain, but it was also his confidence. Maybe that is what’s missing now. He is more than confident when it comes to his job and the rest of his life, but when it comes to me . . .
Why can’t he be more like Michael? Hell, even when Michael had a reason to be jealous and lash out at me, he didn’t. Then I shake my head and laugh at myself, remembering a time when I wished Michael could be more like Nate.
I call Emma. She will know what to do. She always does when it comes to men.
“Lyn,” she says, after I’ve brought her up to speed, “these are two amazing men we’re talking about. Jealousy aside—because we both know why Nate has those issues—do you really think he would lie to you to try and get Ryan out of your life? On the other hand, do you think Ryan is even capable of doing what Nate claims? I mean, he’s like your new me.”
Who do I trust more? That is what she is really asking me. I want to trust Nate, I really do, but with all of his past issues, can I? Then there is Ryan, who not only knew my wishes for the shop from the very beginning, but who has been nothing but supportive of me and my relationship with Nate.
I say goodbye to Emma and decide to run it out on the beach, hopefully giving me a double dose of clarity.
I listen to our song. The words implore me to let him in, help him get past his insecurities, be his reason for becoming a better person. I know he wants to say these things to me and can’t. This song is his way of communicating with me when he feels defeated—just like when he texted it to me two years ago.
I want so badly to be his reason. I want to support and love him unconditionally. The fact that I can’t, may be the clarity I’m looking for. The realization stops me dead in my tracks. I’m five miles up the beach, but I walk back the entire way, unable to run through my tears. The tears that are falling because in the battle between my head and my heart, my head is winning.
When I near the hotel, I see a familiar face sitting on the beach. Ryan.
I walk over to him. “How—”
“Emma called me.” He looks down at the ground where his fingers have been digging up a hole in the sand.
Oh, no. Emma must have told him everything. “Ryan, I am so sorry. Nate has no business making such accusations. He is jealous of you and—”
“Lyn, listen to me,” he interrupts. Then he closes his eyes and lets out a long, slow breath—a sure sign that he is about to tell me something difficult.
“Please don’t hate me, Lyn.” He looks up at me again with guilty eyes.
Oh, God. He does want me. No, no, no, no. How could I have missed this?
“Nate was right. I was going to sell franchises of the bakery.” He winces and it looks like the words physically hurt coming out of his mouth.
“What?” I don’t know if I’m relieved that he doesn’t want me, or pissed that he was going to do the very thing that I told him I didn’t want when I took him on as my partner.
“What are you talking about, Ryan? You knew I didn’t want that from the beginning.” I shake my head in confusion.
“I know you didn’t. That’s why I wrote the contract specifically excluding any clauses pertaining to franchising. I came into this with that very intent, before I got to know you, before you became like family to me, so I made sure I could legally franchise, knowing I would screw you over.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He was going to sell me out. Nate was right. “So you were playing me the whole time?”
“At first, yes. But these last few months, after I really got to know you, I realized I couldn’t mess with your dream. You are one of the most kind-hearted people I know, Lyn. So, I changed my mind and backed out of the deal I was negotiating.”
Nate was right.
“I never wanted you to find out about this. I thought I could throw away all of the paperwork and you would never be the wiser. I didn’t want to hurt you and I didn’t know how to tell you.” He looks ashamed. “I had no idea that when Nate came to my place a few weeks ago he saw the collection of contracts and negotiations laid out on my table that I was gathering up to throw away.”
Nate was right.
“Lyn, can you please forgive me? I promise I’ll stick to the contract. Hell, I’ll let you kick me out, buy me out, be a silent partner—whatever you need to make you trust me again.”
Nate was right. He was right all along. And I called him a liar. My chin falls against my chest as my eyes lower to the ground. “Ryan, all I can think about right now is that Nate was telling me the truth and I didn’t believe him.” I see him hurting so I add, “Honestly, I’m almost happy that this happened, because I was about to . . . I don’t know what I was about to do, but right now I can only thank you for being a back-stabbing slime ball.”
He laughs at me. “You’re welcome?” he says.
“I have to go. I have to get back to Nate.” I start to run back to the hotel.
“Um, so are we good?” he yells after me. “Do you want me out?”
I turn and yell back, “No, Ryan. You are a great partner and I do think you have a good heart—at least for those of us you call family. Just don’t screw up again.”
I leave him standing on the beach and go up to shower. But first I have to send a text to Nate.
Me: I’m coming home, can we talk? Are you still there?
My heart surges when almost immediately he responds.
Nate: I never left, baby.
Chapter Twenty-six
Driving back from the coast, I think about how to make my apology to Nate. This is new territory for me. Flowers seem too girly. A card seems too cheap. He has to know it is sincere and from my heart.
Thirty minutes later, I’m climbing the stairs to our apartment, my hands full of two chocolate shakes and a couple of orders of fries from the same place we went on our night in high school. I’m so nervous. I know, based on the tone of the last text he sent me, that he probably won’t leave me or anything that drastic. But I’m terrified of his reaction and have come fully prepared to grovel.
Nate quietly watches me cross the room over to where he sits on the couch. I place my offering on the table before him and he eyes them with pursed lips and t
hen raises his eyebrows at me.
I sit on the couch next to him and angle my body towards him, taking a calming breath. “Nate, I can’t begin to tell you how terrible I feel for not trusting you. You were right the whole time. Not about Ryan’s feelings for me—he doesn’t want me—but about the bakery. He was planning on selling franchises. He was planning it from the very beginning.”
Nate cocks his head to the side, staring me down, inviting me to continue the apology.
“He even said that he orchestrated the contract so that he could legally get away with it even though he told me that wasn’t his plan when I took him on. You should know that what you saw that day, on his kitchen table, those were the franchise negotiations that he was going to destroy. You see, he changed his mind. He changed it months ago when we became such good friends that he didn’t want to screw me over.”
Nate looks bored with my apology so I decide to throw in some more groveling. “I am so sorry I didn’t trust you. I just thought because you don’t like him, that you . . . well, it doesn’t matter because I was wrong. I was so wrong and you were right and I promise to trust your instincts in the future. Well, not about him wanting me, but about other stuff . . . ” I trail off feeling like I’m rambling on when I look up to see a smirk on Nate’s face and I can tell he is trying to suppress a laugh.
“What?” I ask, confused about his reaction.
“Um . . .” He smiles up at me sheepishly. “Emma kind of called me and told me the whole story this morning. I guess she didn’t want me to high-tail it out of here without talking to you first.”
I throw a french fry at him. “You idiot.” I smile. “You let me go on and on like that when you knew the whole time?”
“Well . . . yes.” He shrugs. “It’s such a rare occasion that you are apologizing to me, that I figure I should milk it for all it’s worth.” He reaches over to take my hand. “I still don’t trust the guy. And, Brooklyn, you should make him sign a new contract.”
“I know, and he said he will,” I assure him.
He nods his head.
“But, Nate, we still need to work on some of our issues.” I squeeze his hand. “I mean, first you shut me out and run away because you didn’t trust me with your feelings and then I needed space because I didn’t trust that you were being straight with me.”
He reaches over and pulls my face around to his. “I know I screwed up, baby. I’m sorry I hurt you when I left. My head was messed up and I wasn’t thinking about anything but myself.”
Over shakes and fries, he talks to me about his mom and I realize that it was her, as much as it was Claudia, who screwed him up so badly. Fucked up by two women, he once told me. All this time, I thought the words of his tattoo were in French because of his ex-wife. Now I know they also bear the scars from his mother.
“So, is this okay? Are we okay?” he asks, pushing a piece of my hair behind my ear.
“Yes, we’re okay.” I reach out to run my fingers across his strong jaw.
He kisses the palm of my hand.
“But, there will be ground rules,” I say.
His eyes go wide and he smiles up at me with a raised eyebrow.
I whack him in the back of the head. “Not those ground rules, you idiot. My ground rules.”
“Anything. You name it.” He pulls me onto his lap.
“No running. No matter what. We work our problems out together.”
“Done,” he says quickly.
“I’m not finished yet.” I scold him.
“Sorry,” he says with a boyish smile.
“Trust. We have to try to trust each other. I promise to take what you say into more consideration than maybe I have in the past. But, Nate, you have to trust me, despite your past, you have to place your trust in me until I give you reason to question it.”
He closes his eyes and nods his head. “Okay, baby. For you . . . I will try.”
I extricate myself from his lap and gather up the courage for the conversation I am about to initiate. I’ve done a lot of thinking the past few days. He is leaving soon and we have to deal with it. Plus, the bubble already burst so . . .
“Nate, what are we going to do when you leave in nine days?” I brace myself for his response.
He leans back against the couch cushion and pulls my legs over his lap. “Yeah, I thought you might want to talk about that.”
“It’s just that, these last few days apart, they were horrible. I’m not sure what I will do without you here.” I reach up and brush my fingers over his three-day stubble that I have come to love so much. “I know the circumstances were different, but still . . .”
“I’ve thought a lot about this,” he says. “Not only in the past few days, but since I moved in here. Even before we were together I was wondering how it was going to be when we couldn’t see each other every day.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Brooklyn, if you ask me to move down here, I will.”
What?
Okay, this I did not expect. Him move down here? I thought he would ask me to go with him to Raleigh. I was sure of it. I was also sure that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave Brooklyn’s. But he is offering to move here—for me—it’s the perfect solution.
“You can work from Savannah?” I ask, hopefully.
“Well, yes and no.” He furrows his brow. “I won’t be able to stay with R.A.D., but there are plenty of other firms that would probably make me a nice offer.”
Okay, not a perfect solution then. He would have to quit his job as junior partner with his dad’s company. The company that he hopes to run one day. Plus there is the fact that he hates it here. His mother is here. He avoids going out whenever possible. I remember when we were in Raleigh, how he had so much energy and excitement about the city. He couldn’t wait to get out and show us his favorite spots.
No. I can’t ask him to leave the city and the job that he loves. I love him too much to ask him to do that. “I can’t ask you to move here.” I close my eyes and sigh. “I can’t ask you to give up all the things that you love.”
“I love you, Brooklyn.” He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it. “I love you more than those things.”
If it is possible, my heart swells with even more love and adoration for this man. I feel a tear trickle down my cheek. “Oh, Nate. I love you, too. And that is why I won’t ask you to move here.” I sit up, turn towards him with my legs crisscrossed in front of me. “Emma and Graham lived apart for two years. Two whole years. And they ended up married.” I feel the blush creep up my face. “Well, not that . . . um . . .”
Nate laughs. “I get it. I know. I lived with the other half, remember? I saw the late-night Skyping and endless phone calls and weekend visits.”
“Do you think we could do that? Live without touching each other every day? Live for the weekends?” I ask him.
He watches himself trace a finger down the side of my arm, making goose bumps appear all over my body. “It’ll be hard. I’m not gonna lie. Not touching you is going to practically kill me.”
In a bold display of courage I say, “Well, when you can’t touch me . . . we’ll Skype and I’ll do it for you.” I scrunch my eyes shut and feel the heat come up my face.
He stills completely and says, “Brooklyn, you just made me get instantly hard.” He takes my hand and directs it to his lap. “Do I really have to wait until I’m back in Raleigh to see that?”
“Yes. You have to wait.” I give his hard length a squeeze. “I have to give you something to look forward to.”
“Now I can’t wait to move,” he teases. Then he picks me up and carries me to our bedroom. “I guess I’d better show you what you’ll be missing.”
~ ~ ~
Needless to say, we did exactly that. I lie here in bed, on the morning of his departure and think back over the past week and a half. We put ourselves firmly back into our bubble. Nate really enjoyed my repeated ‘apologies’. We had so much sex I ended up getting a UTI, ‘honeymoon-itis’ they
called it. But it was worth it. We also worked out a schedule. Every weekend, we will alternate visiting each other. Nate even went out and bought us matching new laptops with the largest screens possible, for the ‘ultimate Skype experience’ he said. He is such an idiot.
But he’s my idiot. And I love him more than words can express. I watch him sleep. I’ve been up since dawn watching him sleep. This is what I will miss the most. Waking up in his arms, our limbs tangled together, his hands running down my back. His breath in my ear. His mouth on my body.
“Are you objectifying me?” He slowly opens his eyes while his mouth spreads into a huge smile.
“Every chance I get,” I say, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on his lips.
“Mmmm,” he mumbles. Then he breaks the kiss and moves away slightly, reaching over to his night stand to open the drawer. “Before we get into this—and believe me, we will get into this—there is something I want to give you.” He runs his foot up the length of my leg making me quiver.
He presents me with a small box. It is larger than a ring box, thank goodness. I’m not sure my heart could take that today. I eye the pretty, velvety box and run my fingers along the edges. “A going away present?” I frown. “But, I didn’t get you one.”
“Brooklyn, you give me a present every day.” He winks at me. “Sometimes two or three times.”
I giggle while I examine the box.
“Not a going away present. I would have given this to you had I stayed,” he says.
I look up at him before I open it. He is biting his lip and then he runs his fingers through his hair. He is nervous. Oh, God. What is in the box?
My now trembling fingers open the lid. What is lying on a bed of soft black velvet is a bracelet. There is a flat yet slightly-rounded platinum surface that looks almost like an ID band, and attached to each end are flat links of platinum chain that in total looks much too small to fit my wrist. And embedded right in the center of the platinum band is the unmistakable diamond from Michael’s engagement ring. Then on each side of the center stone, there are a couple of smaller, embedded diamonds, each a little tinier than the previous stone, all the way to the edge of the band.
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