by Rachael Wade
“Wait, Em!” Whitney skipped around the tiny apartment, stopping at the window to peer down into the street. “Don’t you want to take a second to let it all sink in? You’re finally here! Look how cute this place is.”
“Yay!” I squealed for her benefit. “Okay, dinner time. Let’s go.” I grabbed her hand and towed her out the door, with Carter on our heels. The truth was, it really was a great place. Just what I’d dreamt about for...well, what seemed like forever now. It was lived in, not too big, and it needed some work, but the location was perfect, the rent wouldn’t kill me, and I’d be close to Carter’s old apartment, which somehow made the neighborhood feel familiar.
Only it was missing something.
“I can’t wait to meet your old roommate,” I said to Carter, breaking my train of thought. We made our way downstairs and outside, onto the bustling city street. “You said he’ll be at the wedding tomorrow, right?”
Carter chuckled, rubbing his lip ring. “Oh yeah, you’ll be meeting Dean, alright. Two minutes with him and you’ll be ready to hightail it out of there, though.”
“Is he really that bad? I thought you guys were like...” Like Jackson and Ruben used to be. “Like, two peas in a pod and all that.”
“We were.” He smiled. “Still are. I definitely miss the crazy bastard, but he can really drive me up a damn wall sometimes.”
“It sounds like he keeps things interesting.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
We arrived at the pizza place, which was really just a shoebox with a counter, nestled next to a vintage bookstore. Whitney still didn’t say much to Carter as we ate, slipping him snide glances every few minutes, instead choosing to talk to me about how much she loved the weather and ideas for decorating my apartment. Every now and then she’d look as if she were slipping off in thought, and Carter seemed to block her out all together, more concerned with texting on his cell phone.
“Sorry,” he mumbled when he caught me staring. His paper plate was clean, only a stain of grease remaining, soaking the surface. “Just catching up with everyone to let them know I’m in town. My phone is blowing up.”
“No worries.” I stood and slipped my messenger bag over my head. “I think I’m gonna head back and crash. You guys can wander around some more if you want—”
“No!” They both chirped in unison, a little too quickly.
“Uh,” Whitney’s head snapped to Carter’s. “I mean, we’re heading back, too, right Carter?”
“Yeah, yeah, right. Let’s go.” He slid off his stool and shoved his phone in his pocket, turning to lead the way. More hushed—and on Whitney’s part, passionate—whispers passed between the two of them as they strolled side by side in front of me. I lingered behind, breathing in the cool air and taking in the sights.
It didn’t take me long to realize we were headed in a different direction. “This isn’t the way back to my place, is it?”
Carter and Whitney slowed to a stop, pausing in front of a cozy shop, a low-lit, hand-painted sign hanging above our heads. It was a familiar shade of blue, with white lettering scrawled across it.
“No, it’s not,” Carter said, glancing at Whitney. She smiled and looked down at her shoes. “But you might want to check out this shop before you head home. I think you’d like it inside.”
I zipped up my hoodie, looking between the glass door and my friends. My brows pulled down. “Um...okay, can we check this out tomorrow? I’m so tired and I just really want to go back—”
“You should go in, Em.” Whitney’s voice was solemn. Her gaze lifted and locked on mine.
Carter stepped forward to tap my elbow. “I keep my promises,” he said softly, his eyes rolling to the store sign above our heads. He adjusted his glasses and took Whitney’s hand. “We’ll see you back at your place. We have the other key.”
The crease in my forehead deepened as I watched them walk away, and my eyes darted between the two of them ahead of me, the glass door to my left, and the sign above. I opened my mouth to call out to them but stopped, as my focus halted on the sign. Stepping underneath the small funnel of light from the dim overhead bulbs, I squinted to read the white lettering. Sara’s Sales and Service. A tiny sailboat design was carved beneath the words.
My heart stalled.
A prickle sprang up on the back of my neck, a strange tingling calling my attention to the glass door. I shifted, and the air left my lungs. All feeling in my limbs was gone, only the tickling on my neck reminding me I was still conscious, still receptive. Some part of my brain told me to move, jerking my hand forward and causing it to latch onto the doorknob. There was a jingling sound of a bell as the door opened, and then my feet were carrying me past the store’s threshold. My gaze landed on an attractive build—less tan than I remembered.
Then his voice came. “Sorry, but we’re closing in five minutes and—” A can of paint dropped, and shimmering ice blue eyes stared back at me, two lips that had given me so much pleasure parting in surprise.
My own jaw fell slack, and my eyes slowly pulled away from the set of baby blues to survey my surroundings. Wooden shelves lined the brick walls, filled with mechanical odds and ends, tools, and then on one side of the store, a showcase of framed sailboat designs. Each frame sported a price in subtle, elegant script, and binders were positioned next to each one. Dried paint filled my nostrils, and the low hum of a radio buzzed in my ears.
Finally, I found my words. “Oh my...”
“Pumpkin.”
“What are you...”
“You’re here.” Another can of paint dropped from his hands and he winced, taking a cautious step to the left, around the register.
I mirrored his steps, inching closer, my hands moving to the strap of my messenger bag, fingers locking around it in a death grip. “Jack,” I breathed, “you’re...you’re in Seattle.”
“You’re beautiful.” His eyes widened and he blinked, freezing in front of the counter.
“You look...” Holy Mother of God, was he handsome.
“Carter said I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow, at the wedding.” His hand found his hair, which was shorter and tapered around the neck. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“How are you...what are you doing?” I stuttered, unable to deliver smooth, intelligible sentences.
His shoulders relaxed a little and he inhaled deeply. “I work here.”
“You work here.”
“It’s sort of a rent-to-own deal. I don’t own the shop. Not yet, anyway. A friend of Carter’s hooked me up in exchange for managing the place. The owner is trying to get rid of the store. Stubborn old guy. He didn’t want to sell it to just anyone.”
Once again, I lost the ability to speak.
“But he agreed to sell it to me when I asked to keep his bottles in the front window.” He pointed to the bottles and laughed. Each one displayed a skillfully constructed model ship, which I guessed took hours, if not days or months, to build by hand. “They’ve been in his family for years. He’s real proud of them. Guess my enthusiasm for sailing won him over. Did you see the sign?” he asked, his tone lighting up with excitement. “I just got permission to hang it last week.”
“You’re telling me this is your shop.”
“Going to be, yeah. My wages and commission are paying for the rent. It’ll officially be in my name someday.”
“But you...” I gulped, “you didn’t have any money. How—”
“I don’t have to pay for a place to live right now. I’m staying with Dean, Carter’s friend. Dude’s got a few screws loose, but he’s funny as hell.” A dimple formed on his cheek. He swallowed, shifting from left foot to right. “I work a second job at the market on weekends to pay for food and stuff. I pretty much owe Carter and Dean everything I have, but I’ll be able to pay them back when I get on my feet. They hooked me up with Phil, the owner, Dean let me crash on his couch, it’s crazy...so how do you like your new place?”
I wanted to ask him questions, drill him until s
unrise about why and how he was standing in front of me right now. He was telling me these things already, but the words did nothing to satiate my thirst or my disbelief. I wanted to make small talk and ask how he’d been over the past few months. Wanted to pinch him and see if I was dreaming. His voice was distant and hollow, as if speaking to me through a narrow tunnel. But all I could do was drift forward and touch his face, eliminate the space between us. I gazed up at him, tracing the lines around his mouth with my fingers.
He lifted a hand to cup mine, eyes studying me. “Talk to me, Emma.”
“Why did you leave me?”
“Because I love you.”
“It’s been months,” I whispered.
“Too long.”
“I don’t understand. You told me to find you when I was ready to forgive you, and then...then you left.”
“I was tired of telling you how sorry I am for my mistakes. I wanted to show you. I know I could’ve just told you where I was, could’ve stayed in touch with you after I left, but I didn’t want that, didn’t want to place anymore pressure on you. You deserved to be free, to enjoy this time in your life. I figured if you wanted to come back to me, to work things out, this was the best way. On your terms. Your timing.”
I laughed at that. My timing? I was ready to work things out months ago. And yet, I’d walked away when Carter offered to tell Jack that I’d been looking for him. Something had held me back, and as I stood here, staring back at the man with the blanket, I realized that my timing wasn’t off.
It was perfect.
“But you gave up everything,” I said. “What if I’d never—”
“Forgiven me?” He smiled.
I nodded.
“Then I’d still have this,” he gestured to the store around him. “A future. I needed to get the hell out of Florida, anyway. My time was up there—it had been for a while, I just didn’t see it. You helped me see what I couldn’t on my own. If I’d moved here and you’d never come for me, you still would’ve given me the greatest gift anyone had ever given me. A different perspective, a different glimpse of myself.”
“I just can’t believe you did this. It’s so—”
“Impulsive?”
“Will you stop finishing my sentences?”
“Will you tell me how you’re doing? About your new place? I’ve been counting down, waiting for May, just to hear how you’ve been.”
“Carter didn’t tell you? That I came looking for you the day you left?”
“What?”
“I wanted to ask you to move here with me. Damn,” I mumbled absently, “I guess Carter really does keep his word.”
His eyebrows scrunched and a wave of sadness washed his face, but it was fleeting. “No. He just told me you were still going to his friends’ wedding, and that hopefully I could see you then. He filled me in here and there, about your graduation and stuff, mainly because I badgered him to death. But other than that, nothing. Said it was hell keeping everything from you and Whitney.”
“Well, all hell’s broken loose. I think Carter just informed Whitney today.”
Jackson laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, he mentioned he wasn’t going to spring it on her until it was time for you guys to fly out here. I warned him about that, but he wouldn’t listen. He was convinced Whitney would never be able to keep it from you longer than a day, let alone a few months.”
“Wise decision.” Another disbelieving titter escaped from my lips, and my fingers gripped his face tighter, my eyes on his like I was waiting for him to vanish into thin air. I thought about Whitney being so angry at Carter, and it made me laugh even harder, an amazed, disbelieving laugh. I couldn’t help but wonder how difficult it must’ve been for him to keep Jackson’s whereabouts from me, not to mention her, all this time. All three of us really were blessed to have a friend like him stroll into our lives. In my world, loyalty like his was a rarity.
“Well, in answer to your question, I’m good,” I said. “It’s great...all of it. This just made it more than I could ever...God, Jack. Are you sure you’re happy here? Is this really what you want?”
“It is.”
“But you seemed so sure...I’m just having such a hard time picturing you here, and yet...” I scanned the store again, feeling as if he’d been there for years. Like this was his home, so perfectly suited for him. With his short hair, paler skin, and tailored shirt that made him look like he’d aged a good five years, the adult in front of me didn’t belong back on Sanibel Island. His entire demeanor was shaped by evolution, rooting him here, to this very place.
Suddenly I couldn’t picture him anywhere else.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it myself, to be honest. One day, something can seem so impossible, and the next it can be the most appealing thing in the world. It’s funny the way things look different depending on where you’re standing. Now that I’m standing here...” he looked around fondly, “I can’t imagine being happy anywhere else.” He leaned down, calling my gaze back to his. “Well, are you ready?”
“Huh?”
“To forgive me. Will you give me another chance?”
Tears welled up, threatening to spill over my cheeks and render me a weepy mess. I shook my head. With shaky breath and a trembling lower lip, I forced the words out. “More than ready. Are you available? I mean...is there anyone else? You still want me?”
His hands fell from mine and closed forcefully over my hips, pulling me against him, his lips brushing my jaw. Our breaths mixed and mingled, my mouth tingling and knees nearly buckling at the feel of his desire against the apex of my thighs. “What do you think?” he murmured, breath rousing my hair. “My owner is standing in front of me right now. How about you? Is there anyone else?”
“No, no one.”
“Then please let me kiss those fucking tears away.” His mouth smashed onto mine, his hands sliding down over my ass to cup and lift me against him. My legs slipped easily around his waist, fitting to him like a snug glove, locking at the ankles, and our time apart melted into nothingness, burned by the heat pulsing between our bodies. His arms slid up my spine and into my hair, and he turned us, setting me on the counter. His kiss consumed me, his tongue sucking mine while his demanding fingers fumbled with my blazer’s buttons.
As I leaned into his touch and let him claim me, I saw the girl flying down Prescott Lane toward Pete’s Tavern that night on her bicycle, the way she’d peddled so fast she was sure the devil himself was fast on her trail. All she fled from was fine-tuned and in focus, no guilt or shame or regret obstructing her view. Jen wasn’t a ghost haunting her, but an angel leading her. Pushing her straight toward her fate, into the man with the blanket’s arms, where pumpkin pie tasted sweeter, second chances were born, and opposites really did attract.
No matter my point of view or how it differed from Jackson’s, each road, when taken together, led us both to the same place.
Home.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed Emma and Jackson’s story, please consider leaving a review at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads. You can connect with Rachael on Facebook, Goodeads, and Twitter.
Want to read more about Carter and his friends Kate and Ryan? Try Preservation, book one of The Preservation Series. Keep reading for Chapter One...
PRESERVATION
Chapter 1
Detention
“Is there a problem, Ms. Parker?” My new professor glared at me from the front of the classroom, no doubt waiting for me to explain myself. His hazel eyes burned into mine, his perfect, lean body resting on the edge of his desk. His arms folded, he twirled a pencil between his fingers, cocking an eyebrow when I met his question with nothing but flushed cheeks and a sigh. With my back to the classroom door, I stood gripping my books to my chest, ready to dart right back out of the room. Shit. This was only the third class and I’d managed to make a fool out of myself, again, late and out of breath. The sea of faces followed Mr. Campbell’s gaze and I quickly sank into my ch
air.
“No, sorry. Again,” I muttered, pulling my laptop from my bag. Being late wasn’t the problem. Well, it was. But what was worse was the fact that I was soaking wet. The past three classes, I’d managed to parade through the door like a wet mouse, my boots sloshing across the floor and my trench coat buckle rustling obnoxiously against the cotton fabric beneath it as I made my way to my seat. And let’s not forget the gear I lugged into the classroom. I practically carried my life in my book bag, not to mention my massive, ratty duffle bag that could take out an entire army if I swung it just right.
Each time, my entrance sounded like a bad high school marching band trudging through a concrete jungle. It was the price I paid for walking through the Seattle rain without the right rain gear. I didn’t have the cash for it. Lately, the usual leaky-faucet style rain was replaced with a more relentless kind, with cold, hard drops that drenched you quickly and thoroughly. I took all four of my classes on campus in one day, and at night took a creative writing workshop in Whidbey Hall. After that, I tried to sneak in a nightly swim before I headed home. It was a long day, I needed a lot of my stuff with me, and the ride on the Light Rail was only the beginning of my journey home. It was the only way I could go to school and be available for my other obligations, though, so I made it work as best I could.
“See me after class, Ms. Parker,” Mr. Campbell replied, his irritated expression turning bored, returning his attention to the other students. He let out a deep breath and shifted off the front of his desk, tucking the pencil in his top pocket. I exhaled a breath of my own, peeling off my coat to settle in.
Something about calling him ‘Mr. Campbell’ bugged the crap out of me. He was my age, or at least he looked it. I was twenty-five, and judging by his demeanor, I guessed he couldn’t be any older than twenty-seven. He had a youthfulness about him that made his boyish good looks far too distracting for such a serious class, but his adolescent charm was weighed down by a heavy, brooding countenance that seized every inch of humor from him—if he had any humor, anyway.