by Sydney Logan
“Hi, Mom!”
“Hi,” I reply shakily.
Just then, Seth walks in, with our daughter on his shoulders.
“Daddy picked us up!”
“I see that.” I smile, despite the fact I’m completely stunned. It’s four o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and Seth is here. In our house. And he picked up the kids.
“What . . . I mean, is something wrong?”
He lowers our daughter down to the floor.
“Yes,” he says, and I gasp when he gently trails his knuckles across my cheek. “But I’m going to try very hard to make it right.”
His green eyes burn with sincerity as he continues to stroke my face.
“Daddy’s taking us to a carnival!”
“That’s right. Why don’t you guys go change?”
The twins grab each other’s hands and race upstairs.
“You’re taking them to a carnival?”
“We are taking them to a carnival.”
I’m stunned. I can’t remember the last time we took them to anything. Despite my complete shock, I smile.
“I haven’t been to a carnival since . . .”
“I know.”
His body is close now, closer than it’s been in months. Maybe years. But it’s still there. That electricity that always pulsated between us.
I want to drown in it.
“I love you, Marissa. I don’t tell you that enough, but I do. Always have. I love you and our kids more than anything.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
I do. Even though we aren’t as close as we used to be. And even though we don’t touch like we used to. I know love is there. If I didn’t believe that, I would’ve left long ago.
“I do. And I love you, too.”
His eyes blaze with need as he leans close and brushes his nose against mine. My pulse quickens, and I tug on his tie. My very favorite one.
“Later,” he breathes softly, and it’s a promise that ignites my blood.
***
Memories flood me as we walk through the web of carnival rides and games. This fair is massive compared to the country fairs we loved back home, but the smells are exactly the same. I find myself longing to call Kelsie, to buy a funnel cake and cotton candy, and to go back to a time when life was sweet and innocent.
But then you’d miss this.
Seth squeezes my hand, pulling me back to this wonderful afternoon with our family. Our kids play games and ride the rides, and their smiling faces warm my heart.
“They’re beautiful,” I whisper.
Seth wraps his arms around my waist as we watch them on the carousel.
“They look just like their mother,” he murmurs against my ear. I close my eyes as his lips ghost along my neck. “You smell so good, baby.”
How long has it been since he called me that? I can’t even remember.
“I can’t believe how much I’ve missed. They’re so big,” he says. “When did that happen?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
“They miss you, Seth.”
I miss you.
“I miss them, too. And you. I’m going to do better.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Seth, you’re the boss.”
“That’s right. Which means I don’t have to live at the office anymore.” Seth sighs and presses a kiss to the back of my neck, making me tremble. “I think I’ve made work a priority long enough, don’t you?”
Before I can answer, our kids hop off the carousel and lead us by the hand toward the Ferris wheel.
I shake my head. “Oh, no. No way.”
“Come on, Mom!”
“Not me. Not a chance. But Daddy loves the Ferris wheel.”
Seth laughs. “I don’t love it, but I’ll do it. You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be great. Have fun.”
He leans close and kisses my cheek before handing the attendant the tickets. Holding my breath, I wave at my beautiful family as they climb into the sky.
“Let Madam Bianca read your future!” a voice bellows from a nearby tent.
No. It can’t be.
I walk over to the tent and gasp when I see her name sparkling on a purple sign. Stunned, I pay the man and make my way inside, taking a seat at the table where a crystal ball awaits.
“Marissa.”
I look toward the beaded curtain, and there she is. Big gold earrings and purple scarf tied in her now gray, curly hair. And the accent is as fake and as thick as ever.
“Madam Bianca . . . I can’t believe it’s you. And that you remember me.”
“I remember all my special ones. Your little friend isn’t with you?”
I smile. “No. Kelsie lives in Austin with her husband. They own a ranch.”
“Such a lovely girl. And so gifted.”
“Yes.” Tears fill my eyes. Why am I so emotional?
She places her hands over the crystal ball. “And what about you? Did you find your green-eyed cowboy?”
I laugh. “Well, he has green eyes. And he was wearing a cowboy hat that night. But he’s an investment banker.”
“And as handsome as I promised?”
“Even more so. We’ve been married for almost eight years now with two beautiful kids. A boy and a girl. Twins.”
She smiles softly. “And have you been brave?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit with a sigh.
“Have you been happy?”
My face falls. “No, not really. Not in a long time. We were at first. So, so happy. We found out we were pregnant about eight weeks after that night at the carnival.”
“Ah. So you made two beautiful mistakes that night.”
“My babies are not mistakes.”
Madam Bianca frowns. “Of course not. Sorry. Poor wording. But things have been difficult?”
“Actually, things were really easy. Maybe too easy.”
“But not now?”
“Not now.”
“Your marriage is not strong.”
Tears trickle down my cheeks. “I love him and he loves me. But no, our marriage isn’t strong. It hasn’t been for a very long time. We’re here today, with our kids, but this is the first thing we’ve done as a family in I don’t know how long.”
“Love is a powerful emotion,” Madam Bianca says softly. “It can make you blink. Make you endure things you never dreamed you’d endure. And . . . it can make you complacent.”
I have been complacent. I’ve spent the last seven years playing the role of the passive wife. I’ve been lonely, but have I told him? Have I tried to fix our marriage? Have I tried to pull myself out of my depression and misery?
No.
Once the kids started school, why hadn’t I gone back to work? Why had I chosen to spend my days in a house that was too big for just me? Why had I allowed my marriage to blend into the background instead of making it my focus. Our focus. It’s easy to blame Seth’s job and the long hours, but the truth is, I’m just as much to blame because I haven’t tried to change a thing.
“The crystal ball is fascinating,” Madam Bianca says. “It doesn’t show me everything, of course. Just little glimpses and glances. And from them, I make my predictions. If you look close enough, there are cracks in the crystal. Those cracks signify times of trouble. Of heartache. Every life is filled with them. We all want to live happily ever after, and most people can do that. But it requires much bravery to weather those inevitable storms. It requires much strength. Much love. We all make mistakes, and we have to find ways to survive them. To learn from them. To grow in spite of them. That’s what makes our mistakes so beautiful.”
I wipe away my tears.
“You told me I’d lose my heart and I’d never get it back.”
“And did you lose it?”
“I did.”
“Does he still have it?”
I smile.
“He does.”
“You should tell
him so,” she says softly. “Because he misses you, too.”
I can’t resist hugging her before I leave. As I step out of the tent, I see my husband and our children walking toward me. Their smiles are infectious, and seeing my kids holding their father’s hand is nearly more than my heart can handle.
“Did you have fun?”
Seth grins. “Nobody puked.”
“A definite success.”
“Agreed. But I think we’re tired.”
Sure enough, the twins’ eyes were starting to droop.
I smile. “Let’s get them home.”
As we walk to the exit, Seth suddenly stops.
“Look, baby. It’s a wishing well.”
Unable to resist, we walk over. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some coins for each of us. The kids couldn’t care less, but they’re just kids. They have no idea how epic this moment is.
I close my eyes and let the coins fall.
When I open my eyes, my husband is gazing at me with a look so smoldering that my knees nearly buckle.
And I know we wished for the same thing.
“Do you think they’re happy?” I ask as we watch the twins sleep. For the first time in forever, I was home to tuck our kids into bed.
“I think so. Today was a happy day.”
Marissa gently pulls the door closed and walks toward the kitchen. Nervously, I follow her. There’s so much to say, and I’m not really sure where to start.
“Would you like some wine?” she asks. As she reaches for the glasses, I can’t ignore the way her blouse exposes the tiny sliver of skin along her lower back. Such an innocent image, but desire hits me like a lightning bolt as I watch my wife pour each of us a glass.
I love her so much.
I want her so much.
She has no idea.
My fault.
“Marissa,” I whisper, stepping closer. “Thank you for today.”
“Thank you. It was a wonderful evening. The kids needed it.”
“We needed it. I’ve missed you so much, Marissa.”
She nods and slowly sips her wine. She doesn’t trust it. She doesn’t trust me.
My fault.
“Do you miss me?” I ask anxiously, knowing very well she could say no.
She must hear the fear in my voice, because she places her glass on the counter and turns toward me.
“I miss you every single day.”
Like magnets, our bodies drift toward each other until we’re barely touching.
“I’ve been a terrible husband. That ends today.”
Her eyes close as my fingertips drift along her cheek.
“Please believe me when I tell you that I have loved you every single second of our life together. You have owned me, heart and soul, since the night we met. That night was the most amazing night of my life, and not just because we made love for the first time. But because I wished for you, and there you were. Like you were sent from heaven just for me.”
My hands find her waist. Pulling her close, I gently place my lips close to her ear.
“We’ve been together thousands of times since then, and every time has been incredible. But I will never forget that night. The way you looked. The way you felt. The way you whimpered my name.”
Marissa gasps when I lift her onto the kitchen counter. Her eyes are frantic with need as I push her skirt up her thighs, letting my fingers trail across her creamy skin. I reach for the buttons of her blouse as she loosens my tie.
“I love this tie,” she says breathlessly.
“I know you do. Why do you think I wear it so much?”
She reaches for the zipper of my slacks and pushes them down my legs. Desperate with need, I pull her close to the edge of the counter and step between her legs as she winds them around my waist. We both groan as our mouths collide. These aren’t soft, sweet kisses. These are frantic, urgent, and burning . . .so much like our kisses from that very first night.
I know I should take my wife to bed, but the desire to consume her is just too great, and with a shuddering groan, our bodies join. We both gasp at the intensity, and I still my movements as our eyes lock.
Suddenly, a soft, relieved smile creeps across her face.
“I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you,” she whispers softly.
“You don’t have to miss this—or me—anymore. I’m here. And I love you.”
My wife tightens her legs around my waist, and we begin to move.
***
Our legs are wrapped like ivy as we lie close to one another. Small rays of sunshine spill through the curtains, causing light to shimmer against her bare skin.
“The kids will be up soon,” she murmurs.
I know she’s right. But it’s Saturday. Maybe they’ll sleep . . . just a little longer.
“Best sleepless night ever.”
She smiles and snuggles against my chest.
After the countertop sex that we both admitted was the hottest sex of our lives, I’d carried my beautiful wife to our bedroom. We’d talked, apologized, made love, talked some more, cried, and made love again. She admitted there’d been moments when she wondered if I still loved her, and I confessed that I’d had the same fears. We’d both been too afraid to question the other, content to live in our uncomfortable silence because we couldn’t imagine living without each other. Apologies were made with tender kisses and whispered promises as we rediscovered hidden places on each other’s bodies that drove both of us insane. Then we talked some more, vowing to never drift apart again.
The sound of the alarm shatters our perfect stillness.
“The real world awaits,” she says sadly.
“But it’s Saturday.”
“True. Maybe they’ll sleep late?”
Suddenly, our names echo down the hallway.
“No such luck,” she mutters.
I smile and kiss her forehead. “Don’t be sad. It’s a beautiful day. A beautiful life. Let’s go make breakfast and watch cartoons with our beautiful kids.”
“And then we’ll call their beautiful grandparents and beg them to babysit?”
“Deal.”
As husband and wife, we head downstairs. As Mom and Dad, we make breakfast and watch Netflix for hours with our kids snuggled between us.
And as soulmates, we spend the rest of the day in bed.
Promising. Whispering.
Loving.
“Turn the Page is a lovely story of moving forward, finding yourself, and learning to love. Sydney weaves a tender love story with a flawed lead who has to learn who he is in order to find his way in life. Returning to his hometown, broken and disillusioned, Corbin discovers that the life he left behind is exactly what he needs to move forward. And the girl he needs to move forward with, is worth sacrifices he never thought he was strong enough to make. 5 turning pages stars.”
- New York Times Bestselling Author Melanie Moreland
Turn the Page is Now Available on Kindle
After breakfast, Corbin felt the need to escape for a few hours before the entire family descended. Using his broken guitar string as an excuse, Corbin drove into town to check out the new bookstore. He peeked through the window and was happy to see it wasn’t too crowded. A tinkling bell greeted him as he walked through the door.
“I’ll be right with you!” A woman’s voice called from somewhere in the store.
Corbin took the opportunity to look around. Turn the Page was definitely a small shop, but it had shelves upon shelves of books and music. He hadn’t read a book in years, so naturally, he gravitated toward the instruments. A few mandolins and guitars were displayed on the back wall, and beneath them was a huge collection of sheet music, songbooks, and strings. He hummed along with the Ed Sheeran song streaming from the store’s speakers while he searched through the CD bin. Corbin grinned when he found artists like Mumford and Sons, Brandy Clark, Alison Krauss, and Chris Stapleton.
Mom’s right. This girl’s a music lover.
Then he saw
it. The CD was impossible to miss, especially with his name right there on the cover in big, red letters.
Corbin’s hands froze.
Then they started to shake.
It seemed like a hundred years ago, but in reality, it had only been five. At the age of eighteen, Corbin had been confident. Some called him cocky. Looking back, he realized that was probably a more accurate description.
With trembling hands, he flipped the CD to look at the track listing on the back of his debut album. Corbin had written every song on it. A couple were hits. Most weren’t. When his label suggested he write more radio-friendly songs for the second album, he’d ignored them. Without their support, that album had drifted into obscurity. Just like its singer.
“Good album. Local guy.”
Corbin looked up to find himself staring into a pair of deep green eyes. Her face flickered with surprise when she recognized her customer. Then she laughed.
“Oh. I guess you know it’s good. I mean, since it’s yours.”
He grinned. “Sorry, Mom told me your name but—”
“It’s Jolie. Jolie Daniels.”
“Nice to meet you, Jolie. And I’m glad you like it. You’re one of the few.”
“Well, that’s not your fault. That indie-folk-rock thing is considered cool . . . now. You were way before your time. It’s a shame, too, because it’s a good album. A solid debut. You should be proud of it.”
Corbin smiled. It’d been a long time since someone had gone total fangirl on him. It felt good. Especially coming from such a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen.
I want to write a song about those eyes.
“I appreciate that, Jolie. You know, I could sign it for you.”
She frowned. “Why would I want you to sign it?”
Corbin grimaced when he checked the price. It was almost insulting.
“Because you could sell it for more than five bucks. It’s out of print now. It might be worth some cash, especially with my autograph. And I’m sure you could use the money.”
“What makes you think I need the money?”
“Everybody can use—”
“My bookstore does just fine, thank you very much.”