Those memories come slow
But someday they will fade
And we will find a way
Something sturdy to hold on to
Hold on to me
The gift I see in you
I fear it can’t be real
If only you could see it too
Could believe we could be true
Until then I hold you in my dreams
I promise not to let you go
Just hold on to me
She memorized his words, analyzing them and breathing them in. They were pieces of him and she took a deep breath, stealing her nerves as she grabbed a pen to add her own little bits of truth to his sad song. It wasn’t easy. She felt like she had to wring each word from her soul, but she did it. Adding little phrases, here and there, crossing out sections and reworking them as the truth spilled from her. Cassidy snuck her words under his door while he was ON AIR, smiling as she breathlessly retreated to her room to wait for his response.
Their little game of words continued for four days. Thomas, writing his songs, Cassidy adding to them. She waited breathlessly on the stairs each afternoon for his airtime to begin because she knew he was playing their songs. Their music. They had created it together. Collaborating without ever speaking a word to each other.
But there was more truth and passion in their written words than anything she could manage to say. That was one of the many things Cassidy loved about writing. Somehow, the eloquence of words on paper could never be rivaled. That was until she heard them put to music.
Thomas’s music had exploded over the days they silently composed together. It no longer filled Cassidy with sorrow, but it made her chest swell to the point of ecstasy. It was joy, she realized. Thomas’s pure joy filled the house when he played their music. And she drank it in, fed off of it and filled her own pages, typing her memoir until the buttery glow from the oil lamp faded and there was no light left in her room. That night sleep carried her to blissful dreams full of colors and music.
By the end of the week she was finished writing her story—Jacob’s story. It was a bittersweet feeling to come to an end. She continued to edit it, finding tiny things here and there to fix, if only because she truly wasn’t ready to let go—of Jacob, of their love . . . of her life, or what was left of it. But even after all her revising, there was only one last thing to write. Her goodbye letter.
Chapter 16
Thomas
The next morning, Thomas crept to the attic and slid a note under Cassidy’s door. This one was different. It wasn’t a song, but an invitation. And he found his heart bouncing with nervous hope that she would accept. He moved silently through the house making preparations with the hope that she would agree.
When Thomas finished his airtime and flipped off his recording reel he took a deep breath before opening his door. Disappointment washed over him when Cassidy wasn’t there. But when his eyes found a note taped to his door his breath returned and he couldn’t hide his smirk.
There, written in her elegant penmanship, was Cassidy’s response to Thomas’s invitation to a woodland walk and picnic.
But what ever shall I wear?
He laughed out loud. He’d asked Cassidy to wait outside his door if she accepted his invitation so they could leave promptly after his show to make the most of the daylight. Of course, he hadn’t considered her wardrobe in his request. He grinned as he scribbled back a response.
Something warm.
Though the sun was peeking through the hazy fog of the surrounding mountains, the winter air still cast its icy breath across the grounds.
Thomas ran the note up to the attic and slipped it under the door. A moment later the door opened, revealing a flustered Cassidy. The room behind her was in disarray with piles of clothes flung on every surface.
Her face blushed and she bit her lip. “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”
She had on soft brown pants that hugged her curves, a blouse of deep teal with tiny brown and yellow birds in the pattern. Over it she wore a cashmere cardigan the color of fresh butter. Her dark hair fell in loose waves to her breast and she’d put rouge on her pale cheeks. She was breathtaking. As butterflies danced in Thomas’s stomach, he let his eyes travel the length of her. He stopped when he got to her feet, the corners of his mouth quirking to a grin.
She smiled back, sheepishly. “I couldn’t decide,” she admitted gesturing to the two different shoes she wore—one a leather oxford, the other a peep-toe wedge.
“Neither,” he laughed. “Don’t you have boots?”
“Boots!” Cassidy excitedly retreated into her upturned room, clamoring through a mountain of accessories until she pulled out a pair of fawn colored, knee-high riding boots. “Will these do?”
“Do you ride?” Thomas asked enthusiastically.
“I wish. I’m afraid these are only fashion accessories where I’m concerned.”
“That’s too bad. You’d look beautiful on horseback.”
Cassidy beamed. “Do you often picture me on horseback?”
Thomas laughed. “Let’s not get off track.”
“You’re the one who started it,” she mused.
He shrugged. “I grew up on a horse farm. I picture everyone on horseback.”
“I bet it was lovely growing up on a farm.”
“It was something,” Thomas murmured.
“Will you tell me about it?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yes. Why not?”
He snorted a laugh and extended his elbow. Cassidy looped her arm through it. “It would be my pleasure,” he said giving a gentlemanly bow.
She giggled and the sound rang through him like church bells.
Chapter 17
Cassidy
Thomas picked up a picnic basket on their way out of the cottage, refusing to let Cassidy peek inside, although he promised she wouldn’t be disappointed. She already knew she would love whatever he prepared. Over the time they’d spent together the last few days, Thomas had taken to leaving her little meals with silly notes attached, like “Eat me” or “Bite me.” She found she enjoyed his boyish sense of humor and his cooking even more. It beat the stale bread and butter she’d packed for herself.
They walked the overgrown trail around the lake letting the sun soak into their layers of clothing, warming them through. Thomas chatted on about his childhood, growing up on a horse farm, how he first got started playing the piano—which it turned out was to impress the church girls—of which there were only two his age. Cassidy found herself smiling and even laughing at the self-deprecating tales of a horny adolescent Thomas all alone in the country.
“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Thomas said.
“Well it’s impossible not to laugh when you keep filling my head with images of you shoveling shit and chasing church ladies.”
He snorted. “Well, what’s not to love?”
“You tell me.”
“I joke, but I do love that place.”
“The farm or the church full of old women?”
“The farm, smart ass. It’s probably my favorite place in the world. Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” she laughed. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?”
“Well for one, the network hasn’t fired me yet.”
Cassidy winced.
“I check the phone every day to make sure it’s still working.”
“Well, perhaps America has a sense of humor,” Cassidy offered.
“Or sympathy for a poor, frustrated musician.”
“I’d say you’ve worked out your frustrations quite skillfully lately,” Cassidy added quietly.
“Thanks to you,” Thomas replied stopping to put the picnic basket down.
When he stood up to face her, the sunlight bathed his face. The light washed out his harsh pattern of scars, lifting the curtain on the face his accident had stolen. The sun kissed Thomas with warm rays that splashed flecks of gold in
to his brown eyes. His dimpled smile made Cassidy’s insides twist. She looked away as he spread out the blanket for their picnic and when she looked back, the rare pocket of sunshine had disappeared behind the clouds again, taking Thomas’s stunning looks with it.
Chapter 18
Thomas
Thunder rumbled in the distance while Thomas laid out an array of food and wine. They ate as the fog crept toward them, but Thomas adamantly argued that the forecast hadn’t predicted rain. His stubbornness evaporated when the first drops fell, causing Cassidy to shriek, and then laugh as they tried to quickly save their meal by scarfing it down before the rain soaked them.
The rain of course won the battle. Thomas and Cassidy were soaked through by the time they made it back to the house, out of breath and hysterically laughing.
Thomas panted, as they dripped puddles inside the kitchen.
“Oh, what a mess! I’m sorry, Cassidy.”
“Don’t apologize. Soggy bread never tasted so good.”
“Rain check on the picnic?”
Cassidy exploded into hysterical laughter. “I think we’ve established rain and picnics don’t mix,” she gasped as she stripped down to her drenched blouse and muddy pants.
He laughed. “Fine you win. No more picnics and rain. I guess I’ll just have to plan another date for us.”
“Date?”
Thomas’s ears grew red and he avoided looking at Cassidy as he ignored her question completely. “Come on, I’ll start a fire.” He nervously led Cassidy toward his room. “You should stay down here tonight. It’ll be frigid in the attic with this storm rolling through. I can start a fire in the other bedroom for you.”
Cassidy’s face paled. “No!”
Thomas stopped, noting the fear in her voice. He looked at her ashen face and took her hand. It was ice cold. He wanted more than anything to chase away that haunted look. “Cass . . .”
“Not that room. I . . . It was . . . I can’t. I can’t stay in there,” she whispered.
He didn’t understand, but he nodded. “You can stay in my room,” he offered softly. “I’ll take the other room. But I want you to have a fire tonight.”
She gave a curt nod and walked quickly into his room, away from whatever haunted her beyond the door that led to the other bedroom. He followed her in and shut the door, going to work on stoking the hearth. Once it was crackling, he turned back to where Cassidy stood, gazing out the window to the fog laden mountains. She stood arms crossed, lost in thought. Thomas noticed her shiver and suspected it was from more than just the cold. He hated to see Cassidy that way.
“Here,” he said handing her a thick flannel shirt from his dresser. “You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”
His voice barely rustled her. He moved closer, gently touching her boney shoulder. “Cass?”
“Hmm . . .”
“Get changed,” he murmured, gently placing the shirt into her trembling hands.
She smiled, coming back from whatever faraway place she’d been and disappeared behind the dressing screen.
Chapter 19
Cassidy
When Cassidy emerged from behind the dressing screen, color had returned to her cheeks. Now it was Thomas’s turn to balk. She was a vision, standing before him in nothing but his flannel shirt, the hem barely grazing her thighs. He drank in her long milky legs and his throat went dry.
Cassidy laughed. “Really? Of all the elaborate things I wore, this is what does it for you? A ratty old shirt.”
“My shirt,” he muttered possessively.
“You’re such a man,” she teased.
Thomas had changed too. He sat on the floor in front of the fireplace wearing his robe. The robe she had worn. Cassidy let a shudder ripple through her at the memory of its soft fabric caressing her skin. She found she was suddenly jealous of the hideous thing and stared at it with distain.
“Well, I’ll certainly admit I prefer my clothes on you.”
“Pig,” she hurled a pillow at him playfully, breaking the tension that was building between them.
He caught it, placed it next to him and patted it, inviting her to join him by the fire while he dug through their ruined picnic basket. “Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes, thank you. It was quite lovely before the rain started.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re full because it seems only the wine survived,” he said holding up a dark bottle of red. He pulled the cork and drank straight from the bottle before passing it to Cassidy.
She gulped it down, savoring the rush of warm heavy comfort that filled her chest. When she passed the bottle back to Thomas he was staring at her in that adoring way that made her insides flutter. “What?” she asked.
“Will you tell me something about you?”
“What do you want to know?” she replied trying to feign disinterest.
“Everything.”
She laughed. “That could take a while.”
“Okay, how about your childhood?”
She shook her head.
“Oh come on! I told you all my embarrassing stories.”
Sadness filled her heart, icing it over with the memories of her stepfather that she uselessly tried to conquer. “I’m afraid my childhood wasn’t like yours.”
“No?” he teased. “It was full of dresses and jewelry and endless suitors vying for your hand, wasn’t it?”
Cassidy’s subconscious whispered in her ear. Keep quiet. Keep it a secret.
“Something like that,” she murmured as quiet shame filled her. “My childhood isn’t worth remembering. What else do you want to know?”
Thomas’s hand grazed hers, turning her palm over to look at the smudges of ink that stained her finger tips. “What are you writing?” he asked as his thumb stroked her palm.
Cassidy’s heart squeezed. Not that question. “You’ve already read parts of it,” she snapped more harshly than she meant.
“Is it a true story?”
She nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry for prying. I’m sure it’s . . . private.”
Thomas got up and fiddled with his recording reel until the soft sound of his music filled the room. He adjusted the volume so they could still talk comfortably before returning to sit next to Cassidy by the fire.
He was closer to her now, his shoulder pressed against hers. She shivered as his warmth spread through her. Jacob had been warm like that. Images of them together flashed through her like lightning. She inhaled sharply at the pain that lanced her heart.
“Cass?” Thomas caught her hand. She hadn’t realized she’d been pressing it against her chest trying to hold back the tears.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Thomas asked softly. There was nothing suggestive or ulterior in his tone—just honest, genuine concern.
Cassidy shook her head, barely able to get the words out. “Would . . . would you just sit with me?”
Thomas nodded and moved closer so he could drape a strong arm around her shoulder. Cassidy leaned into him, absorbing his warmth and scent, taking comfort from his kindness. They sat like that for a long time—Cassidy with her head resting against Thomas’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“No.”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“I know.”
She furrowed her brows and sat up to look at him. “If you’ve never been in love, how could you know?”
He picked up her hand, tracing her delicate fingers with his. “You showed me.” He was looking at her now. “I told you I’d never read anything as beautiful as the words you wrote.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head—a bittersweet smile traced her lips.
“What?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Words will never compare to the real thing.”
“Then I guess I’ll never know.”
“Why do you say that
?”
He laughed. “My parents, the only people who ever loved me, are dead. And I’m left looking like this. Look at me. No one will ever get close enough to see if I’m worth the risk to love.”
“You are,” she whispered.
Thomas shook his head. “Well then that would make you the first woman willing to look past my scars.”
“We all have scars, Thomas.”
“Yeah? You try having them cover half your face.”
“I happen to appreciate the scars that aren’t hidden,” Cassidy murmured, tentatively bringing her fingers to Thomas’s face. He didn’t flinch away when she lightly traced the feathering of scars near his lips. “At least with you, I know what I’m dealing with,” she whispered as if looking at him for the first time.
Cassidy inched closer, until her lips were only a breath from his.
“What are you doing?”
“Everyone deserves to feel love, Thomas.”
He started to protest, but she pressed a finger to his lips.
“Let me show you that you’re worth it,” she whispered looking up at him through her thick lashes.
And then she kissed him.
Chapter 20
Thomas
Thomas trembled as Cassidy traced her lips over every scar on his face, as if her kiss alone could erase each one. And from the explosive power roaring through his veins he wondered if maybe she could. Her touch nearly undid him—his muscles going taut and loose with each quivering caress. He was hard at once. His heart slammed like a furious beast that wanted out—wanted to tear away everything that stood between him and the gorgeous woman kissing him.
Cassidy settled into his lap, still trailing kisses down his jaw. When her perfect lips found his he let her in, all of her. Her tongue stoked the fire within him as Thomas finally freed his hands to roam where they dared. First to her raven black hair. He buried his fingers deep into her silky locks, pulling gently until she exposed her neck to him. God, that neck. It was the fine arching stem of a goddess as she tilted her head back inviting him in. He ran his hand up the column of her throat—so thin, so vulnerable. Thomas’s large hand wrapped nearly around it. He leaned forward to kiss the delicate white skin, feeling her pulse thready beneath his lips.
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