by Amali Rose
Table of Contents
Untitled
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Under The Cherry Blossoms
Amali Rose
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © Amali Rose 2017
Under The Cherry Blossoms
Editing: Stacey Broadbent & Petrina Jenkins - Spell Bound
Formatting: Kylie Sharp - Indigo Assisting
Cover Art by: Judi Perkins - Concierge Literary Designs
Cover Photo: Shutterstock
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
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Contents
Untitled
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
This book is for everyone who has ever let fear hold them back.
Be brave. Be strong. Be you.
“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”
Nelson Mandela.
2003
My head feels foggy as I watch my father from my cross-legged position on the floor where I’m sitting, still trying to make sense of everything that has happened tonight.
“Skylah?”
I blink once. Twice.
“Skylah.” My father’s voice is louder, more insistent this time, and I see him crouched down in front of me. He’s holding my hands in his, but I can’t seem to feel them. The sense of security that normally follows his touch has vanished.
“Honey, this is for the best, you’ll see. Your mom and I have been so unhappy. We need this.”
As the words leave his mouth I hear a glass smash on the tiled floor, just outside the bedroom door, and hear my mother’s footsteps fade away as she rushes down the hall.
Sighing, my father stands up, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, and a look of frustration crosses his face. Closing his eyes, he takes a breath and seems to regroup as the sound of his phone buzzing with a text fills the air.
Looking down and pulling up the message, a slow smile lights his face, all sense of frustration gone.
It’s her, I realize with horror and I feel a single tear escape. Brushing it away furiously before he can notice, I watch as he slides his phone in his back pocket and resumes packing with a renewed vigour.
Moments later, he zips his suitcase closed and approaches me.
“C’mon, honey, walk me out,” Dad says, holding his hand out to me. I take it hesitantly. There’s no way I can stop this so refusing seems petty, and I allow him to lead me to the front door.
“I’ll call when I get home, okay?”
Home. This is your home, I want to scream. Here with me and Mom! But I don’t. I nod mutely and let him draw me into a tight hug. All too soon, he pulls away and with a last brush of his hand across my cheek, he turns and walks out the door. I watch him make his way down the front path, hop into his car, gun the engine and drive off down the street. The hand I had raised to wave goodbye, drops quickly back down to my side. There’s no point. He never looked back.
“Ugh, shit.” The words fall from my lips as I trip over the cushion left on the floor with all the grace of a stumbling hippopotamus. Okay, maybe that last glass of wine wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had. As I pull myself up I search for my kindle and sigh in relief as I spot it safe on the couch. I reach down and pick it up as I make my way to my bedroom, ready to curl up and enjoy my latest book boyfriend and this wine buzz I have going on.
After getting ready for bed I am snug and settled, devouring the filthy words on the screen with the enthusiasm of someone who has clearly not enjoyed any sexy times in a ridiculously long while. As my eyes eat up the words, my hand unconsciously smooths its way down my body, seeking relief from the tension pulsing in my core. As my fingers slide through the wetness, I groan softly. Grazing my clit lightly, a shiver escapes me. I am so worked up it’s only a matter of minutes before my teasing fingertips have worked their magic and I am moaning my release.
I sigh as I roll over thinking how too many of my nights are ending this way. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to have an actual guy touch me, and frankly, I’m ready to give myself the “it’s not you, it’s me speech”. I think about the advice my best friend Cassidy gave me the other day; online dating. I mean there’s no shame in it these days, right? We’re all busy, it’s a perfectly respectable way to meet people. And it works. I’ve seen the testimonials and surely, they wouldn’t lie. Right?
While I still retain a bit of liquid courage, courtesy of all the wine I drank tonight, I grab my phone and google “most successful dating sites”. It would seem Happily Ever After is the site of choice for all the despera... I mean, hopeful singles out there. I stifle a laugh at the name. I’m not looking for a happily ever after. Just a happily ever orgasm. So, before I lose my nerve I pull up the website and click on the ‘create an account’ button. Ten minutes later, I have completed my profile and set it loose into the online dating world. My smiling face gazes out at me from the phone screen and I can’t help looking at myself with pity. A sense of dread settles in my stomach as I send out a silent prayer to the dick-pic gods. Please no delfies. Or, you know, at least make them dicks worthy of my admiration. Oh god, what have I done?
BEEEEEP.
I sigh quietly as I reach to open the microwave and pull out the dinner for one as Cassidy continues her rant in my ear. “Seriously, Skye, I’m not sure how much longer I can stay there. The work is boring as fuck and the people are even worse! How can I be expected to work under those conditions? I’m not getting any sleep at night because I’m falling asleep out of boredom every day!”
I try to hold in a giggle as
I listen to Cassidy complain about her job in office administration. Unfortunately, the result is an unattractive snort-giggle that alerts her to my mirth. “Well, I’m glad you find my pain so funny, loser!” she shrieks, and I can feel her glowering through the phone, which causes me to lose any pretence and I burst out laughing.
“It’s work, Cass, it’s not supposed to be fun. It’s just the eight hours we have to get through every day to get to the fun stuff.”
“Speaking of the fun stuff, you wanna go out tonight? Cocktails and tapas?” The change in Cassidy’s voice is immediate and if I didn’t know her so well, would be slightly disconcerting. But after ten years of friendship I am used to her swift mood changes and at times like this, I am grateful for them. Her work diatribes are becoming a daily occurrence.
“I would but I’ve got myself a hot date tonight. Ben and I agreed to chat at 8 o’clock.” I listen as Cassidy whoops loudly on the other end of the phone, mumbles something about sexting and starts to sing “bow chika wow wow.”
I roll my eyes at her outburst but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Cass is my opposite in every way. The yin to my yang, the Scary Spice to my Baby Spice. She is the dark to my light and I couldn’t imagine my life without her. She has also seen me despair over the long list of less than desirable men that have replied to my online profile, and encouraged me to persevere. Cassidy claimed the answer to my sex drought was only a click away, and don’t think she didn’t proclaim her triumph loudly when Ben Mackinnon appeared in my Happily Ever After mailbox. Sexy as hell and, if his messages are anything to go by, sweet, smart and funny; he ticked all my boxes and then some. And I’m not going to lie; the fact that he didn’t send me a dick pic within the first ten minutes had definitely worked in his favor.
“Okay, okay, okay, enough!” I laugh as I cut Cassidy off mid-chika. “I have fifteen minutes to scarf down this meal before it’s B-time so I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“B-time? Really? I sincerely worry about your cool cred sometimes, you nerd. But that’s a topic for another day. Later, Skyballs, and remember, two hands on your phone at all times, young lady!”
I groan as Cassidy hangs up on me and I place my phone on the kitchen counter. Tucking a strand of my long brown hair behind my ear, I pick up my fork and dig into my lean cuisine. After a quick glance at the clock I see it’s ten minutes to eight, and feel the butterflies start. Truth be told, I’m completely out of practice with this whole dating thing. My list of exes did nothing to change my mind and convince me that a happily ever after was in my future, and I had forgotten about this complex mix of excitement and fear which left you unsure if you were giddy or nauseous!
Placing my dishes in the dishwasher, I move to the couch and settle in for what I hope will be a long chat. Because chatting to Ben has become the highlight of my day, and while I probably should, I feel absolutely no shame in admitting that. The last month talking to him has been fun and easy; I find myself almost craving the contact with him. He has tried to convince me to meet him in person a handful of times but I’ve resisted. There is safety in where we are now, in the protection that the phone screen affords me. I started this online thing to find someone to have fun with. Someone who can scratch my metaphorical itch anytime it tingles, but the longer I talk to Ben, the more I can see myself falling for him and I can’t let that happen. My head understands this but as my phone dings and my heart begins to pound, it’s clear that my heart might not be on the same page. Ugh, someone needs to give me a stern talking to. I am a twenty-eight-year-old grown woman, not a giddy, giggling preteen. Then again, I haven’t gotten laid in a while so I give myself a pass.
BEN: You there, beautiful?
SKYE: Yep. How was your day?
Riveting, I know. Have I mentioned I’m out of practice?
BEN: Good, busy. One of the systems crashed so we spent the day trying to clean up that shit storm. I hope yours was better?
SKYE: I’m not even going to pretend to understand the computer stuff lol but it sounds like a rough day, so I’m sorry. I almost feel bad telling you that I had a fantastic day, I got a promotion!
As happy as I was about the promotion, it was bittersweet. My boss, Juliet, had informed me that she wanted to take a step back from running Books & Beans, the bookstore slash coffee shop that she owned. So, she was promoting me to manager, and while I was incredibly excited about the chance to have more responsibility, and my mind was bursting with ideas, I was also slightly terrified at the prospect of failing.
BEN: That’s incredible news! We have to celebrate. What about dinner on Friday night?
My hand freezes over the phone keyboard. I’m not ready for this, it’s too soon. I mean, I know that realistically it stopped being too soon about two weeks ago (according to Cassidy “Bow Chika Wow Wow” Jensen, anyway) but I’m not sure I’m ready to take that next step yet. My phone vibrates in my hand, bringing my gaze back to the screen.
BEN: Baby, I’m sorry, I have to go, work just called and they need me back there. I’ll make some reservations for Friday and get back to you, okay? I’m really happy for you.
Well shit. I guess I’m meeting Ben.
The week sped past in a blur of chaos. There was so much to do at B & B to ensure everything was ready for Juliet to leave, and I was still struggling with the idea of losing the safety net I had with her presence. While I adored her, and was so excited for this next stage of her life, I was terrified of letting her down and destroying all that she had built. Juliet, however, had no such qualms.
“My sweet Skylah, you will be fine. You need to stop worrying. You know everything there is to know,” she huffed exasperatedly. It is Friday afternoon and it would seem that my third confirmation of the bakery delivery times has used up the last of Juliet’s usually limitless patience. Considering I have met the delivery truck every morning for the last three years, I am prepared to admit she has a point.
“Don’t you have a date tonight? Why don’t you head home early, my love?” I glance over and take in Juliet’s soft smile. This woman has been like a second mother to me and I don’t know how I’m going to get along without seeing her every day. Straightening my back, I return her smile.
“Fine. I can take a hint, I’ll get out of your hair and give you some peace.” I listen as she chuckles softly and waves me out the door.
“Go! Call that crazy Cassidy. Maybe she can calm those nerves that I know you’re trying to hide.” I roll my eyes but I can’t deny her claim and she knows it.
“CJ is at the spa with Mom today, it’s her birthday,” Layla, Cassidy’s little sister who works part time at Books & Beans, informs me as she walks over to join us.
“Oh, that’s right, I remember her mentioning it to me earlier this week. That’s probably better anyway, I think she’d just wind me up more rather than calm me down.” Layla giggles out an adorable snort of agreement as I give both her and Juliet a kiss on the cheek before grabbing my purse from under the counter and heading for the door.
“Have a great night, ladies. Wish me luck, and I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow, ‘kay? Bye!”
As I stroll home the nerves hit me full force. As stressful as this week has been, it has also offered a good distraction. Ben has also been busy at work, the system crash on Monday had proved to be more serious than anyone had expected, so our messages had been brief and fewer than either of us would have liked. Now, however, I have nothing to divert my thoughts from my upcoming date with a guy who could quite possibly make my life very difficult. My chest tightens as I think about coming face to face with Ben. I really don’t want to mess this up. Our online relationship has been uncomplicated so far, but in reality, I’m quite a shy person and I dread the idea that things could feel awkward and forced. I pick up the pace, eager to get home, sink into a hot bath and hopefully relax a bit. Tonight will be fine. No, better than fine, it’s going to be amazing. I inhale and exhale that mantra all the way home.
Three hours later, I step out of the Uber and try to calm my nerves. Looking up at the elegant sign above the door, I confirm that this is indeed Petite Assiette d’Amour. Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine, stand tall and head into the little restaurant Ben has chosen for our date, trying to convey a confidence I don’t particularly feel. Inside is cosy and immediately envelopes you in a warm atmosphere that invites comfort and intimacy. Another tick for Ben. As I walk up to the hostess station I’m greeted by a stunning blonde who throws me a welcoming smile.
“Good evening, what name was your reservation under?” she asks.
“Uh, it should be under Mackinnon, thank you,” I reply as I smooth down the skirt of my red dress. It flares out and hits me mid-thigh, showing off a healthy amount of leg. Standing at 5’2” my legs may not be the longest, but years of walking around NYC has kept them slim and toned, and I can appreciate the stares they garner.
“Right this way, Mr. Mackinnon is already seated.” I follow behind and as I glance ahead and spot Ben’s chiselled profile, my anxiety peaks. I’m suddenly comparing myself to the hostess’ made-up perfection. I rarely wear much makeup, just a dab of mascara and eyeliner to bring out the green of my eyes and a slick of gloss on my full lips. But suddenly, I feel lacking. You can do this, I tell myself firmly. You are going to have a great time tonight. He will have a great time tonight. And. You. Will. Not. Throw. Up. I almost snort out loud as this thought runs through my head, and I wonder if Ben is experiencing the same kind of nerves. Although, from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it. Okay, a tick in the minus box for Ben.