“The cloth is for me,” she said on a thread of laughter.
“I mean, something irrational. Ridiculous. Even just that new pair of shoes you told the press you would buy.”
“I decided I could live with what I had,” she teased.
“Julie . . .” The look on his face was despairing, as if he had tried and failed to show her good sense. “You’re a millionaire. You need to act like one.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, giggling. “If it’ll make you feel better, I did buy something kind of ridiculous. In fact, it is so ridiculous, I’m embarrassed to show you.”
Blake’s expression relaxed. “Good,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder about you. What did you get? Don’t tell me—let me guess. That crystal pineapple in the window of Tiffany’s.”
“No,” she said, still holding the box behind her back.
“What, then? Show me.”
That familiar heat crept up Julie’s cheeks as she held out the small wrapped box. “You open it,” she said. “It’s for you.”
“For me?” The curious, amused look in his eyes faded to poignant surprise. “You bought something for me and nothing for yourself?”
“I told you,” she said softly, “I bought the cloth.”
Stricken, he held her gaze for a moment as if her gesture meant worlds to him. “Thank you,” he whispered.
The gratitude in his voice made her laugh, more from nerves than amusement. “Blake, you haven’t even opened it!”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s the fact that you thought of me that counts. It means a lot to me.”
“Oh, boy.” Julie covered her face. “Am I glad I didn’t buy you that roll of toilet paper made of fake hundred-dollar bills. I almost did, you know.”
“It wouldn’t matter if it was a gag gift,” he said. “It’s just so important that you—”
“Blake, just open it, for heaven’s sake! I’m breaking out in a cold sweat!”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll open it.”
His hands trembled as he tore into the wrapping. If he was really that moved that she had bought him something, she thought, she’d have to make a habit of it.
He looked up at her as he pulled the top off the box. And when his misty blue eyes fell to the watch, he tipped his head and lifted his brows as if he’d never been so moved in his life. Then he pulled it from the box the way one would handle the crown jewels.
“I’ll never take it off,” he said softly.
“Well, you’d better. It isn’t waterproof.”
He swallowed and held his hand out to her. “Come here.”
Obediently, Julie leaned into him, and he slid his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair and held her desperately tight. “I missed you today. So much.”
“Me too,” she whispered. Then, pulling back, she tried to lighten the intensity of the moment. “Well, aren’t you going to show me your toys?”
He let her go, and his hands went into his pockets. “Sure,” he said. “Only, I didn’t exactly shop for myself, either.”
“What?” She looked at the boxes he’d dropped into the chair next to him. “Nothing for yourself?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Not even cloth?”
A grin tore at his lips.
“Not even a pool table or a pinball machine?”
Breathing a heavy sigh as if the moment of truth were approaching, he reached for one of the small boxes and handed it to her. “Open it,” he said softly.
She knew her eyes were shining as she took the box. Biting her lip, she tore open the paper.
It was a diamond bracelet, shimmering white, and probably worth more than she’d made last year. She jerked her hands back. She saw people at other tables looking, and she wanted to hide under the table. “Oh, Blake! I can’t accept this. It cost a fortune!”
“You’re worth a fortune,” he said, smiling as he pulled the bracelet from the box and draped it on her wrist. “And I insist.”
“But I’m not the diamond type. Blake, please. I can’t wear a bracelet that cost more than a year’s mortgage!”
“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “I want you to. You wouldn’t deprive me of the pleasure of seeing you in this, would you?” He clasped it, then held her hand to admire it.
“Oh, Blake,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t have.”
“But I did,” he said. His kiss pushed through all her barriers and all her reservations, but somehow the fear was still there.
The feeling that he would not—could not—be hers, the feeling that tomorrow would come and she would find herself alone and aching and humiliated just as she had a year ago with Jack, kept rushing her heart. Instead of seeing the gift as his offering to her, she saw it as her own money draining right before her eyes. He’d probably already borrowed on his. Spent next year’s and the next year’s . . . now he would want hers.
But she wondered if it was a trade-off—her money for his love. Maybe it was worth it.
He tipped her face up to his and gazed into her eyes. “I think I fell in love with you while you were eating my soup that first night,” he whispered. “I had prayed for help that night, and God led me right to that restaurant. I had never been there before. And there you were, Julie. It was the worst time in the world to fall in love, but I had no control over it.”
A lone tear rolled from Julie’s eye, and she reached up to frame Blake’s face with shaking hands. He kissed her again and she felt she’d been released, but she wasn’t sure to where. Was it a paradise? Or another heartbreak? It seemed impossible that she—a woman who had been hurt more than her share, a woman who couldn’t imagine anyone loving her without motive—could really love a man like Blake without getting her heart broken.
Blake didn’t demand a reply from her. Instead, he wiped the tear under her eye. “I didn’t get the chance to give you your most important gift,” he said, his voice growing hoarse.
“Blake, the bracelet is too much already. You shouldn’t have—”
“Just open it,” he said quietly, handing her another small velvet box.
Holding her breath, Julie gazed at him for a moment, then looked down at the box. Carefully she opened the top. The three-karat diamond ring startled her, and she caught her breath.
“I love you, Julie,” he whispered, tipping her face back up to his. “And I think we make a good team. Forget my idea for joining forces in business. What I really want is for you to be my wife.”
In the seconds it took for Julie’s heart to begin beating again, a million thoughts raged through her mind. He had suggested marriage the night they’d won the money and told her more than once that if he ran out, they would always have hers to fall back on. Was that what all this was about? Was it all a ploy so he could correct the mistake he’d made by forcing her to keep her half of the ticket? Had he so enjoyed having money that he couldn’t stop thinking what twice as much would do for him?
Could greed really drive someone into feigning love and asking for a lifetime commitment? How would she ever know if it was real?
Tears sprang to her eyes. “I . . . I can’t take this,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She thrust the ring into his hands, trying to keep her tears at bay.
“Julie, why?”
“Because.”
“But I love you,” he said. “Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I jumped the gun. But I missed you this afternoon, and I realized that I don’t want to go home and resume our separate lives. I want you with me—”
“Don’t! Don’t push it,” Julie bit out. “Please.”
She could hear the surprise in his voice. “Why? You owe me an explanation, Julie,” Blake said. “Tell me why!”
Her face burned, and suddenly it all seemed clear to her. All the tenderness and romance, all the attention . . . “Why do I owe you, Blake? Because of the ticket? Because of the money?”
“What?” Blake asked. He seemed completely baffled. “What has the ticket got to do with—?�
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“I have to go,” Julie choked, cutting him off. “I’m sorry, Blake. I’m not going to marry you. You gave me the ticket and made me keep the money, even though I would have been fine to just give it to you. But now I’m in this too deep, and I have plans and hopes and dreams. And it’s not fair for you to spend all of your money and come after mine. I can see through all this, Blake. The bracelet and the ring, the trip and everything . . . they’re all investments. You’re hoping for a huge return, and you can get it by marrying me.”
Blake’s face drained of color as he sat frozen before her. “That’s what you think?” he whispered as if she’d knocked the wind out of him. “You think I wanted to marry you because my money is running out? Is that the kind of man you really think I am? Greedy and selfish and conniving?”
“Money changes people!” she shouted. “Maybe you were that way all along—I don’t know. But you’re not the man I hoped you’d be.”
“You got part of that right, anyway,” he said sadly. “Money does change people. It changed you. You couldn’t have cared less about money the night we won. Now you’re hoarding it, scared to death somebody’s going to take some from you. Well, I don’t want your money, Julie! And forget the proposal, because you’re not the woman I hoped you would be.”
Swiping at her raging tears, Julie unclasped the bracelet and thrust it at him, grabbed her bolts of fabric, and ran out of the restaurant.
Blake threw down enough money to cover the bill, grabbed his things, and raced out behind her. He caught her standing on the street trying to hail a cab.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” she said. “I’ll take the next commercial flight out.” When a cab passed her, she put both bolts under one arm, then roughly dug into her purse with her other hand. “Here. My half of dinner tonight.” She threw some bills at him. “I guess I owe you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he muttered, trying to give the money back.
She tried to stop another cab, but it sped past. She couldn’t stop her tears. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”
His eyes flashed to hers. “Then what did you want, Julie?”
She stopped and stared down at the sidewalk, trying desperately to hold herself together until she was away from him.
“Answer me, Julie,” he said more firmly. “What is it you want?”
“Nothing!” The word seemed to rob her of every ounce of strength she possessed.
“Exactly!” he returned with equal desperation. “You don’t want anything because you feel so unworthy. You can’t let yourself love me because you can’t believe that I could actually love you for yourself. There has to be some reason, doesn’t there? Some motive?”
“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, there has to be a reason. There always is. You want what I have.”
“But I have what you have, Julie! I don’t need your money!”
“You’ll owe everything you won in six months, Blake!” She touched her forehead with her fingertips. “It’s not that I don’t want to share. I just don’t want to be wanted for the money.”
“Is it so hard to believe that I love you because of you?”
“Yes!” she shouted. “Yes, it is. We hardly know each other. We met four days ago! The money complicates everything!” A cab stopped, and the driver got out and loaded her bolts of fabric into the trunk. She wiped her eyes and turned back to Blake. “I have a plane to catch. I have to go.”
“Then go! Run away and see where it gets you!”
And she did. Julie got into the cab. When she arrived at the airport, she ran to the ticket counter. Fortunately she was able to purchase a ticket for a plane leaving within the hour. She made her way through security, then ran to her terminal. They were already boarding, so she went down the jet bridge and into the coach class of the commercial jet. When she was seated, waiting for it to take her back to Detroit, she realized she was still running.
When she finally made it home, Julie crawled into her bed and lay in a ball for ten minutes, allowing herself only that amount of time to cry out her heart. Misery was inevitable for her, she thought, for she always fell for the wrong men. Great sobs racked her body, and she wished with all her heart that Blake had been different. She could have convinced herself of that if she’d tried, she thought. But she would always know, in the deepest corridors of her soul, that he did not love her for herself any more than Jack had.
There was only one thing to do. She would launch headfirst into her business, hire a staff, finish her designs. Maybe that full-speed-ahead work would make her forget Blake Adcock. And maybe it would soothe the wish gnawing in her heart that he would come storming through that door at any moment and shake her fears and accusations right out of her.
Weeks passed as Julie worked ceaselessly, drawing out the new ideas she had had since returning from New York. Her new formal creations were sadder, with flowing, romantic lines and softer fabrics. They each reminded her of her days with Blake—of the wind rustling through his hair on the cruise around Manhattan, the sunlight bathing their faces, the laughter in his eyes—but she didn’t want to be reminded, so she worked harder.
She found a building in which to sell her line, with studios upstairs where several junior designers worked executing her designs, and several expert seamstresses put them together. Already she was taking orders from people who had seen her on television in her own design, and so her custom business was getting under way. She capitalized on the dramatic, everyday styles that her customers seemed most interested in. Her fashion show was back in the planning stages, and her waitress friends had been assured that they could still model her clothes.
To anyone looking in from the outside, it would have seemed that Julie Sheffield was on top of the world. No one would have guessed that every night Julie cried herself to sleep because no amount of work could smother the regret still smoldering in her heart.
It was raining one night when she got home. As she rummaged in her drawer for a sweater to change into, she ran across the box of chocolates Blake had given her that first night, the chocolates that had once held the sweepstakes ticket. She remembered how moved she had been when he’d given her the candy. She had almost cried.
It had been raining that night, too.
She looked out the window that Blake had climbed through. The steady drizzle left her tiny house feeling even smaller and lonelier. She gazed out through the rivulets of water tracing designs on the panes, recalling the night he had brought her a picnic. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and candlelight in a pillowcase.
He had talked her into running off with him in the night.
What was it her mother used to say when Julie was in high school? “There’s no point in starting something you can’t finish. You can’t learn from it or lay it to rest until you’ve seen it through.”
Her mother had been referring to the dozens of dresses Julie had started with bits and pieces of secondhand dresses, then abandoned from frustration and fear of failure. Now, in the loneliest days of her life, she wondered if her mother might have used the same advice about love. Julie had left things hanging with Blake, had run away as fast as her plane would carry her, and she couldn’t put him behind her until their relationship was laid to rest once and for all.
New tears rolled down her face, and she leaned her forehead against the windowpane, remembering his words that had seemed so true. “I had prayed for help that night, and God led me right to that restaurant. I had never been there before. And there you were, Julie. It was the worst time in the world to fall in love, but I had no control over it.”
Was it all a lie, or had she ruined the truth in it?
She got her phone and pressed a fist to her mouth. If only he had called her when he’d gotten back to Detroit, maybe he could have convinced her that she was wrong about him. More than anything else in her life, she wanted to be wrong.
But he hadn’t called. And he hadn’t come over.
Had any of it actually been real?
A persistent, gnawing need to know took hold of her. If it was real, she had to hear him say it. And if it wasn’t, well, perhaps she could go on with her life without thinking of him three hundred times a day.
Controlled by an irrational need to hear his voice, she bit her lip as tears rolled faster down her cheeks. With a trembling hand she picked up the phone and dialed Blake’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Hello?” It was quiet behind him, and his voice seemed much too close to her ear. Much too familiar. Much too sweet against the bitter silence she’d suffered since she’d seen him last.
“Blake?” she choked out. “It’s Julie.”
He caught his breath, then said softly, “Julie.” His tone teetered between relief and apprehension.
Julie grabbed a tissue out of the box on her bed table and wadded it over her eyes. “I . . . I just wanted to ask you one thing, Blake,” she said.
“What?” he whispered.
She swallowed, steadied her voice, and went on. “What we had in New York. That morning on the boat . . . and in the restaurant, when you said you loved me. Was it real? I have to know the truth.”
She held her breath and waited an eternity before Blake’s broken voice reached across the line. “It was real, Julie. It was real.”
Closing her eyes, she ended the call and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Why? Why didn’t he say it was an illusion? she asked herself miserably. Why couldn’t he just have taken that opportunity to lay it to rest once and for all?
The phone rang almost immediately, but Julie only looked at the caller ID. It was Blake, of course. But she was too confused to talk to him, and she needed time to think.
So she lay staring at the ceiling as the phone rang incessantly, her painful tears soaking into her pillow.
“Answer, Julie,” Blake whispered. “I know you’re there.” He held the phone to his ear as he paced across the bedroom. Finally it had come, the call he’d been praying for, the sign that said she still cared. He had been too hurt and too proud and too stubborn to make a move before, after the things she had accused him of, but her whispered question had changed everything. Now it was time to get her back.
Chance of Loving You Page 9