by RC Boldt
Releasing a sigh, I begin plucking petal by petal, muttering to myself, “Take the job. Stay. Take the job. Stay…”
I’m finishing packing up my suitcase when I finally notice the voicemail notification on my phone. I’m surprised at the sound of the voice that greets me.
“Hey, it’s me, Knox. I, uh, wanted to call because I just…shit.” He breaks off and I imagine him dragging a hand through his short hair and slightly ruffling it. “Hell, EJ,” his voice deepens with emotion, “I just keep replaying our conversation at the airport, and I know it means nothing, but I wish I could’ve been there for you back then. When you were in the hospital and—” He clears his throat abruptly. “I just know that I never want you to have to go through anything like that without me again. And if you ever want to talk about it, I’m always here.” There’s a brief pause before he speaks again, and his voice is husky, intimate sounding. “I’m sorry, Emma Jane.”
“Sweet Pea, I was hoping you’d call.”
Normally, the sound of Granddad’s voice lifts my spirits, but it’s not working its usual magic today.
“I don’t know what to do.” I slump into a seat in the far corner of the gate area for my flight, away from the majority of the other passengers. Everything pours out of me, and I find myself divulging what happened between Knox and me years ago, why I left, the miscarriage, and the job dilemma.
“Do you know why I never pushed you to tell me why you left?” he asks, gently.
“I always wondered.”
And I had. Even now, I can recall his voicemail message with the simple request.
“Please call me when you’ve made it safely to wherever your destination might be. Love you, Sweet Pea.”
He’d never asked for more information. Months passed and he still never pushed me for an explanation. He’d simply accepted my decision to leave everything behind.
“Your grandmother taught me to never mess with fate.” Before I can manage a response, he continues. “Did I ever tell you about how your grandmother was engaged to someone else?”
This stops me in my tracks. Leaning back in my seat, the din of the airport disappears. “I never knew she was engaged to someone else.”
“She was engaged to Mathias Bentford. His family was wealthy, and she loved him…or so she thought. But when we met while I was delivering milk for my family’s farm, it changed things. I knew she was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.” The wistfulness in his voice amidst the layers of emotion is a testament to how much he adored my grandmother.
“She saw me set down one of the milk bottles to help Old Lady Huntly when she’d tripped and twisted her ankle. Your grandmother came rushing over to help, and the moment our eyes met, there was something there. Something I can’t describe. After we made sure Old Lady Huntly was safely inside her house, your grandmother insisted on accompanying me to deliver the milk, and then I escorted her home.
“We talked about everything under the sun. She told me about her engagement, about the man she planned to marry. And once we arrived at her door, I knew what I had to do.” He releases a soft chuckle. “I kissed her and told her that she belonged with me. That I would make her happier than he could.” Another chuckle slips from him. “And then I turned around and left.”
“What happened then?” I’m fascinated by this tale I’ve never heard before.
“I didn’t hear from her for two whole weeks.”
“What?”
He laughs. “I thought for sure she figured I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. But two weeks passed and then one Saturday, when I was delivering milk on the same route we met on, she was waiting for me.
“She said that fate should never be ignored or tampered with, that something told her to come back to me.”
“What happened next?” I ask, hanging on his every word.
“She called off her engagement, and I courted her for the next four months before I asked for her hand. I knew then, just like I know now, that fate intervened that day. Fate brought us together. But you don’t mess with fate. You let it operate on its own timeline, Sweet Pea.”
Faintly, I register the announcement that my zone is boarding for my flight. Granddad finishes with words which resonate with me.
“Emma Jane, always respect fate. It knows best. It always had a plan for you and Knox.”
Minutes later, when I’m buckled into my seat on the airplane, I’m curious about fate’s plan.
I wonder what it has up its sleeve next.
40
Emma Jane
Welcome home from prison, Blue!
This is the sign that greets me at the Jacksonville airport.
Of course, the tall, muscular man holding it is wearing a ball cap pulled down low along with a pair of dark sunglasses to disguise his identity.
As I approach him, his lips curve up into a wide grin. He drops the sign to his side and opens his arms, allowing me to step into his embrace and relish in the tight, comforting hug.
“Like the sign?” he murmurs against the top of my head.
“Best one yet.”
“Ready to head out?”
Backing away, I release a tired sigh. “Am I ever.”
He walks me out the automatic double doors of the airport, and I realize his SUV is parked, unattended, right at the curb.
Giving him the side eye, I tease, “Using your celebrity status to get away with parking here?”
He winks smugly. “I’m carrying precious cargo.”
Confused, I start to ask, but as soon as Becket opens the passenger door for me and I slide in, I see exactly what he means.
Presley, Hendy, and baby Emilia are in the back seat.
“Hi, guys,” I greet them curiously, as I buckle my seat belt. “Dare I ask how you got lassoed into this?”
“Becket wanted to practice buckling Emilia into her car seat and drive her around.” Presley announces this with amusement lining her features.
“And to see if she preferred the lullabies of Jack Johnson or Dave Matthews.” Hendy offers this up before deadpanning, “Because you know. Newborns are so particular about music.”
Suddenly my phone rings, alerting me that Madison is requesting a FaceTime chat. I’d forgotten that we’d agreed to catch up after my flight landed.
Turning to the back seat, I address Presley and Hendy. “Uh, do you guys mind if I FaceTime my friend Madison really quick?”
“Of course not,” Presley says.
Quickly, I accept Madison’s call and give her the rundown on everything that happened in New York, to catch her up since she’s out of town at a conference in Orlando.
“I’ve got to be honest, Emma Jane. I feel like your heart’s not in it.”
“Probably because she knows ECC readers don’t appreciate me as much as F&F readers do. Snooty women don’t like real men who sweat.” Becket shakes his head as he navigates his way through the airport traffic.
Madison and I both roll our eyes at him. “Becket,” I warn.
His expression sobers. “Honestly, I think your mind’s already made up.”
“But when will a job offer like this come around again?” I ask, anxiety weaving its way into my tone. “Maybe never, right?”
Madison shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. But the point is, if you turn it down, will you be able to live with that decision?”
“Or if you turn Knox down, can you live with that?” Becket lowers his voice. “Can you imagine spending three solid weeks away from him every three months? Is that what you want?”
I don’t answer; instead, I internally muse at how I’ve never made decisions pertaining to my career with anyone else in mind. I’ve been too driven and intent on achieving my goals.
“Is that what you want?”
I allow this question to roll around in my mind. I mulled it over repeatedly on the plane ride back, and each time, I came up with the same answer.
“I think you know what decision you have to make.”
Madison
nods to affirm Becket’s declaration, and I have to agree. I know what I need to do on Monday morning.
I’m just not entirely sure I have the guts to do it.
“Thanks for being cool with us making a quick stop to drop them off.”
I flash Becket an amused look, gesturing to the soft baby carrier he has strapped to his front with Emilia inside, happily snuggling his chest. “Are you kidding me? This is a side of Becket Jones I never thought I’d get to see.”
He slings an arm around my shoulders as we follow Presley and Hendy up the steps to their home. “Uncle Becket has to prove his baby prowess somehow.”
Once Hendy unlocks the door, we all head down the hall to the living room and take a seat. All of us except for Becket, of course.
His enormous palm cups the back of the baby’s head, and he gazes down at her small face.
“What was that I just heard? Do you have gas? Say no, Uncle Becket. No, ladies don’t have gas,” he coos. “You just snuggle me, and everything will be A-okay.”
We all watch in disbelief as Becket continues talking to her. Emilia appears to be listening, completely enthralled as he goes on about how “Uncle Becket snuggle time is the cure for everything” before he walks over to the large sliding glass door facing the Atlantic Ocean. Opening it and the sliding screen door, he slips outside and slides the screen door closed, still chattering away. He heads farther onto the deck where the sun is quickly disappearing beneath the horizon.
“He’ll make a great dad someday.”
Hendy’s quietly spoken remark garners my attention, and I turn my eyes away from the scene outside. He winks at me, his eyes sparkling with humor. “But don’t tell him I said that.”
“So you have to fill me in on everything.” Presley takes a seat on one end of the couch and curls her legs beneath her. Her eyes rest on me. “Becket mentioned that things went sour with your job before you left for the ECC interview.”
I decide to get comfortable in the oversized leather chair across from her. Hendy takes a seat beside her, resting an arm along the back of the couch behind her head. Automatically, she leans into him and rests her head against his shoulder, listening as I give her a quick recap.
“Wow,” Presley muses, appearing a bit stunned. “I can’t imag—”
“Yeah, that’s right. Real men snuggle babies.”
Becket’s booming voice interrupts, traveling through the screen door, and we turn our attention to the sight outside on the deck. His back is turned to us, but it’s clear in his posture that he’s preening while standing by the railing. One hip is propped against the wood, and he waves at a few women strolling along the beach a few yards away from the end of the deck.
“He’s pimping himself out with our baby.” Hendy’s tone is a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
Presley laughs and shakes her head. “You can’t possibly be surprised.”
“He’s been waiting for this moment.” I smile and watch him through the sliding screen door as he mumbles something to Emilia with a sly smile before continuing to walk around and point out certain sights in the distance. Turning to the couple, I tip my head to the side as I regard them. “He really is a proud”—I break off to make finger quotes—“‘uncle.’”
Presley’s expression softens. “He is, isn’t he?” She peers up at Hendy. “See? I told you he wasn’t so bad.”
Her husband looks like he’s on the verge of a begrudging agreement when we hear more commotion from outside.
“Uncle Beck is your favorite guy, right? That’s right. Way cooler than your daddy. I mean, geez. A former Navy SEAL pales in comparison to a quarterback who’s won the Heisman and…”
Hendy raises an eyebrow pointedly at his wife who just laughs, and I can’t help but join in.
41
Knox
FRIDAY
I haven’t heard from Emma Jane since I dropped her off at the airport days ago. She hasn’t called or sent a text message. She’s officially gone radio silent.
And it’s killing me.
I left the ball in her court. Guess she doesn’t want me, after all. A small part of me thinks I should just move forward and hire a replacement to fill her position.
If only I could find a way to fill this gaping hole she’s left in my heart.
“You on the way back?”
“Yep,” I answer Wells while I drive the boring stretch of interstate along I-10 leading back to Mobile, talking to him via Bluetooth.
He sighs loudly, the exasperation practically radiating through my vehicle’s speakers. “You need to delegate a bit better if you have to rush back to Mobile for something like this,” he remarks, referring to the minor issue I’d mentioned one of my local businesses is experiencing.
“Wells,” I warn tiredly.
“Just didn’t take you for tucking tail and running away.”
Gritting my teeth, my hands clench the steering wheel in a painfully tight grip.
“Jesus, Wells.” My tone is wrought with irritation. “Give it a rest, would you?” My voice rises with frustration and anger. “She’s gone completely silent, and I need to…regroup.”
“She was pregnant with your baby, Knox.”
I wince at the reminder of the devastating loss of our baby.
“I know,” I utter quietly. “But she also skipped out on our wedding, believing I’d been just like her damn father.” I drag a hand down my face wearily. “We both have things to work out.”
“Well, Christmas is barely a week away. At least there’s that.”
I make a face at his oddly abrupt subject change. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Santa always brings presents for good boys and girls.” Wells releases a long, exasperated sigh. “You know this.”
Leaning my head back against the headrest, I roll my eyes. “That cheers me right up.”
“Figured so.”
I pull off at an exit to fill up with gas. “Gotta run, man. I’ll touch base with you once I get in.”
“Later.”
The call comes on Saturday, just as I’m stepping out of the office here in Mobile and heading back to my truck. Wells was one hundred percent right when he’d said I didn’t have to come back here and ensure things would smooth out.
I’d come back here to lick my wounds. Yet I feel like it’s made things worse, being back in Mobile, since this is where it all began.
Where it all went wrong.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Montgomery, this is Sheila with St. Johns Realty. I wanted to let you know that we’ve received an offer on your home…”
Sheila’s voice fades out as shock takes over. I’d never expected the house I’d renovated to catch interest so fast in such a competitive housing market.
But this is great news. I’d gone into it with the intention of flipping the Jacksonville house.
Liar, a voice echoes within my mind. You hoped for a home—a home with EJ.
“Mr. Montgomery?” Sheila’s voice jars me from my inner turmoil.
“I apologize, Sheila. Can you email me the information since I’m driving right now?” She readily agrees, and we end the call.
Once I’m back at the house, I rush inside and toss my keys on the kitchen counter, setting my briefcase on one of the barstools. Loosening my tie, I tug it off before tackling the buttons of my shirtsleeves and quickly cuffing them at my elbows as I head down the hallway. I draw to a halt before I approach my bedroom and abruptly turn toward the closed door to the left. The door that’s remained closed for a little over eight years, aside from the monthly cleaning service that comes in when I’m at work on Monday mornings.
Twisting the doorknob, I open it and inhale a sharp breath at the sight of the bed we’d chosen together, the armoires, the comforter, the color of paint we’d used on the walls. Everything about this room reminds me of her.
Slowly, I walk over and settle myself on the edge of the bed. I sit, staring at the top dresser drawe
r. The drawer that contains the gift I’d been planning to give her after we’d returned from our honeymoon.
I’d searched high and low for the perfect necklace for Emma Jane that would tie in our nuptials and her tendency to use daisies as a fortune-telling device, with He loves me; He loves me not. I’d finally discovered a gorgeous necklace with a diamond encased in a love knot and instantly knew I had to get it for her.
Sitting here, memories begin flooding me full force.
I recall how proud I was of her for scoring the job at Southern Charm Lifestyle. I knew she’d landed the job on her own merit and not her father’s name. She was a whiz at marketing and advertising, had that talent of thinking outside the box and finding unique ways to market ideas.
I lean back to lie on the bed and swear I can still detect the scent of her even after all these years. God, how many times we’d made love in this bedroom, how many times we’d lain here talking about the future.
When she’d left, I’d immediately gone to work on adding the en suite bathroom to what’s now my master bedroom. It was far too painful to stay in here, to sleep in here without her. The number of times I’d reached out for her, only to come up empty, had been too much for me to handle.
Now, I’d done the unthinkable and let her back in my life, invited her into my home and into my bedroom.
With a humorless laugh, I think about the fact she’s left her mark on every part of this house now and mutter to myself, “What are you gonna do, now? Demo and then rebuild?”
Heaving an arm over my eyes, I can’t help but admit the idea has its merit.
42
Emma Jane
SUNDAY
I took a few days after I returned from New York to really mull things over. Days dedicated to thinking, to soul-searching.