Willow Springs: A Destiny Novel

by Toni Blake

  And he knew even as he spoke that he probably hadn’t spent enough time weighing his next words, but they came out anyway. “And if you want me to be real, Amy, here’s something real for ya. Maybe you and me . . . maybe we just have too much between us for this to work.”

  “What . . . do you mean?”

  He didn’t look at her any longer—he kept his eyes on the rosebushes and gazebo. “It’s just . . . not easy being with you right now.”

  “Oh.” The word came out soft and short, and he knew he’d stunned her—and he was sorry, but he couldn’t stop at this point. He needed to say this.

  “Maybe we know each other too well. If we didn’t—if we’d just met—you wouldn’t think you know what’s best for me, and we wouldn’t have a history to complicate things, or a long friendship to worry about ruining.” He glanced at her briefly again, but found he couldn’t—it was too difficult knowing he was hurting her. What he was saying hurt him, too. But it was the truth and he thought they needed to face it. “Amy, maybe we need to cool things down between us before we do ruin our friendship.”

  Next to him, she let out a breath, then said, “What if our friendship is already ruined?”

  That made him look at her. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? I think it’s true.”

  The words took his breath away, and he was still trying to get his head around them when she stood up.

  He tilted his head back to stare at her. “Where are you going?”

  “Look, if you think I’m trying to upset you, and if you don’t want to hear the truth from me . . . well, then maybe you belong with Anna, somebody you don’t have a past with. I’m sure she’s much easier to be with than I am. And you’re right about one thing—maybe it would be easier if we’d just met. If that were the case, I’m sure we’d both be a lot more careful with each other’s feelings.”

  And then she walked away, those pretty, bare feet of hers taking off into the soft grass as he watched from behind. And he wanted to call her name, stop her, but the truth was—he didn’t have the strength at the moment. He had no idea what he really wanted or which one of them was making sense here. Maybe both of them. Maybe neither.

  But whatever the answer, he just sat on the park bench beneath the stars and let her go.

  Sixteen

  She felt it at her heart.

  Jane Austen, from Emma

  “I so wish you guys could have seen the Cinque Terre,” Rachel said, her hands wrapped around a huge coffee cup. Amy sat with her and Tessa in the easy chairs in Under the Covers, listening as Rachel regaled them with tales of Italy. Right now, she was telling them about the five quaint seaside towns that comprised the area known as the Cinque Terre, one of which Mike’s grandpa had originally come from. “It was so cool to meet Mike’s relatives that still live there—even though they spoke very little English and we had a hell of a time understanding each other. And if you could have seen his great aunt hanging out clothes on a line between two houses—they really do that! And, oh, the lasagna she made for dinner—it’s even better than Grandma Romo’s! But don’t tell her I said that, or I’ll be dead to her.”

  Tessa and Amy both asked lots of questions about the trip, which sounded amazing, and which made Amy realize just how little she’d traveled—how little she’d really lived—and how, mostly, for better or worse, it felt as if the town of Destiny held her entire existence. And the whole time they talked, she stayed naggingly aware that the chair she sat in was the same where she’d ridden Logan to orgasm just over a week ago. A week during which she hadn’t heard from him, and she hadn’t contacted him, either. She’d passed him on the road once, and they’d both lifted a hand to wave, but that was it.

  Refocusing on her newly wedded friend, Amy couldn’t help but notice how happy and glowy Rachel still looked, and she also couldn’t keep herself from envying Rachel’s relationship with Mike. Officer Romo wasn’t Amy’s personal cup of tea—he was just too moody and brusque for her taste—but he was certainly good-looking, and he treated Rachel like a queen, and . . . well, maybe moody and brusque wouldn’t seem so bad if everything else was wonderful, and if someone ever made her look the way Rachel did right now.

  “I’m actually happy to be home, though,” Rachel informed them, stopping to take a big sip of her coffee. “Because I’m exhausted. Sightseeing all day, sex all night.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve barely slept since the wedding.”

  “That’s why Lucky and I are going to Hawaii on our honeymoon,” Tessa said smartly. “Much easier to save up lots of energy for sex while lying on the beach.”

  And for a very brief moment Amy wanted to throttle them both. For suggesting in even the slightest of ways that sex with the men they loved was any sort of hardship. She understood, of course, that Rachel’s complaints made sense and were only practical—but she knew that if she had one-tenth of the joy Rachel shared with Mike, she would never do anything but walk around smiling. And if all-night sex made her tired the next day . . . well, she’d just yawn a little while basking in the hot memories.

  “So,” Rachel said, looking to Tessa, “wedding plans under control?” Tessa’s wedding was coming up in just another few weeks, and though it would be a smaller affair than Rachel’s, there was still lots to do. And this time around, Amy was the maid of honor, which meant even more of it fell to her.

  “Everything’s right on target,” Tessa said. “Oh, and I arranged a fitting at the dress shop this Wednesday at five.” The girls were wearing pale yellow and carrying Tessa’s favorite flowers, daisies. The bridesmaids’ dresses were similar in style to Tessa’s—simple and flowy, like most of Tessa’s fashion choices—which couldn’t have been more different than Rachel’s ornate but classic taste when it came to bridal wear. Amy thought the look would fit the natural, woodsy setting next to Whisper Falls perfectly.

  “Okay then,” Rachel said, “what else have I missed?”

  And Amy and Tessa just looked at each other.

  “Well?” Rachel glanced back and forth between them.

  “Amy?” Tessa said, prodding her.

  And Amy just sighed. Because, sure, right after the wedding, she would have loved telling Rachel this story. But now it had gotten a lot longer, and a lot less fun. The part that had been so wonderful had become totally overshadowed by the ending.

  “Well, I had sex with Logan,” she said, trying for a matter-of-fact tone. “Twice. Once after your wedding. And once in the very chair in which I’m sitting, and also on that coffee table.” She pointed to where coffee cups now resided with the magazines and newspapers. “But it’s over now. And I may never be happy again. But life goes on, right? And at least I have Tessa’s wedding to focus on for a while.” Even though I’m always a bridesmaid, never a bride. Even though I’m always the matchmaker, never part of the match. Even though I’m going to eventually be seen by all of Destiny as the old maid cat lady who runs that nice little bookstore in town.

  She stayed lost in her own morbid thoughts for a moment before noticing the look of shock on Rachel’s face. “So I go away for a week and a half and I missed your entire relationship?”

  Amy let out another sigh. “That pretty much sums it up. Short and sweet. Well, short and sweet, and then . . . bitter.” Amy bit her lip, drew her gaze from Rachel, and focused on the table in front of her. The table where Logan had made hot, delectable love to her. She kind of wanted to cry. But don’t. Get hold of yourself. You can cry later, when you’re alone. That was pretty much how her days had gone since her argument with Logan—she spent the daylight hours being her normal perky self in the bookstore—and then she went upstairs and hugged Mr. Knightley and cried all night. Over all she’d never have.

  Yet . . . no, it was more than that now. Now she was also crying over all she’d almost had. Or it had felt within her reach anyway—truly possible. She’d felt so close to Logan on those two nights they’d been together. Except for the part with Anna at the carnival, which had sucked
, she’d felt like her life was finally, finally going the way it was supposed to. Like she would finally get to be the happy, in-love one.

  But now she was only the in-love one. Lonely. Heartbroken. In fact, she was almost desolate inside. Nothing made her happy anymore. Everything that had once meant so much to her now simply left her feeling . . . empty.

  She knew she had plenty to be thankful for—her mother, her friends, her bookstore, her cat. The fact that her life was relatively easy—God knew there were plenty of people who were much worse off than her, and she hated feeling as if she took all the good things in her life for granted. And she really hated thinking it was because of a man, that the loss of a man—the loss of a man who she’d never even really completely had, no less—was ruling her happiness.

  But it was more complicated than that. It was as if . . . as if she’d been somehow holding back her passion her whole life, as if she’d never been brave enough to admit to herself what she really wanted, maybe because she was afraid she could never have it. A hot guy. A wonderful guy. Great, fun sex. Wild, hungry desires—fulfilled.

  And now that she’d let it all out, now that she knew with her whole soul just how desperately she longed to have all that—and also had gotten just that tiny taste of it—it hurt so much worse than if she’d never admitted it to herself at all. It hurt worse than never having had that taste.

  It was then that Amy realized a tear was rolling down her cheek, and she was still staring blindly at the latest copy of the Destiny Gazette in front of her on the table, and Rachel and Tessa were watching silently, not knowing what to do or say because she never got emotional like this. She was always the hand-holder, the one assuring her friends everything would be okay.

  Finally, Rachel reached out and squeezed her hand. “Ames, I’m so sorry.”

  She just nodded, unable to speak.

  “Maybe . . . maybe if you tell me the whole story, I can help,” she offered.

  Amy knew, though, that Rachel couldn’t do anything for her. She’d already discussed it ad nauseam with Tessa, and even her recent partner in romantic crime had lacked any real, usable suggestions at this juncture, concluding, “Maybe Logan just isn’t in the right place in his life right now for this relationship. But maybe he will be someday.” And that had sounded like cold comfort. Because the word someday had once bespoke a fairytale future, a time to look forward to. But at thirty-four, in the same small town where she’d been born and would surely die, someday sounded very, very far away, and a whole lot like never.

  Yet despite all that, Amy pulled herself together and told Rachel the story—the amazing highs and the heartrending lows. Just because maybe it was healthy to share it all with her friends. Maybe sharing would somehow help purge it from her soul. A little anyway. Just like Logan telling her about the fire.

  Before, she’d accepted who she was—the shy, sweet girl who everyone loved but who just didn’t get the guy. Yet now she could no longer accept that so easily. Recognizing that passionate part of herself had made her need more of what she’d had with Logan. She didn’t know how to put those yearnings back in the box. She didn’t know how to go back to being sweet, shy Amy who was so easily pleased and never minded being last in line.

  When she was done talking, Rachel asked all the appropriate questions and said all the caring, hopeful things, along with the standard, “Well, if he’s too stupid to realize how amazing you are, you don’t want him anyway.”

  And sure, that always sounded logical—she’d said it to various friends herself many times. But the whole situation was far more complex than logic allowed for. And now she understood, even more than before they’d had sex, why unrequited love sucked so bad.

  An hour after Amy had started telling her sad Logan tale, Rachel and Tessa stood to go—Tessa hadn’t been working at the bookstore today, but had been running wedding-related errands when she’d bumped into Rachel and they’d decided to pop into Under the Covers. They both hugged Amy, and Rachel said, “Hang in there, Ames—things will get better.” And Amy tried her hardest to believe that while knowing there just wasn’t much else her friend could say.

  A few minutes later, Amy sat with Austen in her lap, trying to thumb through a magazine and feel more normal, more like her old self. But it wasn’t working—because her body now knew the need to be touched. And not touched by just anyone—but touched by the man she trusted and cared for. How did you get past that driving need when it felt . . . all-consuming?

  When the door opened, the bell above jangling, it startled her a bit to look up and see Lucky Romo stepping in off the sun-drenched sidewalk. With his muscular frame and long, dark hair, Lucky wasn’t her usual customer at the bookstore—and in fact, she wasn’t sure he’d ever been in Under the Covers before now.

  “Hey Amy,” he said—and she instantly thought he looked a little uncomfortable. Lucky was motorcycles and chrome, not books and Tiffany lamps.

  Experiencing the familiar need to put him at ease, she set Austen in the chair beside her, put down her magazine, and stood up with a smile. “Hi Lucky. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, since you’re Tessa’s maid of honor, I wanted to ask your opinion on something.”

  Okay, this was wedding-related—that made sense, and put her at ease, too. She liked Lucky and thought he was a perfect even if unlikely fit for Tessa, but she’d never spent much time with him one-on-one. “Sure,” she said. “Fire away.”

  “I was thinking about the honeymoon, and about Tessa’s food issues.” Tessa suffered from Crohn’s disease, which severely limited her diet, and Amy knew that when Tessa ate at unfamiliar places, her digestion was a concern and that she disliked having to grill waiters about every ingredient of a menu item or exactly how it was prepared. “I thought maybe I could arrange a special oceanside dinner at our hotel one night—for just the two of us,” Lucky said, “and have them serve things I know she can eat, just the way they need to be cooked, without her having to explain it to someone first. Do you think she’d like something like that?”

  Amy could only sigh. She knew Tessa well and replied, “She would love that, Lucky. And it’s so sweet of you to think of it, and to want to do something special like that for her.”

  He only shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable again—this time, Amy assumed, because of the way she’d gushed over his idea. “Well, I just thought it would be one night of her life when she wouldn’t have to deal with her condition, you know? One night when she could feel normal. And . . . well, special.”

  Amy nodded. “It’s perfect. I can’t think of a better gift you could give her.” Because though it sounded small, Amy knew exactly how much it would mean to her friend. And to her near shame, she found herself standing there truly envying Tessa for having a man who was thoughtful of her needs, who on his very own had come up with the notion of giving her one very special night. She thought it impossibly romantic.

  And Tessa deserved romance, and love—she’d gone through hell dealing with her health. So Amy suffered a small pang of guilt for the bolt of jealousy that had shot through her. She only wished she could have someone who treasured her even half as much.

  She’d truly thought having sex would solve all her problems. She’d thought being with Logan in a romantic way—even just once—would solve everything, would fulfill all the yearnings inside her. But now the problem was . . . it hadn’t lasted. And maybe she was better off than she’d been before, but it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t. She’d ended up heartbroken all over again, only for new, more complicated reasons now.

  And added to all that, she feared that in addition to losing their burgeoning romance that maybe she’d truly lost Logan’s friendship, too. She didn’t know the answer to that. She didn’t know the answer to much lately. And when she got right down to it, all she really knew for sure was that her heart hurt whenever he came to mind.

  Which was . . . always now.

  Logan sat on the ground in the Destiny Cemetery, just
outside town, next to his father’s grave, knees bent, forearms balanced atop them. The marker was typical—gray granite, about waist-high, the name Whitaker across it in bold capital letters. There was a spot for his mom on one side, the year of death not yet filled in, but his dad’s side had been completed now for far too long for his liking.

  He’d come to grips with his dad’s death, but he’d been thinking about him a lot lately. Ever since the fire. Ever since he’d quit the DFD. Was Amy right? Would his father be disappointed in him for giving up the job they’d both loved?

  “I don’t want to let you down—I don’t want to let anybody down—but I’m just afraid . . . afraid to let anybody else die.”

  Aw shit. Since when did he sit talking to graves? Never. Even when his dad had first passed away, he hadn’t had imaginary conversations with him. He was more of a realist. Usually, anyway.

  And yet, to his surprise, something about talking to his father for the first time in a long while felt instantly . . . easy, and almost even a little comforting. So he thought—what the hell? He was the only person here after all, on this bright, hot summer day, so no one else would know anyway.

  “Something changed in me that night, Dad. Something that . . . well, even though I’m doing better, starting to pull myself together—something that isn’t changing back. It’s like I lost some part of myself that night, like . . . letting Ken and Doreen die made a part of me die, too.”

  And then something hit Logan—hard. God, how had he not remembered this before now? Maybe because he’d been young when it happened, but . . .

  When he’d been around six or seven, his father had gone through a whole summer barely speaking, in a dark humor, hardly paying Logan any attention at all. It had hurt and confused him at the time—it had felt . . . like his dad had just stopped loving him or something. He’d wondered what he’d done wrong. And as an only child, close to his dad, he’d felt . . . abandoned.