by Avery Flynn
Is that what she’d been doing? Looking so far off into the horizon that she was as guilty of missing the details as Sawyer was? “So you think I should have said yes?”
“Do you love him?” her mom asked.
For all the good it did her. “Yes.”
“Does he love you?”
“No,” she managed to get out without crying despite the bone-deep pain ripping her up. “He said I’d be a good teammate.”
Her mom gasped. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, but you’ll get through this. You always do.”
Yeah, but before she’d never realized she was running blindly. Everything had made so much more sense before Sawyer. “I should have stuck to my original plan and found a regular temp job to pay for my Australian adventure. Then, none of this would have happened.”
“You can’t say that. Life has a way of working out how it wants to, not necessarily how you imagined it would,” her mom said. “And anyway, not all adventures are of the saving the rainforest variety, some of them involve risking your heart—and that kind are just as important.”
But a hell of a lot more painful.
Still she couldn’t deny her mom was onto something. “Have you always been this brilliant, Mom?”
“Pretty much.” Her mom laughed. “But it’s good of you to finally notice.”
After bringing Clover up to speed on her dad’s recovery and telling her she loved her, her mom hung up. The show Clover had been watching popped back up on the screen all dark lighting and even darker storylines. She didn’t have the heart for it anymore. Instead, Clover pulled the comforter up higher, wishing she could stay buried like this forever or at least until she stopped missing her heart and the man who’d taken it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Despite Clover’s expectations the sun rose the next day. Birds sang outside her window. People laughed and talked and kissed as they walked on the sidewalk outside her building. Life went on. She could either hole up for another day in her room or start living again.
Determined that if she dressed the part of a woman who wasn’t heartbroken that she’d finally start feeling like it, Clover put on her favorite sun dress. Going to the flea market was out—she just couldn’t stomach it, too many memories of Sawyer—but the Harbor City Farmer’s Market this afternoon was a possibility. She could probably talk Daphne into going with her, maybe they could stop at Grounded Coffee for pastries. And if she was lucky, she’d even make it three minutes without thinking of Sawyer. Then, she’d start working on the next three minutes.
As if the best friend mind meld was in effect, Daphne knocked on her open bedroom door.
“I have a surprise for you,” Daphne said, holding something behind her back.
“Is it more chocolate?” she asked jokingly—or as close to it as she could get right now.
Fake it until you make it, girl.
Daphne’s smile was strained as she walked in. “Maybe.”
Her bestie couldn’t make eye contact and looked totally guilty. Whatever she was up to, it didn’t have anything to do with chocolate.
“You’ve had a rough time, so, I got you a ticket,” Daphne said, her voice like an announcer telling someone they’d just won a new car.
Okay, she hadn’t known what to expect, but that was definitely not on the list. “I’m scared to ask, but for what?”
“A trip to Iceland.” Daphne held out a printed piece of paper with a picture of the Northern Lights at the top. “It’s not Australia and it’s only for a week, but it would be a new adventure.”
“And I got a ticket to go, too,” she continued. “So it’ll be a girls’ adventure. It’s not for six months, but I thought now would be a good time to give it to you.”
Clover accepted the paper, her hands shaking just the slightest bit, too emotional to speak. She didn’t need Australia—or even Iceland—when she had her best friend. She wrapped her arms around Daphne in a solid hug that beat a pinky promise any day of the week.
“Now is the perfect time,” she said, sniffling. “Thank you.”
The hug was just breaking up when the doorbell rang. Daphne gave her another quick squeeze and then left to answer it.
She came back into the room a minute later. “It’s him.”
Clover’s stomach dropped. “Who him?” she asked, even though she didn’t need to.
“Sawyer,” Daphne said. “Do you want to see him?”
Yes. Maybe. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Not at all, but she couldn’t be sure that if she saw him now that being a teammate wouldn’t start to sound like something she could settle for. The truth was she missed him—she loved him—and she hadn’t stopped just because he’d broken her heart. She couldn’t say all that to him or to Daphne. Not yet. So she just nodded yes as if she was sure.
“Do you want me to scare the shit out of him?” Daphne asked, a sly smile curling her lips.
Clover laughed despite it all. “Thanks for the offer, but no. Just tell him to go away.”
Daphne left to go get rid of the man Clover loved as she sat on the bed with her head in her hands and tried her best to focus on the printed details of the Iceland trip through her tears. Daphne had been wrong the other night. Falling in love with Sawyer was the worst thing that could have happened after she’d answered that damn ad for a personal buffer.
…
Turned away from Clover’s door, Sawyer spent the next hour in a dark haze wandering Clover’s neighborhood trying to figure out what to do next. He didn’t have a big-picture plan for this. He hadn’t had any sort of plan when he’d gotten out of the shower this morning, passed by the bar cart he still hadn’t thrown over the balcony, slipped the emerald and diamond ring into his pocket as a kind of poisoned talisman, headed out of the Carlyle High-Rise and started walking. He hadn’t stopped until he got to Clover’s apartment, as if it was the only destination possible.
“Slumming it, Carlyle?” a familiar voice called out.
Sawyer turned to see Tyler Jacobson sitting at one of the tables outside a cafe with a coffee and a newspaper. His former best friend kicked the empty chair across from him out and gestured for him to sit down. Sawyer hesitated but spotted the basket of pastries sitting in the middle of the table and his stomach growled. Since the likelihood of poisoning was low, he sat down and grabbed a croissant.
“Does it really matter?” he asked in between bites of pastry.
Tyler shrugged, caught the eye of the waiter across the crowded outdoor eating space, and then held up his coffee cup and one finger. By the time Sawyer was almost done demolishing the croissant, the waiter was at their table with a cup that he sat down on the table. He filled Sawyer’s cup and topped off Tyler’s before leaving to go help someone at another table.
“So I understand the Singapore deal is all but done,” Tyler said.
Singapore? Sawyer hadn’t thought about the deal that had been his three-year obsession for days. “Yeah, the trip went well.”
“You don’t sound as excited as I expected.”
“Think about me a lot do you?” Sawyer took a drink of coffee, it was strong, hot, and just enough of a harsh jolt to get his brain back online.
“Where’s that cute fiancée of yours?” Tyler asked.
Sawyer flinched and Tyler must have caught it because his eyes widened in surprise for a second before settling into a mocking superiority. “I take it you didn’t manage to close that deal.”
That was one way of putting it.
“I fucked it up,” he said, reaching for another croissant that he ripped in half in impotent frustration.
Tyler scooted his chair closer to the table. “This I have to hear.”
“Why do you fucking care?” he snarled.
“What can I say,” Tyler said as he picked a raspberry Brioche out of the basket. “I’m invested in your misery.”
Fuck. They’d been friends at one point, best friends. What details had he missed that could have
saved it? Had he fucked up a twenty-year friendship the same way he’d ruined things with Clover? Not that it mattered. There was no going back. Life didn’t give you do-overs. All he could do was step back, reconfigure all the pieces, and create a new big-picture plan. The thing was, he was having a hell of a time imagining one without Clover in it.
“You’re a real asshole.” But there wasn’t any heat in Sawyer’s words.
Tyler gave another shrug. “True, but tell me anyway.”
So what had he done? How had he ruined it? The answer was as simple as it was painful. “When I had the opportunity to tell her everything, I didn’t. Now she won’t talk to me.”
“And by everything do you mean that you love her?”
“Fuck this.” He shot up from his chair. Why was he even talking to Tyler? It’s not like they were friends or strangers. They were enemies. “I’m not having this conversation with you of all people.”
Unimpressed by the outburst, Tyler stayed sitting. “You have to make her listen. Go all out if you have to, make an idiot out of yourself—God knows I’d like a front row seat for that—but make her listen and don’t fuck it up when you get that second chance.”
“I’m supposed to take advice from you?”
“Do or don’t.” Another shrug. “I don’t give a fuck.”
Bullshit. This was all bullshit. Clover had made her feelings known. Twice. She didn’t want him and he didn’t beg. Not ever. For anyone. He’d told her that straight out in the lobby at Carlyle High-Rise. He had to get out of here. Away from Clover’s neighborhood, from Tyler, from the images he couldn’t get out of his head of what could have been with her. Anger and frustration obliterating everything else, Sawyer strode away from the table. He made it three steps before some urge he didn’t understand stopped him.
He turned back to the table where Tyler sat with his paper and empty basket of pastries. “I’m sorry. About Irena. About all of it.”
Tyler eyed him warily but didn’t respond. Shit. Sawyer didn’t know where all this was coming from, but it was past time they cleared the air.
“After Mr. Lim signs the paperwork, he said you’ll be my liaison with the company,” Sawyer continued.
Tyler nodded.
“Then let’s start fresh, for old time’s sake.”
Cynical didn’t begin to cover the look on Tyler’s face as he answered, “Are you getting sentimental on me?”
“Just too old to hold on to bullshit.” And it was true. He should have realized it earlier. He should have realized a lot of things earlier.
“To new beginnings.” Tyler lifted his coffee mug in a toast. “Good luck with your girl.”
But she wasn’t his and that was the problem.
With a nod, Sawyer turned and started walking. He should just go home, but he couldn’t get Tyler’s advice out of his head. Go all out. He had no fucking clue what that would entail. Then, he turned the corner and ended up outside a fence around a Carlyle build site for a new apartment tower. The outside was completed and a mobile hydraulic work platform was parked in front of it, its scissor legs extended so the platform was at the third-story window—the same level as Clover’s apartment. He pulled out his phone and called Amara.
“I need the foreman on the Sixty-Third Street project, my lawyer, and a notary,” he told her, the pieces coming together as he talked. “And a pineapple shake from Vito’s.” He paused to listen to her question. “No, I’m not drunk. I’m getting Clover back.”
…
Clover taped the printout of the Iceland trip itinerary to her vanity mirror, trying to avoid seeing herself in it. The dark circles, the pale cheeks, the tired turn to her mouth. All of those would go away. She wasn’t as sure of the mess inside but before she could fall into that black hole, her phone buzzed. She glanced down at where it lay on her vanity table and her breath caught.
Sawyer: Turn around.
Knowing she should ignore him but unable to block him out completely, she pivoted. Sawyer stood outside her third-floor window holding a pineapple shake in one of Vito’s distinctive red plastic glasses. Her stomach did that loop-de-loop thing, and her pulse sped up just at the sight of him. It wasn’t fair. Maybe if she could think of him as a teammate it wouldn’t be so hard. Of course, if she could do that none of this would really matter.
Promising herself that she wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t settle for being a teammate, she walked slowly to the window and peeked out. He was on some sort of raised platform like window washers used for the lower floors. There was a man in a suit with him who was holding a briefcase tight to his chest and sweating like he was an inch from the sun and an older woman in a dress who looked like she’d seen it all before and hadn’t been impressed by any of it since 1983. On the sidewalk below, people were stopping to gawk. A police cruiser had pulled over and two cops were getting out.
She firmed her resolve, flipped the lock, and opened her window. “I’ll take the shake, now go away before the cops arrest you.”
Sawyer handed her the shake and laid his hand on the windowsill before she could slam it shut. “Clover, I want to introduce you to my attorney, Barry Crysling, and Delores Nars, a notary. I want to reopen negotiations.”
Her heart stuttered, and her fingers tingled from where Sawyer’s hand had brushed against hers, but she shoved both reactions to the back of her mind where she’d deal with them later, if at all. “Nice to meet you, Barry and Delores. I hope he pays you well for wasting your time.”
She reached up and started to close the window, figuring he’d move his hand or get squashed, his choice, but this had to end. Having her heart broken twice by the same man just wasn’t something she wanted to experience.
“I told you once that I wasn’t a man who begged or pleaded,” Sawyer said, not moving his hand or taking his gaze off her. “You’d put that in our cover story and said that I would for you. You were right. I’m begging. Please, just hear me out.”
She hesitated, the window halfway down, remembering the moment in the lobby when it had all still felt like just a fun adventure before she’d gone and fallen in love. “I already have. Nothing’s changed. Please don’t make this harder than it is.”
“Things have changed, thanks to several people who pointed out in great detail what a complete moron I was.” He took out a napkin with the Vito’s Diner logo on it. “I know you have the original, but I think we need to start over.” He wrote something down on the napkin and, reaching through the partially open window, held it out to her. “These are my terms.”
Her hand shook as she took the napkin and read it.
YOU.
That’s all it said. Her chin started to tremble.
“That’s really all I need. Just you,” he rushed on. “My big-picture plan is to spend the rest of forever with you.”
Clover couldn’t breathe, but her heart was going a billion miles an hour as the meaning of what he was saying began to sink in.
“Yo, man on the platform,” one of the cops yelled from the sidewalk but sounded like he was ten blocks away. “You got a permit for this thing?”
“That’s it.” Sawyer picked his hand up from the windowsill, leaving nothing to stop her from closing the window on him forever. “That’s the whole thing. I can’t make it happen without that, so name your terms.”
Her terms? She didn’t have terms. Everything they’d put on that napkin at Vito’s—it was a game, a ruse, part of their fake engagement. None of it had been real. But this? God help her, she believed.
“Sir,” the cop yelled again. “I’m gonna need you to come down now.”
Both of them ignored the officer as Sawyer reached in his pocket and pulled out the emerald and diamond engagement ring and went down on one knee.
“I’m not asking you to think about it, Clover. Not again. I’m asking you to marry me because I love you. I love the way you laugh at the same spots in the movies as I do. I love that you could find the secret hidden charm in a million flea market finds.
I love that you turn everything into an adventure that I want to go on with you. I love the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re anxious. I love that you curse in other languages. I love that you’re the first person I want to see in the morning and the last one I want to touch at night. I love that even without saying a word, you’ve out-negotiated me. Every time. I love you, Clover Lee.”
…
Sawyer held his breath, watching Clover as she stood behind the half-closed window. Barry was covered in flop sweat behind him, the crowd was getting bigger below him, and the cops were calling in for a ladder to bring him down. He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the woman in front of him. He’d put it out there. He’d gone about as big as he knew how. Now it was all up to her.
And she wasn’t moving. Or talking. Or doing anything but staring at him with a look on her face that he couldn’t decipher.
His gut twisted and the engagement ring suddenly weighed a million pounds.
Wracking his brain for something—anything—else to say, to do, to promise he came up empty. This was it. He’d made his play and failed. He dropped his gaze to the platform floor, dropped the ring back in his pocket as he stood up, and opened his mouth to tell Barry to hit the button that would lower them down when the window began to inch open.
“Don’t tell me you’re going already,” she said as she started to climb out of the window.
Relief swept through him as he took her hand and helped her out onto the platform. “I’ll stay for as long as it takes.”
“And if that means forever?” she asked looking up at him.
“Then forever it is.” In fact, nothing had ever sounded better to him.
She sniffled and wiped away a tear from her cheek. “You broke my heart.”
He gathered her close, offering up a silent pledge to do whatever it took to make it up to her. “I’m sorry.”