“Ireland?” I ask as if I’ve never heard of it.
She stops with a couple pairs of my shoes in her hands and stares at me with her signature wide smile and high cheekbones. “Yeah.”
My selfish emotions flare. First, my mom and now my best friend will be living across the Atlantic. A place that I purposefully left and rejected. It pains me to know that my mom and Julie will be in such close proximity to Reid when it couldn’t work between us. I stop myself from spiraling into my problems all over again and focus on her. “Your family is going to flip out.” I imagine her over-protective father that will surely not take the news well.
She tosses the shoes in my room, plops down next to me on the futon, leans her head back, and closes her eyes. “I’m totally dreading telling them. I’m afraid they’ll try to override my decision and that I’ll give in to them to make them happy. When really, nothing would make me happier than moving to Ireland.”
“You want it that much?” I ask.
She opens her eyes and turns to look at me “Yes, I do. When I went with you to England, I felt there was something more for me than San Diego. I want to photograph the world.”
“Wow, Julie, this is incredible.” I suddenly feel a small rumbling of joy. It’s been so long since I was even in the same zip code as excitement and there it is, nearly within reach.
“So do you think I should go?” she asks.
“I think you should listen to your gut, and if your gut says go, then go.”
She smiles and nods. “What about you? I don’t want to leave you all alone.”
I sniffle a little and shake my head. “We’re clearly at some sort of juncture here. I see that so clearly, no matter how much I can’t deal with change. The time is right for you, I can sense it.”
“But is it right for you?”
“I love you to pieces, you know that right?”
“Yes, I do, but I’m serious, I can’t leave without knowing that you’re going to be okay.”
“I’m going to be fine,” I tell her, and for the first time since that fateful day in England, I know it’s true. It has to be.
* * *
“Medium chai tea latte,” I mutter and pass it over the bar to an eager woman, wearing spandex bicycle gear. Her orange jersey is similar to the one Gavin wore when we visited him at his bike shop.
The morning rush is still in full force, so I quickly turn to the next cup marked up with a black sharpie.
FVC
I go to work on the French Vanilla Cappuccino and wonder if I made the right decision by giving my two weeks notice. I’m not going to give up on the internship after all. Learning about Julie’s move and experiencing her excitement was the kick in the ass I needed. It propelled me forward, and I’m climbing up the mountain again instead of wallowing at the base.
In less than a minute, I finish the drink, call it out, and hand it over to a woman that looks an awful lot like Mrs. McHenry. My heart trips over itself. I can’t help but give her a huge goofy smile.
The next cup is large and plastic. The sharpie scrawl says ICO. I pour the iced coffee and add the organic milk. I seal on a top, pair it with a long straw and push it over the bar to a tan, sweaty guy that’s embroidered work shirt says, Evan. I flash him a quick smile and try not to think of the Evan I knew back in England. I reach over for the next paper coffee cup.
TPL
I stare at the letters, stumped.
“Hey Freddie, what does TPL mean?” I shout over at him.
“I think you know,” he says and winks.
“What?”
“The perfect latte.” I hear from across the bar.
The voice is rich and deep. The accent is distinctly English. The flutter that explodes in my chest is utterly primal.
I don’t want to look at who said those words. I don’t want to be disappointed if it isn’t him. Surely it has to be some sort of trick, some kind of coincidence. I’ve been reminded of my life in England all morning, so it has to be a mistake. How is he actually here?
My eyes close as my nails dig into the coffee cup.
“Cara,” the familiar voice says, and I squeeze my eyes tighter. “Look at me.”
He’s said that to me once before. It was when we were in Wells, and he confessed that he loved me.
“Look at me.”
“How can you be here?” I blurt out, unwilling to open my eyes.
“I’m here because you’re here.”
I inhale deeply and take a chance. I crack one eye open and glance his way. It really is him, standing not even five feet from me.
“Reid?” I ask as my eyes absorb the sight of him. He looks even better than my memory has allowed.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and our eyes lock.
Somewhere in the near distance, Freddie calls out for our manager, and then he’s next to me, gently moving me to the end of the bar. My eyes stay on Reid as he moves with me, in perfect sync. “Take five, Cara,” Freddie says, yanking the coffee cup out of my hand.
Reid reaches out an open hand for me, palm up, but I can’t do that yet. I walk past him, close enough to smell his familiar scent that I’ve missed so much. He walks closely behind me as I lead him outside to a patio table so we can sit down.
We stare at one another for what a ridiculously long time. I can’t believe he’s in California. He’s wearing a V-neck t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and weathered flip-flops. He’s much more tan than I remember and his hair has subtle blonde streaks.
“Cara,” he says quietly as if begging permission to speak.
“You’re here,” I respond, still dumbfounded.
“I’m here.” He nods and looks down for a moment, then back up at me with glassy eyes.
I twist my fingers. “Why?”
He tilts his head and runs his hand down his face. “I have so much I want to tell you, so much I want to show you, but I don’t know how to get started.”
No words come to me. I just stare.
He leans forward on his elbows, putting our hands only inches apart. My blood crackles and pops as it rushes through me.
“So perhaps I’ll just start with I’m sorry.”
I open my mouth to reply, but he puts a hand up. “I know, I know I have so much to be sorry for, and I have so very much to say, but I don’t feel like I have a lot of time.”
“Reid,” I trail off, unsure of how to respond.
“Listen,” he starts. “I know you need to get back to work. I just couldn’t wait any longer to see you.”
“Any longer?”
“It will all make sense later. Meet me tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, do you know that outdoor cinema that shows films?”
“Yeah,” I say, confused how he knows about it.
“They’re showing that film Zoolander you talked about back in Wells,” he says, and I nod, amazed that he remembers. “We can talk or just enjoy the film, whatever you like, but please meet me there. Nine o’clock.”
I’m so overwhelmed that I’m still struggling to find the right words, so I just nod again. I catch a tiny smile on his lips. He presses up from the table and takes off down the street, not looking back. I stumble to my feet and shake my hands out.
Did that just happen?
When I get back inside, Freddie ambushes me, but I don’t have it in me to explain. I need to work. I need to do something with my hands. As I get back into the routine of making drinks, my mind finally opens up and a million thoughts and questions starting flowing through it.
Why is he here?
How did he know how to find me?
Why did he look different?
What does he want to show me?
What about Victoria?
What about London?
What about the painting?
After my shift, I rush home and call out for my roommate, but she doesn’t answer. She must be with her parents, telling them about Ireland. I wander into the kitchen and find a note lay
ing on the countertop in her handwriting.
Trust your gut ;)
He was here. He talked to Julie. The idea is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Trust my gut? Well, my gut tells me I should get back on my bike and ride far, far away. I lean against the fridge and slide down until I’m sitting on the kitchen floor with my knees pulled up against my chest.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Home
Reid
She’s late.
Well, at least I think so because I haven’t found her yet. The entrance to the outdoor cinema is swamped. Apparently, this Zoolander film is quite popular amongst San Diegans.
It’s absolutely absurd that I don’t have her mobile number. I should have asked Julie for it, but I was too set on my goal of seeing her in person.
As time ticks by, I start to worry. It was always a possibility that she wouldn’t show. But accepting that would mean that everything I’ve done in the past three weeks has been for nothing.
The idea does not sit well with me, so I keep searching for her. Finally, I spot her near the bike racks, and I let out a huge breath. She’s as gorgeous as ever, but still looks as worn down as she did at the cafe today. It’s not right and it’s all my fault. That long wild hair of hers blows in the breeze, and she’s wearing itty-bitty denim shorts, which would be out of place back in England but are perfectly acceptable here. Before I take one step toward her, I’m halted. Some bloke has approached her and is pulling her into a hug.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. She’s already moved on?
Bloody unacceptable.
I march over to where they are, while they end their blasted hug.
“So where ya been?” he asks her.
“England,” I answer. She looks up at me, surprised, but not as surprised as the wanker standing beside her. “She was in England.”
I hold out my hand for her, but just like earlier at the cafe, she doesn’t take it.
“You two know each other?” the boy asks.
“Funny, I was about to ask the same thing.”
She puts her hands up in defense. “This is Tyler. He’s a friend from college.”
“Who is this?” Tyler asks.
“This is Reid. I met him in England.”
“Oh, okay,” Tyler says and brushes past both of us. “I gotta go meet up with Ashley. See ya later.”
I should be relieved, but my hands are balled into fists.
“Calm down, slugger. I told you, he’s just a friend. Plus, I’m not really sure you have any right to be the jealous boyfriend right now.”
“Do you honestly think I’d be pleased to see you with another man?”
“If you’ve just flown thousands of miles to talk to me, you should focus on that and not getting in fist fights with boys I know from college. Why are you here Reid?”
“Let’s talk inside, come on.” I reach out my hand again. A man can hope.
She doesn’t budge. “Will you just answer my question?”
I take a step closer and shake my head.
“Why are you here?” she asks again.
“Why do you think, Cara? Because I bloody love you. I refuse to let you go so easily,” I say ferociously.
“I don’t have to hear this,” she says and walks off through the crowd.
I catch up to her easily. “Cara, please stop,” I say, calmer. “I didn’t mean to be so rough about it, there’s so much I want to tell you, and I need you to hear me.”
She stops and turns back toward me. “All right, but not here, okay?”
“Fine, where are you parked?”
“I rode my bike.”
Cara and bicycles. It brings back memories I now embrace. I bite down on my lip and stare at the beautiful woman in front of me. “There’s a diner across the street,” I suggest. What I don’t tell her is that I know it’s a pretty quiet spot since I’ve been there a couple of times.
Cara glances over at it, then up at me with an arched eyebrow. Oh, I’ve got her curious. Good.
It’s a no-frills place, open all hours, with blue vinyl booths and a long lunch counter. It’s seat yourself, so I pick out a table that’s far from other patrons. I wait for her to sit down before I take my own seat. You can take a boy out of England, but you can’t take away his English manners.
She grabs for a menu that’s wedged between the sugar shaker and the ketchup. I don’t bother at all. Food is the last thing on my mind. She reads it carefully, too carefully, so I’m pretty sure she’s using it as a distraction because the tension between us is thick. I don’t take my eyes off her, afraid that at any moment she might bolt for the door.
A waiter pops over and in broken English asks for our order. We both answer, “Water,” and he walks away, leaving us to it.
“So what do you want to tell me about?” she asks, meeting my eyes for the first time since we’ve sat down.
Now that I have my chance, I don’t know how to begin. Perhaps an apology.
“First, and foremost, I want to apologize about the painting.”
There’s so much pain in her eyes. She’s still sad about the painting. Perhaps she even misses it. This gives me a little bit of hope.
“It’s just that we needed the money for the business,” I start again, but stop myself. “No, my excuses don’t have a place here. I was thinking with my head and not with my heart. I own it, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Reid,” she says. “I overreacted, and I need to stop being some silly girl that doesn’t ever think with her head. My grandfather told me in his letter that I could learn a thing or two from you about being responsible with finances. It’s just a silly piece of art.”
“It’s not just a silly piece of art, Cara. It meant something to you, we both know that.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out. Her eyes are wet, and it grips my heart hard. “Thanks for saying that.”
“It’s more than that though. I’m so sorry for letting you walk out the door without saying a word. That was cold.”
She looks down at her hands. I know that it really must have hurt her.
“I think you know by now, that I have some issues with opening up myself up emotionally.”
She gives me the slightest of nods. “I know why you’re like that. You’ve been hurt so badly before.”
“But nothing like when you left.”
She glances up at me, surprise registers on her face. “What do you mean?”
“When you left, my spirit left with you. I turned off, became mechanical, and basically went into some type of safe mode. It was colorless and cold, and the only thing I could feel was self-abhorrence.”
Tears slip down her cheeks. “Reid,” she whispers and grabs my hand.
The contact is welcome and relieving. It gives me the courage to go on. “I was prepared to live out the rest of my life vacant, but slowly you broke down my walls.”
“What do you mean?” she asks. “We didn’t talk.”
“Memories of you, of us, would come to me. Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore them or stop them. Intense feelings would erupt within me, and as time went on, I wasn’t able to suppress those either. Then one fateful day, I was completely overwhelmed and confronted with what we had been, how good we were together, and how I had blown it. You’d been right all along, and my vision changed.”
She’s on the edge of her seat, leaned over the table. “Changed how?”
I hesitate for a moment and rub my chin before responding. I’ve got to play this just right. “I’d rather show you then tell you.”
“Show me?” She rubs eyes, so confused.
“Yes,” I say and stand up, then toss a five-dollar bill on the table. I step over to her side of the booth and once again offer my hand. “Come with me.”
She chews on her bottom lip as she looks from my open hand up to my eyes. Thank fuck, she slips her delicate hand into mine, and I can’t control my sharp intake of breath. She studies my hands. I hope she doesn’t notice the c
allouses.
I squeeze her hand tightly, and she flashes me a glowing smile. I lead her out of the diner and back across the street toward the bike rack.
“What are we doing?” she asks.
“Getting your bike. I’ll put it in the back of my car.”
“Oh,” she says and quickly unlocks her bike. I grab it by the handlebars and wheel it toward the parking lot. As she trails behind, I feel her eyes on me as she says, “You look different.”
I know I do, sweetheart. I’m going to tease her. She’s smart, it won’t be long before she figures everything out. “Do tell, Miss Montgomery.”
“Your clothes. I don’t ever remember seeing you this casual.”
“Only my clothes?”
“No, you’ve got some sun too.”
“Oh yeah?” I glance back and catch her checking out my ass. “Miss me?”
She shakes her head and giggles. “Keep walking, Lewis.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say and lead her to my car. It’s a brand new white Range Rover with all the bells and whistles. I hope she doesn’t notice the temporary tags.
“You couldn’t rent a Jag?” she jokes.
“I decided to go with something new,” I tell her while opening the hatch and lifting her bike into the boot. If I had known about the bike, I would have removed the paint cans and tarp that are taking up space.
She walks over to the driver’s side instead of the passenger side.
I chuckle. “Forget we weren’t in England, sweetheart?”
“Shut up,” she says and comes over to where I’m holding the door open for her. “Do you even know how to drive here? This is California, man. Driving is serious business.”
“I’ve gotten the hang of it,” I reveal and close her door.
When we get out on the road and start heading toward the coast, her curiosity ignites. “Where we headed?”
I rub my cheek and look over at her, with a nervous smile. “I need a little bit more of your patience. I want it to be a surprise.”
“The surprise isn’t going to be my grisly demise, is it? I mean, I haven’t known you that long, you could totally be a serial killer,” she teases.
Be What Love Is Page 31