by Amanda Wen
He needed to see her. To be with her. Even if it was the last time, even if there was no hope for a future, he needed to see her face. Touch her. Hold her.
And the diary in his hand was the perfect excuse.
She had all the others. She needed this one too.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his keys off the counter, stepped into a pair of sneakers, and headed for the garage.
He was going to Wichita.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“A WOMAN HAPPILY in love, she burns the soufflé. But a woman unhappily in love, she forgets to turn on the oven.”
Sloane dug her toes further into the navy microfiber of the sofa, her fuzzy orange blanket draped over shorts-clad legs. Though she’d seen Sabrina countless times before, the lines had never hit home quite like this.
She reached for the remote. Maybe this wasn’t the lighthearted escape she’d thought it’d be.
A knock came at the door, and she glanced at the clock. 9:48. The Chinese delivery guy must’ve flown here, as recently as she’d ordered.
Cool air hit her legs as she threw off the blanket. “Coming.” Bare feet thudding on the wooden floor, she fumbled through her wallet, found a crumpled ten, hurried to the door, and—
Garrett.
In the hallway. Right outside her door.
He had on that KU Final Four T-shirt he liked so much, red basketball shorts, sneakers with no socks, and a plastic grocery sack draped over one arm. Stubble shadowed his jaw, and his hair was longer than she remembered. Wide-eyed, he looked as astonished to see her as she was to see him.
This despite the fact that he was the one who’d driven here.
He’d driven here.
He was here.
“I should’ve called,” he said.
Sloane glanced down at her worn Wichita flag tank top and striped lounge shorts. Her hair was still damp from a shower, her face devoid of makeup. Not how she’d have looked if she’d known he was coming, but it could always be worse.
A dawning expression crossed his face, like he’d suddenly realized where he was and what he was doing. “Right. I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”
He stepped back. Was he about to leave? No, he couldn’t leave. Not when he was here.
“It’s fine. You’re fine. I just wasn’t …” Whatever bare-bones train of thought she’d managed to assemble slid clean off the track at the sight of those crinkled-at-the-corner eyes. “Hi.”
He smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “Hi.”
Those blue, blue eyes. Eyes she could fall into and lose herself forever. She’d missed those eyes.
He rummaged in the bag around his wrist. The scent of warm car mixed with traces of his morning cologne teasing her nostrils. “I found this.”
She tore her gaze from his face to his hand. To the little brown book he held out to her.
“I thought you had them all, but this one hitched a ride with me to KC. In a crate of cookbooks, believe it or not. I thought you should have it.”
Her heart sank. Of course. The diary. That was the sole reason he stood on her doorstep. He was probably in town anyway, visiting Rosie or something, and this was the last stop on his itinerary.
Sloane took the worn leather volume from his outstretched hand. “Thanks.”
“She kept the house, y’know.”
The huskiness in his voice drew her eyes upward. “What?”
“Annabelle stayed. She didn’t move to California. Neither did Oliver. They all stayed.” Stuffing the empty bag into his pocket, he scanned her face. “But I’m guessing you know that already.”
She nodded.
“Of course.” His mouth flexed. “But do you know why they stayed?”
“No. The diaries I had didn’t go that far.”
“Kate got pregnant. Oliver didn’t want to risk her health. It’s all in there.” Garrett gestured to the diary.
A smile bloomed despite everything. “Spoiler alert.” She set the diary on the little table inside the door and laid her crumpled cash next to it.
Garrett shifted his weight and leaned an arm against the doorframe. “Sloane, about the house—”
“Forget it. I don’t care.”
Surprise flared in his eyes.
“Okay. That’s not true.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I care a lot. But it’s just a house. Bricks and plywood. I thought it would fulfill me, that meeting my mother would fulfill me, but they won’t. Nothing will except God himself, and he has. So … no hard feelings, okay? You needed to do right by your grandma, and if Warren Williams has to bulldoze the place for that to happen, then I shouldn’t …”
At Garrett’s odd smile, she trailed off. “What? Do I have something on my face?” She gave a self-conscious swipe to the end of her nose.
His dimples deepened. “No. It’s just … I didn’t sell the house to Warren Williams.”
“Wait, what?”
“I came close. A deal was in place. But when I saw his plans for the land … I couldn’t do that to you.”
To you. She savored the words. “Do I want to know what those plans were?”
“Probably not.”
“I have to admit, I’m curious.”
“Of course you are.” His gaze caressed her. “That’s one of the things I love most about you.”
She froze. Had Garrett really said that word? Had he meant to say it?
Those deep indigo pools almost crackled with the electricity that hovered between them. The word wasn’t a slip. It was one-hundred-percent intentional.
“What did he want to do?” It didn’t matter really. Nothing mattered. Nothing except that Garrett was here and saying things and looking at her in that sizzling way.
“He wanted to dig the whole thing up. Turn it into a ski lake.”
The words would’ve devastated her had they not been delivered in the past tense, and in that adorably flirty tone. Garrett let his hand drop from the doorframe and stepped closer with that intense, heavy-lidded gaze. Goose bumps broke out over her arms.
“A ski lake?” She smiled. “That’s appalling.”
“I thought so too. So I backed out.” His eyes darkened. “Like I said, I couldn’t do that to you.”
She stared at him.
He’d altered his plan.
For her.
Before she could think better of it, she stepped toward him, cupped the back of his neck, and pressed her lips to his in a quick, fierce kiss. But at his lack of response, she pulled back. Had she misinterpreted? Done something wrong?
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t need to apologize. Not for that. Never for that. It’s just …” He drew a shuddery breath that spoke of restraint rather than reluctance. “Before I let myself kiss you, I need to tell you what I came all the way down here to tell you. Because I didn’t come just to give you the diary. I came because you’re not plan B, Sloane. You were never ever plan B. You’ve been God’s plan all along.”
His voice faltered. Was it nerves? Emotion? Either way, it turned her heart to liquid.
“Unexpected?” he continued. “Yes. A surprise? Most definitely. But I love you. And you are someone who is—without question—worth chucking all my old plans and making new ones. So many new ones. All of which feature you in a very prominent role.”
Her knees wobbled. Her breath stopped.
Garrett was here. And he loved her. Like that.
Her gaze never leaving his, she led him inside. Shut the door. Grasped his face in her hands and captured his mouth.
This time, he responded. This time, he tangled his fingers in her hair and whispered words of love against her lips. This time, he spun them around, pinning her between the heated wall of his chest and the cool, smooth surface of her apartment door.
When he finally released her, she opened her eyes to find him breathless and beaming, his hair disheveled, his cheeks flushed.
“I take it this means maybe you love me too?” he ask
ed.
A smile sprang to tingling lips. Her fingertips traced the contours of his face. “Yes, smart guy. That’s exactly what it means.”
Their lips met and mingled once more.
“So what do we do?” she asked when he freed her mouth and moved to her cheek.
“About what?” His lips trailed past her ear to the corner of her jaw, and she shivered.
“About the distance.”
“What distance?” He had a point. She was so close to him she could feel his rapid heartbeat, syncopated against her own.
But that wasn’t normal. Normal meant three hours on the turnpike. FaceTime and texting and other forms of communication that didn’t involve her pulse pounding against his scorching lips.
“We don’t exactly live next door, y’know.” The words struggled out.
“True.” His lips tickled her neck with his response. With the kiss he feathered to tender flesh. “Although we could.”
Wait. “What?”
“That was something else I needed to tell you.” He pulled back to look at her. “I got a job offer. Here in Wichita. One I’m thinking about maybe… absolutely definitely taking.” The words rushed out on a heady exhale, a split second before he returned to her mouth with a happy groan.
She allowed a moment of bliss before studying his expression. “You’re serious? You’re moving here?”
“Yes. I just decided.” His fingers combed through her hair. “I want us to work, Sloane. But even more than that, I wanted to make sure I was following God’s plan and not my own. I’ve prayed about us more than I’ve ever prayed about anything. And he’s removed the obstacles between us one by one. The distance …”
“The house …”
“Oh, man. I forgot to tell you the best part.”
“Better than you moving here?”
“I don’t know about better. But it’s really good. Can’t believe I forgot all about it. Must’ve been distracted.” He planted kisses down the side of her neck. “Very, very distracted …”
“Garrett.” She took his face between her hands. “What is it? What’s the best part?”
He looked blank for a moment, and if the stakes hadn’t been so high she’d have giggled. “Oh. Right. The house. I sold it.”
“You did?” Emotions tumbled in her chest.
“We close Friday.” Apology flitted across his face. “I know you wanted it, and I’m sorry we couldn’t—”
She cut him off with a kiss. “It’s all right. That house led me to Annabelle. To my mother. To God even. And to you. I don’t need to own it for all those things to still be true.” She stroked his cheek with her thumb. “I just hope you sold it to someone who’ll take care of it. Who’ll appreciate its history.”
Capturing her hand in his, he brought it to his lips. “That was my number one stipulation. More than any dollar amount. That Jack and Annabelle’s house be preserved. And Kimberly said that’s exactly why she’s buying it. So its history can—”
Sloane’s eyes flew open. “Kimberly’s buying the house? The real estate agent?” A shiver coursed through her frame, one that had almost nothing to do with the kisses Garrett pressed to her fingertips.
He glanced up. “I know that look. Your mind’s going a mile a minute. Why’s that?”
“Because …” She wrapped her hand around his, her heart in her throat. “Kimberly is my mother. My birth mother.”
Garrett’s mouth fell open. His brows fluttered together, then apart. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Bless him, he looked so adorably confused that she couldn’t help but want to kiss him again.
So she did.
It felt odd, this Wednesday morning breakfast date. After waking up half convinced she’d dreamed Garrett’s impromptu late-night arrival—and his kisses—Sloane had answered another unexpected knock at her door. Again, it was Garrett, flowers in his hand and a smile on his face. Right there in her living room, radiating assurance, he’d called his boss to accept the position in Wichita—and to take a personal day. Heart filled with joy, Sloane reached for her phone to cash in the same privilege.
After a leisurely breakfast at a cute little café in Riverside, they slid into Garrett’s car, Plaza de Paz their intended destination. But just before the highway on-ramp, Sloane spied the red-and-white Carter and Macy Realty logo on a glass office door.
“Do you mind if we stop for a minute?” She gestured toward the office building. “I want to see if Kimberly’s in.”
Garrett slowed the car and cut her a glance. “Are you sure?”
Despite the churning tightness in her gut, Sloane nodded. “Things didn’t end well between us, and I want to apologize. Especially since she’s buying the house.”
“Of course.” Garrett’s turn signal clicked on, and he pulled into the lot.
And there was Kimberly’s big white SUV. Her mother’s SUV.
Her mother was right inside.
“Want me to come in with you?” Garrett asked.
No. I can handle this. The instinctive answer welled inside her. She always had before. But at the concern etched on his face, at the compassion in the hand stroking the nape of her neck, she bit it back. He loved her. Even this raw, wounded, confusing mess at her core. His quiet, steady confidence proved he could handle it. He could handle her.
Her initial resistance faded to a river of gratitude for this wonderful man. Despite her nerves, despite her tangled-up insides, she flashed him a smile and unbuckled her seat belt. “Sure. What’s a Wednesday morning without a little mama drama?”
Chuckling, he pulled the keys from the ignition. “Drama is like second breakfast.”
They piled out of the car onto a warm, sun-drenched sidewalk, and she laced her fingers with his. But they were still a few feet from the door when it opened, and there was Kimberly.
“Sloane.” Her clicking heels stopped in a patch of shade. “Hi.”
“Hi …” What was she supposed to call her? Kimberly? Mother? Mom? Nothing sounded right. “Hi,” she repeated dully.
An uncertain smile hovered at the corners of red lips. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to talk to me again.”
“I wasn’t sure I would either.”
“That’s fair.” Kimberly slipped off her sunglasses and nested them in her hair. “Garrett. I wasn’t expecting you until Friday.” Her gaze fell to Sloane’s hand in his.
Sloane smiled into the awkwardness. “It’s okay. He knows about …”
“Oh.” Kimberly shifted uncomfortably.
“I was already grateful to you for buying the house and preserving its legacy.” Garrett flashed a reassuring grin. “But now that I know just how personal it is to you, that you’re Sloane’s mom—Jack and Annabelle’s descendant—I’m even more grateful. You’re keeping it in the family.”
“Which is why I’m here.” Sloane tightened her grip on Garrett’s hand. “This house, this whole journey of discovery I’ve been on … it means the world to me that you’re buying it. I’m glad it’ll be cared for.”
“I’ll say it will.” Kimberly’s voice caught. “Knowing you, you’ll restore it to its former glory. There might even be a historical plaque.”
“Knowing me?” Sloane’s brow creased. “I mean, I can find out what period paint and wallpaper would’ve looked like, but I don’t have a lot of experience with actual historical restoration.”
“Well, restore, redecorate, hire it out—whatever you like. You’ll be the one living there, Sloane.” Kimberly’s eyes shone. “I’m buying the house for you.”
Sloane’s jaw unhinged. “What? No. You can’t be serious. It’s too much—”
“I am serious. And it’s not too much. It’s something I want to do. For you.”
A sob caught in her throat. “Why?”
“Because.” Kimberly stepped closer. “You can’t undo the past. Much as you might want to. But you can do whatever it takes to make the future as bright as possible.”
Sloane stood, speechless. I
t was too much. It was all too much.
“I’m not trying to buy your affection.” Her voice thick, Kimberly gripped the strap of another expensive-looking handbag. She looked at the ground, lips trembling, then fixed wet eyes on Sloane. “I don’t expect this in any way to make up for thirty years of absence. I’m not doing it with the expectation of forgiveness, or reconciliation, or anything like that. If you never want to see me again, that’s your choice, and I’ll respect it. No strings. No guilt. I just wanted to buy the house. For you. Because when you were born, I couldn’t give you a home. And now I can.”
“I—I can’t let you do this.”
Kimberly blinked and dabbed at a fallen tear. “You can’t?”
“No. I mean yes. Of course. But not unless you let me put some money in it too.” At her mother’s quizzical expression, she hastened to explain. “My parents—my adoptive parents—gave me a little nest egg, and I can’t think of a more perfect way to spend it. Because you gave me life. And they gave me my life. And this house is where all that comes together.”
The house. She was getting the house.
Kimberly’s hand fluttered through the air. “Use it for renovations. Last I checked, the place needed a little work.” One corner of her mouth tipped up as she glanced at Garrett. “Take Jack and Annabelle’s house, Sloane, and make it your house. Your home.”
Slowly, Sloane turned loose of Garrett’s hand and walked toward her mother. Feeling poised over the edge of a great chasm, she opened her arms. With a teary smile, Kimberly stepped into them, and Sloane relaxed into the embrace she hadn’t felt for three decades. Her mother’s chunky necklace pressed into her chest. Complex floral perfume tickled her nostrils. It was all so strange. So unfamiliar. And yet … right.
There would doubtless be bumps in the road ahead. Awkwardness. Discomfort. More wounds to uncover, to heal, as a result of lost years and poor decisions. But the one who’d brought them together would guide them through this messy, figuring-it-out stage.
If God had used a dusty satchel and an old diary to answer her deepest prayer, then there wasn’t a thing in the world he couldn’t do.