by B. E. Baker
Even though I wasn’t referring to her appearance when I said it, she really does shine. It’s hard to look away. I stare at her for a good minute before she glances my way, and then I freeze in place.
She walks toward me with a look in her eyes I can’t interpret. “Trig?”
“Geo?”
She reaches my side and looks up at me. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a potential client,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
She puts a hand on her hip. “You’re never going to buy a Honda.”
Rob walks up alongside her, and I hate to admit it, but he looks pretty decent in a tuxedo. Not as good as me, but okay.
“Trig,” he says calmly.
Geo spins around to face him. “You knew he was coming?”
Rob nods. “He cleared it with me, yes.”
Her eyes flash. “You didn’t think to pass that information along to me?”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Next time I’ll be sure to send you a full list of all my potential new customers. I didn’t realize you were wanting that level of review.”
She practically pulses with light when she’s angry. When it’s not directed at me, I love watching it.
But she turns on me next. “So you’re buying Hondas now?”
“We have a great line of products you might love as company cars, and we’re happy to ship to Colorado or anywhere else,” Rob says. “I can put my people in touch with yours.”
Well played, Rob. “Absolutely.”
When Geo turns to grab a glass from a tray, Rob points two fingers at his eyes, and then turns one finger toward me in a very Meet the Parents way. I roll my eyes, after he’s not facing me anymore, of course.
Geo takes a sip and when she looks back up at me, her heart’s in her eyes. I want to scoop her up and carry her out of here in a bubble.
“Why are you here?”
“For you,” I say. “I messed everything up last time, but I want to try and get it right. Will you talk to me for a minute?”
Her lower lip trembles and I touch her chin. She leans toward me. I’ve practiced this speech a hundred times today. I practically have it memorized. I contemplated dozens of different ways this could have gone. But none of my ideas prepared me for her reaction.
She turns away from me to set her drink on a table, and then she leaps toward me. I almost drop her, but luckily my arms react faster than my brain. The feel of her in my arms again is better than waking up on Christmas morning, or shredding down a perfect run, or the first bite of ice cream in July.
“I’m glad you came,” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t say this before. I think I was too afraid of—well. Of everything. But I love you, Trig. I love your lopsided grin. I love your dimples. I love your hair.” She reaches up to muss it. “I love your gentleness, your sense of humor, your cunning, your business acumen. I love your generosity, and how forgiving you are. I love that you’re open and willing to try new things. I love your devotion to your sister and your patience with your difficult mother. Basically, I love everything about you.”
My mouth drops open and I stare at her dumbly. “Uh. I have a whole speech ready.”
“I don’t need a speech.” She shakes her head. “Not if you love me too. I just needed you to show up. I’ll sign the prenup, and I’ll grit my teeth while you’re dropped out of helicopters or you leap from airplanes or whatever else you need to do. I might even try parasailing. Or maybe not. I’m not sure.”
I laugh. “You’re crazy. In the very best way.”
“I’m crazy about you,” she says. “I had no idea how much I was giving up by sitting on the sidelines of life. It felt safer, but I was wrong. But thanks to the right motivation, I’m finally wearing my football gear or whatever, and ready to go out on the field.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Been practicing your speech too?”
“Clearly not.” She bites her lip and I kiss her then, unable to wait. She tastes like moonlight. Like sugary moonlight and champagne bubbles.
When I hear giggles behind us, I set her down. “I really did prepare a speech. I’d love to walk you to the corner of the room or something and share it with you.”
“I could do that.” She winks at me and my knees go wobbly.
Walk, Trig. You can walk. I follow her like a baby duck. She sits down and points at a chair. I take it gratefully and slide it closer to her.
“Let’s hear this epic speech,” she says.
I gulp. I wasn’t expecting quite so much build up. “Well, I guess first I wanted to tell you that you were right, completely right. I don’t want a marriage like my parents, and if their personalities contributed to their mess, certainly the Thornton Trust didn’t help, with all its contracts and documents and whatnot.” I pull the rumpled prenup out of my pocket. “I wanted to burn this, but.” I point at the ceiling fire alarms. “Fire code. I figured being the event’s planner, you might not want to deal with the fallout.”
“Courteous of you.”
“Pretend I’m burning it though, because that’s a more dramatic gesture.” I try to tear the prenup in half, but it’s surprisingly hard to tear sixty pages. This whole thing is not going well. I force a chuckle and split out ten or so pages and tear them. Then the next ten. And so on.
Geo’s looking at me like I’d look at a ten year old playing the violin at his first concert. This is painful, and she pities me.
I should have bagged the whole speech.
“I told you I needed time,” I say. “But not for the reasons you probably thought. Brekka helped me sort through everything I screwed up within an hour or so. Basically, I thought I’d made her a promise to do risky, exciting things, and I liked some of it, but if it makes you nervous, I’ll never ski again. I’ll never surf. I’ll get a subscription to the home shopping network, or some Hallmark movie channel and we’ll sit in front of the TV every night. I don’t care.”
She shakes her head. “A little excitement is good for me. How about we meet in the middle? No more skydiving, but a little more skiing? Preferably without Natalie along.”
I beam at her. “I think we could work that out, but maybe without putting it in writing.”
She giggles.
I’m doing better. Thank goodness. “But I should probably tell you that my mom would never have ever agreed to me tearing up the prenup.”
She frowns. “Then why bother?”
I take the plunge. “Because, fair warning, I disclaimed my inheritance. Brekka’s twice as rich now as she was when you met her. I went before a judge and had him remove me as a beneficiary of the Thornton Family Trust.”
“What?” she asks.
I translate. “I’m poor now.”
Geo shakes her head. “Why would you do that, you idiot?”
Uh. What?
“I don’t want to be responsible for you giving up your inheritance. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think you’ll be very happy as a poor person.”
I am an idiot. I thought she’d be delighted. “So you’re mad.”
She stands up and then sits down on my lap and brushes her full, pink lips against mine. “I’m unreservedly, beyond belief, beyond sanity, in love with you. You could owe a million dollars and I’d help you file for bankruptcy and find a job as a checker at the grocery store. But I don’t want you to be miserable. I’m worried you might be, and I’ll feel like it’s my fault.”
“Remember how I said Brekka and I sold our graduation gift to start Nometry?”
She nods.
“That means my company isn’t part of the trust, and I still own fifty-one percent. Plus whatever house and cars I’ve gotten as gifts or bought with my own money. Basically anything that wasn’t a trust asset is still mine.”
“You’re saying your version of poor isn’t really the same as mine?” she asks.
I nod. “Something like that. I opened a joint account in your name and mine, and I’ve come up with a list of houses I want us to look
at. Hand me your phone.” She complies and I install an app for my bank.
I type in the numbers and turn the interface around. “The password is peachcobbler1+1=2. Think you can remember that?”
Her eyes water and I wipe her cheeks. “I’m almost done. Just one more minute, okay?” I reach into my other pocket and pull out a document. “I had my lawyer draw this up. Turns out Georgia is an ‘equitable division’ state or something like that. Basically, whatever we each have when we get married stays our own property.”
She shrugs. “I don’t care.”
I shake my head. “I do. Peach cobbler, baby.” I hand her the papers. “This is my prenup. It makes my shares in Nometry evenly owned by both of us. We’re in this together all the way. And don’t worry, I ran it past Brekka. She says it’s fine, and welcome to the family.”
I shift her into the chair next to me and get down on one knee again. “Geode Marie Polson, will you marry me? Pretty, pretty please?”
A tear rolls down one cheek and she nods. “Of course I will. You had me at peach cobbler.”
I stand up and swing her around. Twice. Then I kiss her until I can’t breathe anymore.
After that we dance. And dance. And then I play a little poker, which I’m pretty decent at after years of dealing with bluffing business men and women.
“Wow,” Geode says when I cash in my chips. “You cleaned up. I almost feel bad for the people you played. Except I hear we need it now.”
I shrug. “That’s the word on the street.”
“How poor are we as a result of your little temper tantrum, anyway?”
I take her hand in mine. “Nometry was worth about one point three billion when we had it valued last year, give or take. It goes up and down, but mostly up.”
She stops in her tracks. “So even though you quitclaimed your inheritance or whatever, we’re still almost billionaires?”
I nod. “I guess you could say that.”
She swallows. “How much money was in that trust?”
I laugh. “You don’t want to know.”
She leans against me and sighs. “You’re right. I really don’t.”
I kiss her on the forehead. “Even if it had been double what it was, you’d still be worth it.”
***
The next book in The Finding Home Series is out! You can grab Finding Spring right now. (And if you’re on the fence, keep scrolling to read a sample!)
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23
Bonus: First Chapter of Finding Spring
I barely survived the burning pile of garbage that was my first marriage. I marvel every single day that I emerged from that nightmare with something as beautiful as my son Troy. Sometimes I catch myself staring at him: the curve of his chubby baby face, the delicate bones in his arms, and the curlicues in his hair.
I’m staring at him and thinking about how quickly he’s growing, when he knocks his cereal bowl onto the floor. Milk sprays in directions my high school physics teacher wouldn’t have even believed possible.
My sense of wonder evaporates in the heat of frustration.
“Troy, sweetie!”
He turns wide, shining eyes toward me, eyes that could have inspired an anime character. “I'm sorry Mommy.”
I sigh and grab two hand towels. I dampen one of them and hand the other to Troy. “Clean up the mess, and I'll wipe it all down for you after you’re done.”
I’m a firm believer that kids need to try to clean up their own messes, but Troy isn’t very effective yet. My knees ache by the time I finish wiping the bottom of the cabinets on the far side of the kitchen. That’s when I notice Troy's curly head bobbing up and down toward the front door. He's dragging the tin watering can behind him, sloshing water over the side onto the tile.
I sigh dramatically. “I'm just finishing cleaning up the last mess. What are you doing?”
“I forgot yesterday, Mom.”
I shake my head. “We're supposed to be getting ready for your party. Besides, we've talked about this. It's pointless.”
He sets his jaw and huffs. “It needs water.”
Troy turns four today. His dad won't be at his party, which is both a relief and a sorrow. I'm the one who took out the restraining order, so I can't really fault Chris for not coming. Troy and I are stronger without him, but the absence of his dad has made Troy a little obsessive. His latest hang-up centers on a dead plant in a pot on the front porch.
“I looked it up honey, remember? Gerbera daisies are annuals here in Atlanta. That means they die when the weather gets cold and they don't come back. Once spring comes, we can buy some more, but this little plant is completely dead. Watering it won't help.”
Troy opens the door and doggedly hoists the watering can a few inches off the ground to pour water over the blackened stems and leaves of the former daisy. “Plants need water and sun and dirt.”
I wait for him to finish and usher him back inside, taking the much lighter watering can from his hands. In Troy's mind, everything can be fixed. Broken toy? Mom can glue it. Hole in his jacket? Mom will sew it up. One day he'll learn that some things can't be saved, but for now, I don't put up more than a token protest.
I'm totally the mom I swore I'd never become, the kind who secretly flushes a dead goldfish and replaces it before my son wakes up. Not that we have a fish, thankfully. I'm at capacity on the total number of living things I can preserve right now with just Troy and myself.
Guests should be arriving any minute. I only invited a handful of people, but Troy won't know it's a pathetically small party. I survey the family room, breakfast room and kitchen. My homemade Lightning McQueen cake sags in the middle and the frosting has slid down in a few places, forming bunchy piles. But the price was right—$4.75 for all the ingredients combined.
Red and gold balloons are taped to the back of each chair, and streamers dangle from the ceiling. His gift from me rests in the center of the table. I stayed up way too late last night making car shaped sugar cookies for party favors, which now sit in clear plastic baggies, all piled in a bowl. I've got a stack of crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the fridge, along with a bowl of apple slices.
Sadly, this pitiful party still cost more than I should've spent. I need a job so bad.
I cross the room to the built-in desk between the laundry room and the kitchen to check my email before the party starts. Maybe someone has replied to a job application and there's an email inviting me for an interview. It could happen, right? Except it doesn't.
My inbox is as empty as my bank account.
A bright red piece of paper on the fridge catches my eye and I snatch it down and stuff it in my pocket, grateful I remembered to hide it before Mary shows up.
She would not understand the importance of my list. Not that I really need the list taped to my fridge. I know the three things on it by heart.
Trudy Will Not Date Anyone Until:
1. She graduates.
2. She finds a dream job.
3. She repays Troy's medical expenses.
I've been officially divorced for barely more than a month, and Mary's already raring to set me up. Clearly her newfound happiness in love has nowhere to go and is spilling over on her family and friends.
In Mary's defense, lots of women in my place might be dating already. C
hris did leave me more than six months ago, even if I didn't want to admit it was real for a while. But I did things wrong the first time around, and I'm not going to screw up again. No dating or even flirting until my three tasks are complete. Graduation hovers right around the corner, but finding a dream job seems like a long and possibly unrealistic trip I won’t ever be able to take. And repaying the enormous sum Mary paid for me feels like a distant island only imagined in fairy tales.
Mary loaned me a huge pile of money when Troy was diagnosed with type one diabetes to cover medical costs, and I will pay her back if it kills me. Unless I die of old age first, which seems like a possibility. After all, right now I can't even come up with any money to pay her rent for her house I'm living in. Which means my debt is increasing, not decreasing.
The doorbell rings and Troy races to answer it. He nearly trips over his own feet. “Honey, wait for me. You're too young to be answering—”
Troy doesn't even pause, but he swings the door wide enough that I can see Mary's smiling face. Her grin always lifts my spirits. Her fiancé Luke follows her through the door, and Amy and Chase dart past the adults. Chase and Troy immediately shoot around the corner headed for Troy's room. I almost call them back to interact with the rest of us, but I stop myself. If Troy and Chase want to play boy stuff on Troy's birthday, I should let them. Besides, only three other kids are coming. I'll call them back to greet the other guests when they arrive.
“Trudy, everything looks great,” Mary says. “I can't believe you made that cake.”
I lift one eyebrow. “You can't?”
Luke shakes his head. “I can't either. It looks amazing, seriously. If you weren't about to graduate in computer stuff, I'd say go find a job at a bakery.”
This is exactly why I can't trust a word they say. “I really am looking for jobs. I'll pay you rent as soon as I can.”
Mary flinches. “That's not what Luke meant.” She crosses the room and pulls me against her for a hug. “You don't need to rush. Troy needs you. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”
