by Raquel Belle
“Save some for us, huh?” Grace laughs and takes out a glass.
“You’d better hurry,” I say to her. “I’m in a mood.”
They all take a glass, and before we know it, we’ve gone through two bottles, and we’re cuddling on the sofa watching Friends re-runs.
“Okay, I have work in the morning,” Grace says, as she detangles herself from us. “The business isn’t going to run itself.” She wobbles for a couple of steps before she stops and holds out her hands to steady herself.
Cara laughs and stands too. “Maybe you should call a cab.”
“No, I’m good,” Grace says and grins. “It was just three glasses.”
“You should have brought a designated driver,” I say, and then I laugh, like, really laugh, for the first time that evening.
“On second thought, I think I’ll text Nick to send a car. Jazz, I’ll pick up the Bentley tomorrow,” she says, and pulls out her phone before returning to the sofa.
“Good idea,” I tell her and throw my arm around her neck. “Anyone else think that’s a good idea?”
“We can share a cab,” Beth says, and glances over at Cara.
“Jason’s picking me up. He’s catching up with an old friend close by. He can drop you off though,” Cara says.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. We’re going in different directions,” Beth tells her. “Go on.”
“Okay,” she says, and she sends him a message.
This is the best I’ve felt since I left Willow Creek, but I know the darkness is going to return as soon as they leave.
I’m glad I let them in because I’m starting to feel better. I just don’t know how long it’s going to last.
And I’m right. The apartment is extremely quiet after I close the door behind Cara, the last one to leave. I return to the sofa and try to drown my sorrows in even more episodes of Friends, but after a while, I’m sighing more than I’m laughing.
I get up, leaving my phone on the sofa. I’m half-way to the bathroom before it starts ringing. Maybe it’s one of the girls telling me they’re home. I hurry back to retrieve it.
It’s not. It’s a text from Trip:
Jazz, what are you doing? We need to talk! Call me!
I toss the phone back on the couch. I know I’m not ready for that conversation – not until I’m more emotionally stable. I haven’t said a word to him since I left, but this is the only way to detox. If we keep talking, I’ll fall right back into the old pattern, and then I’ll have to worm my way out of it again.
He loves me, and I love him, but that doesn’t matter. The sooner I get on with my life, the better we’ll be.
And that’s what I tell myself for the next two days before I get back to work. I keep hammering the words into my head and forcing them into my heart, but the more I try, the more I feel like I’m trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.
***
“Jasmine,” Owen Banks—one of my high-end clients—grins as he walks into my office. He has a box in his hand, which he hands me.
“Owen, what’s this?” I say, with a forced smile, as I take the box.
“Just something I brought back from my trip to Tuscany. I think you’ll love it. Amedei Porcelana is the world’s best.”
“Wow. Thank you. And I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” I say, with a blush.
He waves me off. “Don’t bother.” He smiles at me, and his perfect white teeth flash at me. He’s gotten a fresh cut, and his blonde hair glistens under the light. He’s a handsome sort of man, with defined features and intense, grey eyes.
He crosses his legs and places his gloves on his knees. “So, what news do you have for me this morning?”
“Well, I’ve sourced some incredible investment opportunities that could potentially triple your R.O.I. in under a year if we act fast,” I say, and the smile on his face broadens.
“Tell me everything. Maybe I’ll even give you a trip to Tuscany if I love what I hear.”
Owen’s always been a harmless flirt, as are so many of my other wealthy clients, and I’ve entertained him before, but somehow, it’s not working this time. I find it hard to keep my lips spread in a smile, and I stick to the details of the investment.
I feel like a shadow of myself after he leaves. I’m gulping down mugs of coffee and getting drunk on caffeine trying to rinse Trip from my mind.
Nothing’s working. I sigh and pick up the phone, and I realize that there hasn’t been a single missed call or text from him all day.
Maybe he’s finally given up. It distracts me. Something about the fact that he might have changed his mind eats at me, and my eyes sting as that harsh realization hits me, full force.
I try to focus after that, but I can’t. My mind constantly drifts back to my time in Willow Creek.
By the time I get home, I’m just feeling angry. I kick off my shoes and pace a hole in the floor. Somehow, despite what I keep telling myself, over the last couple of days, nothing’s the same. I can’t move on. Trip has awakened something inside me, and now I don’t know how to hit the reset button.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trip
Everything’s weird and awkward now.
Years enlisted…and this is what shakes me—the love of my life walking away, leaving me with a thin piece of paper that I’m supposed to accept and move on from.
Even my relationship with Trisha is strained. I don’t feel the same way around her anymore and dinners at her house have been suspended.
I’m sitting on my front porch steps, beer in hand, staring at the still, blue sky, when the sound of her truck’s motor disturbs the solitude. I clench my jaw and stare at her while she parks and then hops out of the truck.
She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her tattered jeans and walks in a swaying motion over to me. I maintain eye contact with her…and I can tell she’s frightened and nervous to approach me.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” She says and continues to sway.
I don’t answer. I put the can to my lips and look away as I swallow hard. I hate what she represents now. Every time I’m around her, all I see is the woman who got in the way, and I don’t want to be angry at her, especially in front of the boys…so I stay away.
She clears her throat. “Have you been eating?”
I glance up at her again. “What do you want? Are the boys okay?”
“Yeah, they’re fine. They’re actually asking for you.”
“I’ll go and see them tomorrow,” I say, and get up. “Is that it?”
“Trip, I don’t like how things are between us,” she says, to my back.
I pause and take a deep breath before I turn around. “Trisha, I just need some time to get my head right, okay? Do you think you can manage to give me that? Some space?”
“Trip, look, I’m sorry, okay?” She says, and I can hear the sincerity in her voice. “I didn’t mean for any of this. I guess I was selfish, and I didn’t think about how this would affect you.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say, and lean against the door where I can still see her.
She walks a little closer. “I know you care about us, the boys and all…I guess I just thought you and I would…” Her voice trails off, and she looks down at the porch steps where I was sitting moments ago. “I know you meant it when you said you’d always take care of us…and I know the boys will always have their Uncle Trip.”
I grunt. “Hmm… Well, thanks for your honesty, but it’s a little too late.”
I start to open the door, and she runs up behind me and holds onto my hand. “But it’s not, okay? You can still have your dream. Jazz is in New York, and I’m pretty sure she’ll still be with you. She wouldn’t have left the way she did if I hadn’t done what I did.”
“She hasn’t returned my calls,” I say, “and I can’t just pick myself up and leave town. I have business here.”
She collars me and stares me in the eyes. She’s intense and has a wild look about her. “You haven�
�t been the same since she’s been gone. I didn’t see it before, but I do now.”
“Didn’t see what?” I say, and attempt to get away from her.
“I didn’t see that you couldn’t love me. Not like that,” she says, as her hands fall away. She sighs, “I had it all worked out in here,” and taps her forehead. “I didn’t stop to think what you wanted. Hell, I told myself that if I gave it enough time, you’d come around…that you’d love me back.” She stuffs her hands in her pockets and purses her lips.
I shake my head. “Trisha…” I honestly don’t know what to say to her.
“It’s okay,” she says and bobs her head. “I get it now, and I’m not mad. The thing is, you’re a great person, and the boys love you, and I can’t… I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all.”
Her voice dips an octave, and my heart softens towards her. I sigh. “You have to know that I’ll never walk away from the three of you.”
“I know, I know,” she says, and bobs her head profusely. I can see she’s hurt, and when she looks me in the eyes, they’re glassy, and she quickly brushes away the tears before they fall. “I know you can’t love me back, but that’s no reason for you to be unhappy. You should go and get your girl.”
I raise my eyebrows. I didn’t expect her to say that. She avoids my eyes. I exhale, softly. “Trisha, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says and sniffles. “I can’t be selfish, right? I already was, and look where that got me.” She’s knocking herself hard over it, and I feel like an ass for stonewalling her all this time. “So, go, and tell her if she says no, I’m going to come and kick her ass.”
She smiles sadly, and I rub her shoulder. “Thanks, Trisha. I didn’t mean for any of this.”
“It’s okay,” she says, and wipes her eyes. “I guess I should get going now.” She starts walking off…but then suddenly turns and hurls herself into my arms. Her arms lock tightly around my neck, and I feel the moisture from her tears as they fall against my skin. “Be happy, Trip …” She turns and hurries through the door before I can say anything else.
I run my fingers through my hair and breathe out. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt, but it seems as if I still managed to do just that. I take another deep breath and close the door, as her tail lights disappear down the street.
The thing is, she hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already know. Jazz is my girl, and I already know that calling her isn’t going to work. That’s me giving her an option—to answer, or not to answer. I’m removing that choice. The next time she talks to me, it’ll be to my face. Let’s see her walk away then.
With renewed vigor, I return to the bedroom where the paper with her address is still laid out. I pick it up, but I really don’t have to. I’ve stared at that piece of paper for so long, I can recite her address and numbers verbatim.
But like I told Trisha, I have business in town. I’m nothing if not thorough, and I’m not going to fly off the handle and chase her down with nothing to offer her but my heart on a silver platter. What would be the point of going after her if she still believes I’d be able to return here?
No, I’m going to make sure she has every reason in the world to believe me, that she’s the one I want, and that I’m going to follow her anywhere…no matter how far she wants to run.
I’m tempted to try calling Jazz again, but my anxiety is quickly tempered by my excitement.
I make a decision that I never thought I’d make—to put the house on the market. I don’t need it anymore. It won’t sell right away, but I don’t have to be living in Willow Creek to complete the sale.
There’s one more thing I need to do. I pick up my keys and head out. It’s Sunday, and the shop’s closed, so I drive over to Bubba’s. He’s out in the yard under the large maple tree.
“Trip? What’re you doing here?” he says, as he gets up.
He swats at something in front of him while he heads to the truck. I meet him halfway.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
He gets a serious look on his face. “Do we need to sit down or something?”
I smile. “Uh, not really. It’s not that kind of talk. It’s actually good news, sort of.” I take a deep breath. I’m not sure he’ll agree with my suggestion, but I’ll pitch it anyway.
“Okay, come have a seat with me out here,” he says, and returns to his spot on the wooden bench. His eyes are expectant when he turns to me again.
His large frame hunches over and his eyes are lazy while they wait for me to say something.
“I’m going after her, Bubba.”
“About damned time,” he says, and laughs. “But I don’t get it. You didn’t need to come all the way over here to tell me that.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I say and place my hand on his thick shoulder. “I know how much my father valued you as a businessman, and I do too. You’ve handled the shop like it’s your own.”
Bubba’s eyes get glassy. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes, Bubba. I’m leaving Willow Creek, and I’m leaving the auto shop in your hands.”
“Well, damn,” he says. “I never expected you to say that.” He looks off into the distance like he’s either thinking about it…or he’s processing what I’m saying.
“Well? What do you say?”
“I mean, if I’m going to take it over, I’m going to need help,” he says. The wheels are already turning in his head, and I’m grateful for it.
“Run it any way you see fit…except into the ground. Pops would kill us,” I say with a laugh.
He laughs boisterously too. “I know he would.” Then his eyes smile at me. “I’m happy for you, Trip. You should have a girl like Jazz. Settle down…have some kids, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Come back and visit us every now and again,” he says, and before I realize it, I’m drawn into an embrace, and he claps me hard on the back. “Now, go get that girl.”
“Oh, there’s one more thing… Trisha’s going to need help from time to time…”
“Say no more. Derrick was like a son to me too. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”
“Good,” I say, and sigh with relief. “Just give her a stipend every week to keep her going. I’ll let her know she can call on you for anything else…you know, to give a hand with the boys and things like that.”
“Hell, I don’t mind. This damned house gets so lonely and quiet all the time, and I have all this space.”
I grin at him. “Thanks, Bubba.” I stand and start walking off. “I’ll come back to see you before I leave and get the paperwork done to make it official.”
“Okay.” He stands and smiles. “Tell Jazz hi for me.”
“I will,” I say and get back in the truck.
Now, I only have the realtor to contact, and that’s all the business I have left in town, although I might hold off on that. I can just maintain it so that when we get back in town, we have a place to stay. Yeah, I could do that. Or, we could decide together.
The idea of together with her makes me lightheaded, and I head home and immediately start packing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Trip
I’ve only been to New York once in the winter. I’ve forgotten how freakishly cold it gets here. I pull my jacket tighter around me and straighten the collar so it covers my neck. It feels better, but I still cringe against the pinching, arctic air as I half-jog over to the parked cabs to the right of Terminal 3.
“Hey, I need to get to Brooklyn,” I tell the driver when he cracks his window. He’s buttoned up to the chin, so that I can barely see his face.
“Sure thing,” he says and unlocks the car.
I climb in and rub the frigid air off of my hands. I notice the driver glancing at me through the mirror and smiling.
“Not used to this weather, huh?”
“Is it that obvious?” I say, and relax a little.
&nbs
p; He laughs. “New Yorkers are used to fifty degrees. In fact, for some, it’s like summer.”
I laugh. “Well, I’m from the South. This takes some getting used to. And I’m afraid I didn’t dress properly for it either.”
“You’ll learn. Are you just visiting?” He asks, as he navigates the twists and turns that lead out of JFK International Airport.
“Yeah. Maybe. Not sure yet.”
“It’s because of a girl, isn’t it?” He says, and his eyes smile at me through the mirror.
“You guessed it. I’m chasing my girl.”
“Good luck,” he says. “Make sure you bring her something nice. If she’s from New York, Chanel No. 5 perfume will do.”
I laugh at his suggestion, but it gives me an idea. He’s right. I don’t want to just show up to Jazz’s apartment with a heart full of love and a promise. No. I need to make a grand gesture, and I know just the thing.
“That gives me an idea,” I say, and he grins proudly. “Where’s the best jeweler?”
He smiles. “Ah… Good choice. I know just the place. It’s right on Flatbush. A place called Michael’s.”
I laugh. “What do you know? That’s my name.”
He shakes his head. “Ain’t that a coincidence!”
“Or a good sign, at least.”
I settle comfortably in the seat. Based on what my GPS tells me, we have a half an hour of driving—not taking the traffic into consideration. That thirty minutes, though, becomes fifty, as the navigation app constantly changes routes to divert us from the traffic.
I’m pumped up when we hit Flatbush Avenue, and the driver makes a detour, which takes us to King’s Plaza.
I wrinkle my eyebrows and look around. “Is this the place?”
“Yep. Ground floor,” he says and puts his arm around the front passenger seat, so he can turn and look at me properly. “Go on…I’ll wait for you.” He has a black beret pulled down over his bushy eyebrows. His face is kind, and he has a warm look about him. I bet he’s a grandfather, I think, as I get out of the car—something I hope to be one day.
