by B. E. Baker
“This is a large diamond, weighing in at five and a half carats. It’s a brilliant cut. But it’s not flawless, because right in the center is something called a knot inclusion. But instead of being dark or cloudy, the inclusion on this is colored golden. It looks like a rose to me.”
I hand it to her and she looks at the stone carefully.
“It’s something that’s technically a flaw, but if that doesn’t look the same color as your eyes, I’m blind. And it looks like a flower. That gem won’t sparkle as much as some of the others, but if there’s another stone with that kind of hidden value, I won’t ever find it.”
“I hope you got a discount,” Brekka says.
“I did,” he says. “In fact, the only way someone like me could ever afford a five and a half carat, otherwise flawless diamond like that, is that the people of the earth around me are morons and they fail to see its true value. They don’t know that it’s worth a billion times what the normal, boring, sparkly diamonds are worth. They undervalue it, like you’ve undervalued yourself. But I’m here to tell you that I’m a delighted man to find two such bargains in my lifetime.”
Brekka beams at me.
I drop down to one knee and take her hands in mine. “And I’m not on one knee to be eye level with you this time, or not only for that. I’m kneeling down in front of you, my unique, breath stealing Brekka, my fire filled little dragon, to ask you if you’ll marry me. Will you be my kintsugi, my beautifully broken and expertly repaired wife?”
She leaps toward me, her arms circling my neck. “I like that nickname even more than goose. And yes, I’ll marry you, you big ox. But only if you beg me to move to Atlanta first.”
“Please, please, please,” I beg. “Uproot your life, your company, and your home. Anger your parents and move to Atlanta, Georgia to live with me forever and ever.”
“Yes, oh yes, I will.” She kisses me until I believe her.
30
Brekka
Rob helps me transfer into my sit ski and fasten all the straps.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask. “I mean, the wedding is in a month and a half. If I get injured…”
Rob smiles. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous. You always get crabby. And yes. I’m sure my idea is a brilliant one. If you didn’t want to do this, you’d have sold that ski lodge already.”
“I have memories that have nothing to do with skiing at that lodge.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t lie to me. I know every time.”
Stupid Rob. He kisses me and all my anger evaporates. He does it regularly. I don’t know why I worried before. He wins every argument.
“No fair,” I say. “You can’t kiss me when we’re fighting.”
“You didn’t get the memo?” He kisses me again. “All’s fair in love and war. Plus, I’m doing this with you, and I’m going to be so bad that I’m sure to make you look good, no matter how rusty you are.”
“You have two legs.”
“I have a broken back, and my surgeon said nothing risky, so if I can do it, so can you.”
Vail’s pretty accommodating of handicapped skiers, and even has a lift that I can ride on each run. Eventually, I sigh and give in.
“Fine, let’s do this.” Maybe once I’ve gone down the run, the anxiety that’s formed a tight little ball in my belly will go away.
Rob and I angle ourselves downhill and oh! The feelings! I’m sliding down the ice on my single ski, turning and gliding, the wind in my hair, the cold air flooding my lungs and I’m alive. More alive than I’ve been in, well, in five years.
When I stop at the bottom, my heart’s racing and the smile is frozen on my face. But wait, where’s Rob? In my fear, and then my glee and elation, I forgot it was Rob’s first time on skis. I’m a horrible fiancée. I twist my head all the way around. Where is he?
I squint and squint until I finally make him out, near the top of the hill in a heap, skis pointing both upward and sideways. Uh oh.
It’s nearly ten minutes before Rob makes his way back down the hill to where I’m waiting.
“Thanks for ditching me,” Rob grumbles.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“Everything but my pride seems to be intact,” Rob says. “Thanks to the advice from this sweet little eight year old, here.” He gestures toward a girl in a purple ski suit with bunnies on it. “She’s been skiing for five years. Five. Years.” He shakes his head. “I’m guessing you want to go again?”
I nod and grin. “Maybe something a little harder this time.”
He sighs, but he tugs me toward the lift. I’ll be sure to finish right by it next time. “I’m thinking this may need to be a brother sister bonding thing from here on out. Because if you go up much harder runs, they’ll need to carry me down in a body bag.”
I laugh. “You’re so melodramatic.”
By the end of the day, Rob’s doing much better, and I’ve skied my first black diamond in five years. The feeling is inexplicable, like my first slice of cherry pie. Or my first time down a water slide. Or something better. It’s almost as good as the first time I ever kissed Rob.
And he brought me here. He made me do this.
“Brekka?” a voice from my past asks.
I turn and meet the eyes of my old coach, Rocket McKinnon. “Hey Rocket.”
His voice is just as craggy as it ever was, and his eyes crinkle up when he smiles in exactly the same way I remember. But he’s got more gray in his hair, and more lines criss-crossing his forehead. “You’re skiing again?”
I expected disdain, or judgment, or pity. All I see in Rocket’s eyes is exhilaration, excitement and joy.
I nod mutely.
“I would love to be your trainer. Please, please consider me. I know I haven’t coached any Paralympic athletes, but I was made for this, I swear.”
When Rob asked me to marry him, my heart swelled almost to the point of bursting. When I moved Nometry and myself to Atlanta, and I began to see the love of my life every day, my heart learned to live with an unbelievable level of joy, day in and day out. We picked out a house on the same road as Trig and Geo. I’ve been watching as Geo’s belly grows, and my love for Rob has grown right alongside it. Trig and Rob have even started having boys’ nights once a month so that Geo and I can have a girls’ night. I have no idea what they do, but there haven’t been any more black eyes or broken noses.
And now, a part of me that I thought had died and been buried springs back to life. I’m free in a way I never hoped to be free again. And my old coach, my old life, my old dreams are staring me in the face and asking me to come out and play. A Paralympic Athlete. Another shot at a gold medal.
“Yes,” I say. “I think I might like that.”
Rocket beams at me. “Girl, you and me are going to destroy these mountains, and there’s no limit to where we can go.”
He’s right. Rob tumbles down the mountain then, to stand at my side.
“Hey,” he mumbles. “It didn’t take me quite as long this time.” He brushes the snow off his hand and holds it out. “I’m Rob Graham, Brekka’s fiancé. Nice to meet you.”
Rocket shakes his hand. “I’m her old coach, Rocket McKinnon. I’ve asked her to let me coach her again.”
Rob beams at me. “Well, that’s wonderful. Did she agree to it?”
“She sure did. And I see great things ahead of us.” He turns toward me. “What finally got you back out here?”
I lean my poles against my sit ski and take Rob’s hand in mine. “When I broke my back, I thought my life was over. I let my dreams die, including my Olympic hopes. But Rob showed me that I’m as free as I choose to be. He helped me find my freedom again, and my peace with the world. He helped me find liberty.”
“Well, I saw you take that last run, and I owe you a big thank you, Sir Rob. I’ve never seen anyone with as much grace on the snow as your Brekka, and she hasn’t lost a bit of it. If anything, she looks surer of herself. Maybe we can all grab
dinner and talk about some details.”
“I’d like that,” Rob says.
“I’ve been following you, you know,” Rocket says. “I’m sure you’re busy with your work stuff. But if we can find some time around that, I think you could get those gold medals yet.”
“I better get started designing a display case.” Rob grabs me and kisses me, right in front of Rocket and everyone else. “I love you my little kintsugi. I couldn’t possibly be prouder of you.”
“I know,” I say. “You helped free me, and then you went beyond that. Life took my legs, but you’ve given me wings.”
“I’m pretty tired from all this flying,” Rob says. “But I bet I have enough energy left for one more run. Want to show your old coach that you’ve still got what it takes to smoke him?”
Oh, how Rob gets me. “Absolutely, I do.”
And then with Rob at my side, or perhaps trailing a few hundred yards behind, I do it.
*THE END*
* * *
If you enjoyed the fourth book in The Finding Home Series, grab the FIFTH book, Paisley’s story, Finding Holly, which is out now.
If you would like one of my books for FREE, you can grab Already Gone when you sign up for my newsletter here: www.BridgetEBakerWrites.com.
* * *
Finally, if you enjoyed reading Finding Liberty, please, please, please leave me a review on your platform of choice!!!! It makes a tremendous difference when you do. Thanks in advance!
* * *
And if you’d like to join a fun group of readers (and me!) on a facebook group, check us out right here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/750807222376182 Bonus: I’ve decided to write some short stories, one for each series, that will be made available FREE, exclusively in my reader group. So if you want an extra peek at your favorite characters, come grab them there.
31
Sample of Finding Holly
I enjoy simple things.
A hot cup of coffee. A fluffy cat curled up on my lap. A perfectly shaved snow cone. Disappearing into a good book. So when someone walks by my window holding a bag marked “Pleasant Pie,” my eyes widen. The new pie place around the corner I have been stalking is open. I slide into my ridiculously comfortable Brooks sneakers, still so new the shoelaces are crisp, and jog right over.
The cold wind rushes around me as I close the door, clearly as excited as I am about all the gorgeous pies behind the glass counter. “If I ran all the way here from Holden Street, I probably burned enough calories to eat a slice of pie, right?” I ask.
The cashier’s creepy perma-smile wavers. “Uh, isn’t Holden Street like right there?” She leans forward to look out the window at the street signs. How does she know the location where she works? I mean, really.
“Right,” I say, “that’s true. But I forgot to mention that live on the third floor.”
The cashier, who I’m beginning to think is kind of dopey, tucks her black hair behind her ear. “I’m not, like, a nutritionist, or whatever, but—” She points at the glass cabinet. “The calories are listed by each slice. I doubt you burned more than ten calories getting here.”
Hmm. “I don’t actually care whether I burned enough. Your job is to give me a somewhat convincing laugh and then not point out that your pie has exactly—” I squint. “Nineteen bazillion calories per slice. Because you want me to buy it. All of it.”
“If you buy all of it, what will I do the rest of the day?”
Oh for the love. “You want me to buy some of it, though, right?”
“Of course.” She nods her head. “Did you want a slice?”
“I ran all the way here, so yeah, I do.” Ran might be a stretch, but my legs moved up and down, propelling my body forward. I’m not one to quibble over variances in speed. “Actually, since I’ve never tried any of your pies, I might need two.”
Her name tag says Judy, but I’m going to call her Judgy McJudgerson, because her eyebrows shoot up like jumping beans and her mouth drops.
“Coconut Cream and Muddy Bottom Pecan.” I want to try the cherry too, but. . . you know what? She’s not my boss, who is actually much nicer than this lady. “I’ll take a cherry, too.”
“To go?” she chirps.
“No.” I stick out my bottom lip. “I’ll be eating them all here. Alone.” And I’m totally going to stuff my face in front of her until I pop.
“Can I get a name?” she asks flatly.
“Paisley,” I say.
I sit down at the table near the window so I can watch as people pass outside. March in Atlanta is a strange time. Some days are sunny and close to seventy degrees. Other days, like today, are in the forties. And today, to add insult to injury, it’s drizzling. I shiver a little thinking about it and hunker down into my fluffy, hooded jacket. They say you burn more calories when it’s cold, so I probably totally burned this slice off already.
I have no idea what is taking so long, but at least I’m amply entertained. Some of the people walking past have absolutely no idea it’s cold today. One woman jogs past, and doesn’t even slow down to acknowledge the pie, wearing shorts that barely cover her rear, a tank top, and ear muffs. No lie. Because without cute pink puffs, her ears might be cold.
The cashier brings me a plate just as Miss Earmuffs turns the corner. “Thanks Judgey,” I say.
“Oh, no, it’s Judy,” she says.
“Right,” I say. “My mistake.”
I wish Mary was here to make me feel guilty for teasing the pie lady and less guilty about stuffing my face. But Mary has fallen into a tax and wedding planning hole. Trudy would have made a hilarious joke about Miss Earmuffs that would have left my side hurting from laugher, but she’s too busy studying and job hunting. Plus, even if she had time, Troy shouldn’t really be gobbling down buckets of pie. And if Geo were here, she’d order three pieces of pie and the waitress would goggle at her looks, and gush about how she could stay so svelte and gorgeous while eating whatever she wants. To make matters worse, Geo would eat it, and stay exactly every speck as gorgeous and skinny as she is.
I poke at my pie, wondering exactly how much more my thighs will jiggle if I eat it all. I take my first bite of the Muddy Bottom Pecan and decide it’s worth it. No matter how much cellulite this turns into after it’s processed, it’s worth it. As I’m stuffing my first bite of cherry into my mouth, a tall, handsome, dark haired guy walks by the window.
He stops dead, and my mouth drops open.
I’m not goggling over his looks, although they are almost as striking as my friend Geo’s and that’s uncommon. You don’t often see men with hair as black as pitch and eyes as green as plastic Easter grass. His irises are the exact shade of that grass that comes in big bags to stuff the bottom of little kids’ baskets. I know, because when Geo taught me about Easter egg baskets and I saw the stuff for the first time, I thought, I’ve seen that before. Which is why the eyes aren’t throwing me right now. No, it’s the man himself.
He’s definitely not supposed to be here.
His ridiculously green eyes widen and his mouth shapes into a perfect ‘O’ in front of me. He looks absolutely nothing like me. Which would be uncommon if we were full siblings, but we only share a mother. And he looks exactly like his father, judging from the photos.
My brother Cole wastes no time ducking into the pie shop and practically sprinting over to my table. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t laugh at the absurdity of his question. Trust him to spring that on me, as though I’m the one who’s out of place. “Here?” I point at the table on which my three pieces of pie rest. “As in, inside a shop that sells delicious, scrumptious, calorie-laden pie?”
Cole opens his mouth, but before he can answer, I continue. “Or do you mean, what am I doing in Atlanta? Because that’s what I wanted to ask you, since you didn’t bother to tell me you had any plans of crossing the ocean that usually separates us.”
Cole rolls his stupidly-beautiful eyes. “If I told you I was coming, you’d
have made up some excuse.”
“Excuse?” I pretend I don’t understand what he’s saying.
He sits down next to me and picks up my fork.
I swat at his hand. “Hey, that’s mine.”
“You’re going to eat three pieces of pie all by yourself?” He’s even judgier than Judge Judy.
Ooh, that’s better than Judgey McJudgerson, not that Cole would get it. “Look, I can do whatever I want. You aren’t the prince of Atlanta.”
“I kind of expected a hug, maybe, or a little cooing. After all, I haven’t seen you in two years.”
I stand up and pull him close for a hug. Before I let go, I whisper in his ear, “I’m happy to see you, but get your own dang pie, or I might send you back home today.”
Cole laughs and walks over to the counter. I notice Judge Judy doesn’t hassle him for ordering two slices. In fact, she practically trips over her feet carrying his pie over. It reaches the table seconds after he returns, but she doesn’t make much effort to return to the cash register.
“Umm, did my brother forget to pay for that?” I glance up at her. “Maybe you’re waiting here to make sure he doesn’t cheat the restaurant?”
“Oh.” Judge Judy giggles. “No, he paid.” She still doesn’t leave.
Ohmygosh, I forgot how obnoxious it is to hang out with Cole. “Well.” I lift my eyebrows.
