Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series

by Harlow, Melanie

“Is she sure it was him?”

  “He was wearing his uniform,” my mother said with a shrug.

  “Oh.” My brow furrowed and then relaxed. “Oh! I bet it was Mariah’s therapist whose office he was at. He spoke with her recently about us, in fact.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good. Anyway, I’m sure it’s all fine, but I just wondered if things were okay with the two of you.”

  “Yes,” I said, turning back to the mirror and picking up a lipstick. “They are.”

  “Any news on the move?”

  “He’s moving after the first, I told you.” I carefully applied the poppy-red color to my lips.

  “I meant your move—when do you move in?”

  “Trying to get rid of me?” I rubbed my lips together and puckered up before capping the tube.

  “Of course not, dear. You know I love having you here. I was only curious.” Suddenly she rose to her feet. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear things are going so well. Are you ready to go?”

  “One minute,” I said. “I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  As soon as she was out the door, I grabbed my phone and called Blair.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” I said quietly. “I’m so sorry to bug you on Christmas Eve, but I have to ask your advice about something.”

  “Of course. Go ahead. We’re not at the table yet. It’s still cocktail hour down here.” She laughed. “The Beauforts do not skimp on their cocktail hour.”

  “How’s it going down there?” I asked, feeling guilty I hadn’t led with that.

  “Great! My folks adore Griffin, my grandmother is completely smitten, and he’s been talking classic cars with my uncle all night.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “Okay, I’m hiding in the bathroom now. Tell me what’s up.”

  Quickly, I ran through the conversation I’d just had with my mom. “So now I don’t know what to do! Do I ask him about the nightmares? Wait for him to tell me? I don’t want to make things weird for him and his mom. But why hasn’t he told me?”

  “Hmm, this is a tough one.” Blair was silent for a moment.

  From downstairs, I heard my mother calling me. “Shit,” I whispered. “I have to go. Tell me what to do, fast.”

  “I’d ask him,” she said. “If it were me, I’d ask him.”

  “What if he denies it?”

  “Then I’d come clean about the conversation with your mom.” She paused. “But maybe not on Christmas Eve. I’d wait.”

  “Okay.” I felt slightly better. “Thanks. I know you think I’m nuts for worrying all the time, but this isn’t just me being paranoid.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said. “I think you have to ask. If you guys can’t be honest with each other about these kinds of deeply personal things, it’s not going to work.”

  “Cheyenne Dempsey!” my mother howled. “Do not make me climb these stairs again! I’m leaving without you!”

  “Coming!” I yelled. To Blair I said, “Okay, gotta go. Thanks again. Merry Christmas. Give my brother a hug for me.”

  “I will. Merry Christmas,” she said. “Love you, let me know how it goes.”

  With one more glance in the mirror—I tried to replace my tense expression with a more party-appropriate one—I grabbed my purse and hurried out of my room.

  * * *

  The Mitchells’ Christmas Eve Open House was a tradition in our neighborhood. It started early, and almost every family stopped in before heading to their family dinners and parties. The house was already full of revelers when my mother and I arrived.

  After placing the gifts I’d brought beneath the tree, I found Cole pouring drinks at the makeshift bar in the dining room. The moment I saw him, my stomach flipped like a pancake. He was so handsome in his French blue shirt with the sleeves cuffed up, his charcoal gray dress pants, and shiny dress shoes. His scruff was trimmed back, his hair was neatly combed, and he smelled like he had our first night together.

  “Hey there,” I said, approaching the bar with a grin. “Don’t tell my boyfriend, but you’re the cutest bartender I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, you see what’s right above our heads?”

  I looked up. “Mistletoe. How convenient.”

  “I know. Come here.” He leaned forward over the bar and I did too, our lips meeting in the middle.

  “Eww,” said a high-pitched voice. “That’s gross.”

  We looked to see Mariah standing to one side of the bar with a few neighborhood friends. “I know, and they do it all the time,” Mariah said, rolling her eyes.

  “Beat it,” Cole said, jerking his thumb. “No kids allowed in my bar.”

  The kids scampered off, and I turned back to Cole, studying him more closely. “How are you?”

  “Good.” He smiled, but I could see the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor beneath his normally golden complexion. “How are you?”

  “Good. Want to pour me some wine?”

  “Of course. Red or white?”

  “Red, please.”

  He opened a bottle and poured me a glass, handing it over the bar. “There you go.”

  “Thanks.” I took a sip as a few dads from the neighborhood approached the bar, wanting to clap Cole on the back for the rescue earlier in the week and open a bottle of good whiskey one of them had brought.

  A discussion ensued about the merits of Irish versus Japanese versus Tennessee whiskey, and I excused myself, saying I was going to offer my help to his mom in the kitchen. He gave me a look that said he was sorry, and I reassured him with a smile.

  In the kitchen, I found a harried Mrs. Mitchell trying to keep the trays of appetizers full, make room on the table for dishes neighbors had brought, and keep up with the empty plate and glass collection. When I offered to help, she called me an angel and asked me if I’d stir the meatballs, then dump them into the serving bowl on the counter.

  I stayed busy in the kitchen for the next hour, during which Cole brought me a second glass of wine and kissed my cheek before disappearing again. When the second glass was gone, I had to use the bathroom, and since someone was in the one on the first floor, I went upstairs to the second. The door was closed, but I decided to wait rather than go back downstairs.

  I couldn’t resist peeking into Cole’s room, pushing the door all the way open and snapping on the light. I hadn’t been in here since the night I’d helped choose his outfit for Griffin’s party over a month ago. It made me smile, thinking how much things had changed.

  But one thing hadn’t—the wedding photo was still on his dresser. Unable to help myself, I picked it up and looked closer. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel a punch of jealousy because he’d loved her. I understood she was part of his story the way Mariah was too. And even though I knew he’d always have a place in his heart for her, it didn’t bother me. I knew there was room for me too.

  I just wanted to be part of his story—even if I hadn’t been the beginning, I could be the happily ever after.

  If he’d let me.

  “Cheyenne?”

  I turned and discovered Mariah in the doorway. “Oh! Hey, honey. I was just . . .” I set the photo down and decided to change the subject. “Are you having a good time?”

  “I was, but my friends had to leave.” She shrugged. “Now I’ll be bored the rest of the night. What are you doing up here?”

  “Um, I came up to use the bathroom, but someone was in there.”

  “I was. Sorry.” She looked guilty.

  “That’s okay.” I smiled at her. “Then I just wandered in here. Your dad is a very neat person, isn’t he?”

  “We have to be. Grandma gets mad if we don’t make our beds first thing when we get up.”

  “Well, it’s not a bad habit to form.” I turned and looked at Cole’s bed, surprised to see a stuffed animal there. Laughing, I pointed at it. “What is that?”

  “Oh, that’s Prewitt.” Giggling, she went over and retrieved it. “He’s a pla
typus. My dad gave it to me once because I was scared there were monsters under my bed. He first tried to tell me there was no such thing as monsters, but I didn’t believe him, so he got me Prewitt, because monsters are only afraid of one thing, and that’s platypuses.”

  I laughed, taking the stuffed animal from her. “Your dad is smart. What’s it doing in here?”

  “Oh, I gave it to him for a while because of his bad dreams.”

  My heart skipped a few beats. “Bad dreams?”

  “Yes. He said there’s a monster in them.”

  I nodded slowly. “Oh.”

  “He woke me up one night last week because he was yelling so loud, so I offered to let him sleep with Prewitt.” She made a face. “Then he hugged me, but he was all sweaty so it was gross.”

  I tried to smile, but I’m not sure I did. “What—what night was that? When he woke you?”

  “Hmm, let me think.” She squinted. “It was the night my grandma was gone. The night we watched The Grinch.” Her face lit up. “Hey, I bet that’s why Daddy had a nightmare about a monster!”

  I swallowed, but the lump in my throat remained. “You could be right. But we better put Prewitt back so your daddy doesn’t miss him.”

  “Okay.” She took the stuffed platypus from my hands and replaced it on Cole’s bed. “Daddy said you’ll share his room at the new house. So maybe he won’t need Prewitt.”

  “And is that okay with you? If I share his room?”

  “Sure. I can’t wait for you to live with us.” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure she should say what was on her mind.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You can tell me anything.”

  “He says he loves you the right way—the way that will last,” she said in one breathless rush. “I asked him, because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t the wrong kind that wears the costume.”

  I smiled, even as the lump in my throat got bigger. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” She looked proud of herself. “Should we go downstairs and open gifts? I have one for you.”

  “I have something for you too,” I told her. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll use the bathroom down there.”

  With one last glance at Cole’s bed, I turned off the light and shut the door.

  That fucking platypus was making me want to cry.

  * * *

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. I could hardly look Cole in the eye because I was constantly on the verge of tears, but I held myself together. On the inside, though, I was a mess. If Cole was having such bad nightmares, why hadn’t he said anything to me about them? Did he think it was something he needed to hide? That it would make him less attractive? Or was it possible his bad dreams had something to do with our relationship? What about the timing? Was it coincidence he’d just started having them within the last week? That he’d had one the night he’d asked me to move in with him?

  Stop it, I told myself. Stop being paranoid. This probably has nothing to do with you at all. You just have to talk to him, but NOT on Christmas Eve.

  Mariah and I exchanged gifts—she went crazy over her blanket, nail polish, and lip gloss from me, and I squealed with delight at the giant black hoodie she’d gotten me that said RYDELL HIGH on the front above a big varsity letter R and Miss Dempsey on the back. “Mariah, it’s perfect! Thank you so much.”

  My mother and I stayed late, helping to gather and distribute coats, wish departing guests Merry Christmas, and clean up. Mariah, exhausted but positive she’d be unable to sleep because she was so excited for Santa to come, eventually went up to bed, and Cole and I said goodnight to her together.

  “It’s okay if I wake up early, right?” she asked him.

  “Sure.” He yawned. “I have to be at work at seven, so I’ll be up early too. That way I can see you open some gifts if Santa comes tonight.”

  “He will,” she said confidently. “The Santa tracker app said he’s over North America now.”

  “Oh, good,” Cole said. “Then you better get to sleep.”

  When we went downstairs, Mrs. Mitchell said goodnight as well.

  “Night, Mom,” said Cole, dropping onto the couch.

  “Let me know if you need help bringing up all the Santa gifts from the basement,” she whispered.

  “I’m good,” he said, fighting off another yawn.

  “I can help you,” I said, sitting next to him.

  Mrs. Mitchell disappeared up the stairs, and it was just Cole and me.

  “Want to open your present from me?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  I grabbed the package I’d placed beneath their tree and set it in his lap. “Here. It’s not very exciting.”

  He gave me a look, tore off the paper, and opened the box. “I love it,” he said, holding up the sweater. “Thank you.”

  “You know how I love you in blue,” I said.

  “You know I love it when you pick my clothing. Okay, now your turn,” he said, reaching under the tree and handing me an envelope the size of a greeting card that said Cheyenne on it in his handwriting.

  Smiling, I opened the envelope and pulled out a post-card sized gift certificate from Cloverleigh Farms for a Romantic Weekend for Two. Gasping, I held it to my chest. “Oh my gosh, did you really?”

  “Did I really what? Buy you a Christmas present that was also a gift for myself? Yes.”

  I laughed. “I meant, did you do this when we were there?”

  “Yes. Right before we left.” He shrugged. “I knew it would always be a special place for us. I thought maybe we could go back every year.”

  “Oh, Cole, I love that idea.” I leaned toward him, still clutching the gift certificate, melting into his chest. His arms enveloped me, and he kissed my head. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay. “Maybe we can use this weekend away over my winter break. I don’t have to go back until the fourth.”

  “Maybe.” He hesitated. “But I’ll be pretty busy with the house.”

  “Oh, that’s true.” I took a breath. “So we haven’t really talked about this yet, but when do you want me to move in?”

  “I was thinking of waiting a little bit on that.”

  Something about the way he said it made me stiffen up. “Waiting a little bit?”

  “Yes. Just maybe a couple months or so. You know.”

  I sat up and looked at him. “A couple months?”

  “Well, yeah.” He shrugged and met my eyes only briefly. “I thought it might be best to give Mariah some time to adjust to the new place. On our own.”

  “Oh.” Hurt had taken root in my chest. “And that will take months?”

  “Hard to say.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek. I couldn’t help it.

  “Hey, I don’t want you to worry, okay?” He took my hand. “I love you. You know I do. I want to be with you.”

  “So why don’t you want us to live together?”

  “I do want that. I’m just making sure we’re not rushing it.” His eyes dropped to our hands. “I’m—I’m worried about Mariah. See, she’s been having nightmares.”

  A chill moved up my spine. Something was way, way off. “Mariah has been having nightmares?”

  “Yes.” Letting go of my hand, he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “What kind of nightmares?”

  “She says . . . she says they’re about a monster in the dark. She’s terrified of it, even though it’s just there in the dark with her. Because she knows at any minute, it might attack.”

  “Something she can’t see coming,” I said.

  “Right,” he said, oblivious that I’d just used his own words. “She’s obviously frightened by something that feels unsafe or—or unpredictable to her. She senses danger and doesn’t know how to protect herself. So I think we’d better just give her some more time to feel, you know, safe.”

  “More time . . . so Mariah feels safe.” It was all making sense to me now. Blair had bee
n right—Cole did have some things to work through. But he wasn’t working through them, he was burying them even deeper.

  And he was lying to me about it.

  “Yes. I love you, Cheyenne. And I want to be with you all the time. But my first priority has to be my daughter. You understand, right?”

  I closed my eyes as more tears fell, and swallowed hard. “Yes. I understand.”

  “Good.” He reached for me but I stood up. “This isn’t going to work for me, Cole.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re not being honest.”

  He looked indignant. “Yes, I am.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not. You’re scared of what’s happening between us. You’re afraid that what we have can’t last.”

  “That’s not it at all!” Cole jumped up from the couch and glanced toward the stairs. We had to keep our voices down, but it was hard, because we were both worked up. “I’m only concerned about—”

  I held up one hand. “Don’t say Mariah, Cole, because I know the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Mariah isn’t the one having the nightmares, you are. Mariah isn’t the one frightened about something she can’t see coming, you are. Mariah isn’t the one lying to me about how she feels, you are.” I started to cry for real. “She told me, Cole. Tonight, we were talking earlier, and she told me about your bad dreams and how she gave you a stuffed animal to scare the monster away. And even if she hadn’t, your mother mentioned them to my mother.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he snapped, his chest inflating with anger. “This is why I need my own house.”

  “And that’s fine.” I put up my hands. “That’s fine, Cole. Move into your own house. I’ll be staying in mine.”

  “Cheyenne, please.” His expression was furious, his tone heated. “I told you from the beginning that this wasn’t going to be easy for me.”

  “I never expected it to be easy. But I did expect you to let me in.”

  “I did let you in! I let you get closer to me than anyone!” he whispered frantically. “You’re the one saying it’s not enough.”

  “Because it isn’t, Cole.” Tears continued to fall, and I slashed at them angrily. “Yes, you let me get close to you. But now you’re pushing me away. And I have this feeling that you’re going to keep pushing.”