He took his arms off me, and I shouldered past him, heading for the door, already digging my keys from my coat pocket. Blair trailed me all the way down the steps to the door.
“Cheyenne, wait!”
I turned to face her. “I’m leaving, Blair, I have to.”
“I know.” She threw her arms around me and held me tight. “It’s going to be okay.”
Crying openly, I hugged her back.
“Blair?” Griffin called from the top of the steps. “The oven timer is going off.”
She released me. “I better go. I’m sorry if any of this is my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have made you come over.”
“It’s not your fault. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Then I pushed the door open and slipped into the icy night air, the tears freezing on my cheeks.
I hurried down the street, jumped into my car, and drove home. Thankful my mother was out with friends, I went straight upstairs, put my pajamas on, and got into bed, wondering for the millionth time why I couldn’t just give up on Cole Mitchell.
But then I pictured those blue eyes, and felt his arms around me, and remembered his words tonight.
I love you. I want a life with you, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have it. Somehow I’ll find a way to prove it to you.
I crossed my fingers and hugged my pillow close, desperately hoping he wouldn’t give up.
I wouldn’t either.
Thirty-Two
Cole
It had taken monumental fortitude to let her walk past me, but I knew using physical strength to force her to remain there until I somehow found the right words to win her back was not a good plan.
After she’d gone, I stood there alone in the hallway, wondering how I’d managed to fuck up so colossally in five minutes.
I’d just fucking gotten here! I was still wearing my goddamn coat!
“Hey. You okay?”
I turned around to see Griffin standing there. “Hey. No.”
“I saw Cheyenne go flying for the door. What happened?”
“Fuck if I know, exactly. I walked in prepared to calmly ask her for another chance and promise to do better, then I saw her talking to that asshole from the Mavs. What the hell is he doing here anyway?” I asked angrily, like it was his fault I’d messed up with Cheyenne.
Griffin rolled his eyes. “Blair invited him. He’s a regular at the bakery. New in town.”
“Oh.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Anyway, when I saw them together, I fucking forgot everything I was supposed to say and got all territorial.”
Griffin shrugged. “It happens.”
“Did she leave?”
“I think so.”
“Fuck.” I leaned back against the wall. “I need to figure this out. What does she need to hear?”
Before Griffin could answer, the oven timer went off. “I need to get that,” he said. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He left me alone in the hallway again, and I stayed there for a minute, trying to decide if I wanted to stay or go. After making up my mind to take off, I went to say goodbye to Blair in the kitchen.
“Hey,” she said, glancing at my coat. “Are you leaving too?”
“Yeah. I’m not in the mood for a crowd. I’m really sorry if I ruined anything. I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“I know you didn’t.” She shook her head, her expression sympathetic. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Tell me what to do, Blair. Tell me what to say.”
“I can’t, Cole. I wish I could. But it has to come authentically from you or she’ll know it’s not real. Cheyenne can read you like a book, my friend.”
I nodded. “Right.”
“Hey. Come here.” She opened her arms and gave me a quick hug. “You’re going to figure this out.”
“Thanks. I just hope I figure it out before some other guy comes along and gets it right with her from the start.”
She shook her head. “Cole Mitchell, you know damn well you’ve been the only boy for her since she laid eyes on you. Now go convince her she’s the only girl for you.”
* * *
I went home and watched the ball drop with my mom and Mariah, but my mind was somewhere else. Something Blair said had stuck with me.
Cheyenne can read you like a book.
She was right. There was no use trying to hide things from Cheyenne. She could tell when something was bothering me just from looking at my face or listening to my body language. And I didn’t want to hide things from her. Even if it wasn’t in my nature to show people my scars, I’d learn to do it for her.
I’d do anything for her.
* * *
The next day, I made two phone calls.
The first was to Bianca DeRossi. “Hey, Bianca. Sorry to call you on a holiday, but I was wondering if we might get moving on that window seat we talked about. If you’re not busy this weekend, I’m off the next three days, and I’ll be moving some things over to the house. Let me know, thanks.”
Next, I left a message for Jessalyn Wells, asking her for the name and number of the therapist she’d tried to recommend for me.
Bianca called me back later that day, thrilled to get moving on the project for Cheyenne as well as walk through the house with me now that I owned it.
“How’s tomorrow at ten a.m.?” she asked.
“That’s great for me. You sure it won’t disrupt your Saturday plans?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The following morning, I was waiting for her at the new house when Jessalyn returned my call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cole. This is Jessalyn Wells.”
“Hi, Jessalyn. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
“Of course. So you’ve decided to speak with a therapist?”
I took a breath. “Yes. I’m at least going to give it a try.”
“I think that’s great, Cole. Really great.” She gave me the name and number of someone in her office that counseled adults and had done a lot of work with group grief therapy. “Not that you have to do that,” she said quickly, as if she knew I’d been about to protest at the idea of talking in front of a group. “I just wanted you to know she has experience working with people who have lost loved ones.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Well, I’ll let you go. Happy new year.”
“Happy new year,” I said.
We hung up, and I looked at the name and number I’d written down. Before I lost my nerve, I called it and left a message requesting an appointment. I wanted to have at least one session under my belt the next time I asked Cheyenne to give me another chance.
And by having the window seat built in the master bedroom, I wanted to show her that this would be our house—that her dreams and mine were intertwined now, that our future was here, together.
Bianca was one hundred percent on board. “You know what?” she said, eyeballing the space that morning. “We could knock this project out in a few days.”
“Really?”
“Sure. With some help.” She glanced at me. “You think you could get Enzo over here with some wood and a hammer?” Then she laughed and flashed her palms at me. “No pun intended.”
I laughed too. “I bet I could.”
“Excellent. Why don’t you give him a call? He’s much more likely to say yes to you than me.”
“Agreed,” I said, digging my cell from my pocket. “Calling him now.”
* * *
Moretti was in.
But he said if we were really going to do it right within only a few days, we’d need a couple more pairs of hands, so we enlisted Griffin and Beckett too.
We worked the entire weekend, and Moretti came back Monday to help me finish up. Bianca was fantastic as well. While the guys yanked up the carpeting, refinished the wood floors, and constructed not only a window seat but built-in bookshelves on either side of it, she rol
led up her sleeves and painted the walls a soft gray.
She also shopped like her life depended on it.
By Tuesday evening, I had a king-sized bed with an upholstered headboard, made up with brand new sheets Bianca insisted Cheyenne would appreciate for their high thread count, a fluffy white quilt, and more pillows than two adults could possibly need. At the foot of the bed was a cozy throw blanket in a soft pink that reminded me of something Cheyenne would wear. Next to the bed on either side were two matching antique tables for nightstands with twin lamps sitting on top of them. Beneath the bed was a gray and white patterned rug. Over by the fireplace, which Beckett helped me get in working order, were two easy chairs and a small table in between, upon which Bianca had set a little tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom after work, I could hardly believe it. “Wow,” I said to Bianca on the phone as I drove home. “I don’t know how to thank you. Everything is perfect. Please send me the bill for everything.”
She laughed. “We’ll get to that. When are you going to show it to her?”
“Soon, I hope. Maybe this weekend.”
“And you’re moving in for real the following week?”
“Yes.”
“Nice.” Then she paused. “This might be a personal question, but is Cheyenne going to live at the new house with you?”
“I hope so.”
She laughed. “Well, if anything can convince her, that master bedroom will do the trick. Let me know how she likes it—although I already know she’s going to love it.”
“I will. Thanks again, Bianca.”
* * *
Later that night, I went in to say goodnight to Mariah. She was speaking to me again, but our relationship had been strained since Christmas.
I sat on her bed. “A week from tonight, you’ll be sleeping in your new bunk beds in the new house.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not excited about it?”
“I am. I just wish Cheyenne was moving in with us too, like she was supposed to. I miss her.” She looked up at me. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” I said. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
She propped herself up on her elbows. “Are you going to try to get her back?”
I smiled. “I’m going to try to get her back.”
Mariah fell back on her pillow, a relieved smile on her face. “Yesss.” But then she frowned. “Wait, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to bring her over to the new house and show her something I’ve been working on.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a window seat, the kind she said she’d like to curl up on and read a book.”
Mariah nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
“I’m also going to apologize for lying to her about the bad dreams. And tell her that I’m going to talk to a therapist about them.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?”
“Yes. I have my first appointment on Thursday.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little,” I admitted with a smile. “But I’m still going to go.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not that bad.”
“That’s because you’re so brave.” I brushed the hair back from her forehead. “And I’m going to remember how brave you are if I get worried.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Any other ideas for when I talk to Cheyenne?”
“Hmmm.” Her brow furrowed. “Definitely tell her about the dog. She likes dogs.”
“I will definitely tell her.”
“And maybe sing her a song. That’s what Danny did for Sandy in Grease. And she wore tight shiny pants for him.”
“I will not be singing her a song or wearing any kind of shiny pants.”
She sighed. “How about candles? In movies when someone tries to be romantic, there are always candles.”
“Now you’re talking. I can do candles.”
“Okay. When are you going to talk to her?”
“Well, if she agrees, I’m hoping Friday evening.”
Mariah frowned again. “What if she doesn’t agree? She’s really mad at you, isn’t she? I mean, maybe I should ask her.”
I was about to argue with her, but I decided she might be right—and besides, Mariah deserved to play a role in bringing us back together. “You know what? I’d love your help winning her back.”
She grinned at me. “You got it.”
Thirty-Three
Cheyenne
Friday after work, I came home and flopped face down on the couch. I was trying to decide between a workout and a nap when my phone rang. Blair Dempsey calling.
The name on the screen almost made me smile. I flopped onto my back. “Hello.”
“Hey. How’s it going?”
“Same.”
“Still no word from Cole, huh?”
“Nope. And it’s been a week since New Year’s Eve. A week and a day.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I really thought he was going to get himself together. And Griffin isn’t saying anything, even though he was over at the new house all weekend!”
“I don’t want him caught in the middle anyway.”
“Want to come over tonight?” she asked brightly. “Watch a movie or something?”
“Thanks, but I’m too tired. I haven’t slept well this week.”
“Okay. Hang in there. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” We’d just hung up when I heard a knock on the front door. Curious, I sat up, tightened my ponytail, and went to answer it. It was Mariah.
“Hi there,” I said, smiling at her. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hi.” She looked serious. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need help with something. Could you come over?”
“You never bother me. What do you need help with?”
“Homework.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Homework? On a Friday afternoon?”
“Yes. It’s, um, a really hard math problem. And Grandma doesn’t remember how to do it.”
“Okay. Just let me grab my coat and get my boots back on.”
A minute later, we were heading up her driveway. “I didn’t see you much this week,” I said. “Did you have a nice break?”
“It was okay. Sorry I didn’t come to see you. I wanted to, but my dad said it was better if I didn’t.”
Annoyed, I shoved my hands in my pockets. “You can come say hello at school any time.”
We stepped onto her back porch and stamped the snow off our boots. She put a hand on the door handle and looked at me. “Okay, don’t be mad.”
“About what?”
“I lied about the math problem.”
“Why?” But I understood a second later when Cole pulled open the back door.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” My heart was pounding. What was this?
“Will you come in?” he asked.
I hesitated, and Mariah grabbed my hand. “Please? I really do need your help with something.”
“Okay,” I said, letting her pull me into the kitchen. Right away, the dog came trotting over to say hello, and I knelt down to give him some attention. Then I stood up and looked from daughter to father. “So what’s going on here?”
Cole wore the sweater I’d given him for Christmas. His brilliant blue eyes, as always, put my heart in a vise. “I have things I want to say to you,” he said, “but I promised Mariah I would let her talk first.”
“I’m sorry I lied about the math problem,” Mariah began solemnly. “I’ll never do it again. But I was scared he was going to mess this up.”
“Mess what up?” I asked, bewildered.
“Winning you back,” she said. “And I really want him to get it right, because I miss you so much.”
My eyes filled. “I miss you too.”
“So will you give him another chance? He wants to take you somewhere.”
“Where?” I as
ked, dabbing at my eyes before I looked at Cole.
“Home.” He reached for my hand. “Let me take you home.”
“What home? Whose?”
He and Mariah exchanged a smile, then he looked at me again. “Ours.”
* * *
Neither of us spoke on the drive, but he held my hand the entire time. Mariah had stayed home with her grandmother, and without her chatter, the ride seemed even more tense and silent.
I was too scared to speak, worried I’d break the spell. There was something different about him tonight—something had changed—but I’d gotten my hopes up one too many times before.
He pulled up in front of the house, along the street. To my surprise, there was another car in front of the house—I didn’t recognize it at first, but when we got close enough, Cole’s headlights lit up the license plate, which read BDR.
“Give me one second,” he said, pulling out his phone. After sending a quick text, the car in front of us pulled away from the curb.
Totally confused, I let him come around and open the passenger door. He took my hand once more and helped me onto the sidewalk. It was cold and dark, but all the lights were on in the house, making it look warm and cozy, like a scene from a snow globe.
He stood behind me and wrapped me in his arms. “The night I walked you home for the first time, I remember how you said it was something you used to dream about when we were kids.”
“It was.”
“And maybe I was just too dumb to see it back then, or maybe it just wasn’t our time, but I see it now—you and me, we belong together.”
I put my hands over his forearms, holding them tight to my chest.
He pressed his mouth to my hair. “Nothing is right without you, Chey. I’m sorry I hid the truth from you. You were right—I let you in, but not all the way. I didn’t fight for you the way I should have. But I want to, and I will. Please give me another chance.”
Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series Page 30
