Finding Ever After

by Pepper Basham

“So now the weather is at the beck and call of your clothing choices?” She smiled and shook her head. “Besides, I don’t want my book getting wet.”

  “Emma Jane, you are something else. My mother is the only other person I know who would worry so much over a book.” He reached down for the dusty thing with the fancy gold title on the front, careful not to bend anything and provoke her wrath. “What if l run up to the porch and leave it there so your book stays dry?”

  She raised her chin but made no move to snatch the book from his hand, so he counted it as a win. “I have no desire to wade through murky water. Also, I have long pants on.”

  And yet, she took his free hand.

  “You’ve been in the city too long.” Sawyer pulled her up. “There’s such a thing as rolling up your pant legs, you know.” He started to put his arm around her so they could walk up to the porch together, then thought better of it. Last thing he needed was her getting spooked and bolting like that cat. “Besides, it may be your last chance.”

  That sentiment did the trick. She straightened her shoulders, he assumed, to gather her willpower. “No more than half an hour. And no splashing.”

  “Two conditions I can’t agree upon.” Sawyer started jogging toward the front porch. Apparently, he needed to make good time.

  When he got back to her, she was standing between two rows of pecan trees with the sun forming a halo at her back. She smiled at him as if he hadn’t broken her heart. And he was so stunned by her beauty, he nearly took her straight into his arms.

  What did she see when she looked back at him? Did she recognize his audacity in wanting her heart all over again?

  He hoped not. His whole plan hinged on the element of surprise. Sometimes he wondered how much longer he could play this game, and if he could even trust himself.

  But he did know one thing. He would never break her heart again.

  “You want to walk or take my Jeep?” She was already halfway to the passenger door by the time he finished the question. “Jeep it is.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them once in the air.

  Things felt natural with her, even after all that had happened between them. When all the nerves and highs and lows subsided, he had this residing feeling of being home. And that’s how he knew—how he always had known—she was the one.

  This was going to be a good day.

  Sawyer climbed into the Jeep and navigated the three-minute drive to the creek at the edge of their families’ properties. He shifted into park then stepped down and shut the door.

  Emma took a minute to roll up her jeans before she followed him.

  The sun had begun to chase the chill from the air, and Sawyer started toward the canopy of oak trees that lined the rocky water. Emma wasn’t far behind.

  If he could just remember the right spot…

  He held up small limbs so they wouldn’t smack Emma in the face and looked for any spider webs that may send her into a panic. Soon, they had reached the water’s edge, and he found it—their tree.

  The initials they’d carved with a heart years ago had grown taller, wider as the years had gone on. But the letters still ran just as deep as that day.

  Valentine’s Day, when they were eighteen years old.

  Making plans for prom and college, when the word love slipped out so unexpectedly.

  Emma held the little locket draped around her neck and stared up at the tree. Her expression, so light and so sweet, was everything he needed. He knew what she was thinking because he felt it too—that they were living in a moment suspended between what had been and what could be. Much like the initials on their tree.

  She took a breath and raised her eyebrows. “Are we going to wade in this creek or what?”

  Sawyer grinned and reached for her hand. “Aren’t you Miss Adventure?”

  Emma stepped in front of him and ducked under a branch so she could beat him to the creek. “Maybe I have more adventure in me than you think.”

  His heart thumped from his chest. This woman had stepped directly out of his dreams.

  Knowing she couldn’t see him, he took advantage of the moment to run his hand through his hair and whistle under his breath. Yeah, playing it cool was not going to be easy.

  Emma took off her shoes and set them on the riverbank. Sawyer did the same, then stepped out into the low, murky tide and offered her his hand once more.

  Emma took it, grinning. “I hate to say it, but you were right. Now that the sun’s up, it’s not so chilly.”

  The steady tide rippled through their toes as they stepped up and over the little pebbles in the creek. When the water deepened, together they climbed on a rock at the center of the water—holding hands and balancing. Her soft hand fit perfectly inside his, just as it always had. His hope swelled at the feel of her skin against his own. This slight touch was enough to make him believe he still had a chance, and he would do whatever it took to take that chance this time around.

  A sharp edge on the stone jabbed her bare heels, and Emma sucked in a quick breath. Out of instinct, she leaned too far back. She began to slip, but Sawyer didn’t miss his chance to steady her. His hands went to her waist all-too-quickly, and in an instant, the feel of her rushed back with familiarity. The rose scent of her shampoo and the way she fit so neatly against his shoulder.

  She looked down into the creek, her lips mere inches from his own. “That could’ve been bad.”

  The oak trees littered leaves from above, and the tide pushed them further and further down the creek. Sawyer drew her closer. He just couldn’t seem to summon the willpower to move away. “Just like old times. Do you remember? That Valentine’s Day?”

  Her gaze met his own, and they swapped the memory back and forth without saying a word—the memory of that day she fell into the water and he jumped in to save her. The memory of I love you carved into a tree.

  “Why did you never come after me?” She swallowed, and he could feel her breath against his chest. “To Boston, I mean.”

  He reached for her hair and tucked it behind her ear. His stomach jumped with the same anticipation as a rickety climb up a roller coaster.

  “I did,” he whispered. He hadn’t planned to confess that. But he couldn’t have her thinking she wasn’t worth chasing.

  She stared up at him, clearly trying to make of his words. “I don’t understand…” She shook her head. “I never saw you again. When I came back to college, you weren’t there.”

  Sawyer slid his arms a little further around her back. “I bought a plane ticket a month after you moved and brought the ring along with me. Emma Jane, I didn’t think I could live without you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t I see you?” Her voice was hoarse with the words.

  “I took the subway… or the metro… whatever they call it in Boston. Your mama gave me this postcard you sent her with the address on it, back when you were doing that internship. I looked through the window at you, saw you laughing and confident, and I knew.” Sawyer swept his hand up her arm, then her shoulder, until he reached the back of her neck. “You were happier there than I could’ve ever made you. I would never take that away from you.”

  “You had it all wrong, Sawyer.” Her rasp became a whisper over the rustle of leaves and the sweeping creek. “Yes, I had all those dreams. But they were my backup plan.” She clung to him for balance as she shifted her footing on the rock where they stood. “What I really wanted, all along, was you. I guess I always thought you knew.”

  Sawyer’s heart began to race a million miles a minute. This was his chance. His opportunity. He would tell her that he was the buyer and had planned the whole thing as a grand gesture to win her heart once and for all before her family moved—

  Emma’s phone rang from her pocket. She blushed at the very unwelcome interruption. “I’m sorry.” She pulled it out and glanced at the number. “I better take this. It may be the buyer.”

  Sawyer let his hand slip from her neck and back to where it belonged. �
�No problem.” But even he could hear the desperation in his own words. He’d nearly told her the whole thing, right then and there—that it wasn’t the buyer because the buyer was him.

  “Hello, this is Emma.”

  She was so close, Sawyer tried to listen to the voice on the other end of the line. He knew it was nosey, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “Oh. Wow.” Emma fiddled with the back of her hair, then reached for him to right her balance. “Yes, very unexpected.” She cleared her throat. “That’s certainly flattering. Yes, I’ll get back with you soon.”

  She ended the call and pocketed her phone. He shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. But it didn’t sound good.

  “Well?” He asked.

  “That was a public relations firm in Boston that’s looking to hire a grant writer. I put in my application a couple months ago, never imagining they’d call me because they’re so exclusive.”

  “But they did.” Sawyer’s hope sunk as he put together the pieces.

  Emma tightened her hold of his arm and nodded. “They want me there next week.”

  Sawyer shook his head and forced a smile to his lips. “Well, let me be the first to say congratulations.”

  11

  He was about to ask her to stay. She was about to let him. And if he had simply spoken the words—well, she might’ve said yes. For the second time.

  But Boston had called. Emma let the silence hold all that remained unsaid between them. She un-cuffed her jeans as Sawyer drove over the gravel toward her family’s farmhouse.

  She didn’t know what to say or even what she wanted. All she knew was her head was spinning because Sawyer had that effect on her. But an offer like this one, at a firm like this one, was not the type a person turned down.

  Emma could stop ghostwriting and instead focus on pursuing publication under her own name. She could write grants that would have an enormous impact for struggling nonprofits.

  She had known when she arrived that staying focused on reality with the man of her dreams so near would be difficult. She just hadn’t realized how difficult.

  Sawyer shifted his Jeep into park, unbuckled, and turned to look at her. “Well, thanks for humoring me with a stop at the creek. I hope you enjoyed it.”

  Gone was his confident charisma, his flirting tone. He must have finally believed her about returning to Boston. Which, of course, is what she wanted all along.

  So why did disappointment wring her heart? By next week, she would be sitting in her new office overlooking Boston Common, and this would all be a thing of the past. Nothing more.

  “I did enjoy it.” She smiled at him, reaching to release her own seatbelt. She wanted to tell him that she never stopped loving him and it was taking all her willpower not to kiss him all over again. To—please—tell her more about when he came to visit in Boston and why in the world he kept that a secret for so long. That if he just would’ve waited at the window long enough for her to see him, everything might have been different now.

  “Good.” Sawyer tapped the steering wheel then reached for his door handle. Emma climbed down from her side of the Jeep and followed him along the stone sidewalk to the porch. It looked so strange without the swing in the corner, like it was missing something vital.

  Sawyer cleared his throat as he reached for the antique door handle and let them inside. “I’ve got some more work to do on the shiplap.”

  “Okay.” Emma closed the door behind them. He was playing hard to get—only, he wasn’t playing—and she didn’t know what to make of this pressing desire to run after him. She could scarcely think straight when Mama and Grandma Dorothea rounded the corner from the kitchen.

  “There you are!” Mama said. “I found your beloved book on the porch and figured you couldn’t be far. Do you remember when you used to say you’d find your own happily-ever-after if you could own that book someday?” Mama rubbed Emma’s arms. The maternal gesture brought a wave of much-needed comfort, and Emma summoned all her willpower to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

  It was going to take a lot of BBC to work her way through this one.

  “Well…” She looked between her mother and Grandma Dorothea. She needed to be strong. Play the part of happy, successful grant writer. “Funny you should say that because I just got a call from Boston. I put in a job application a while back on a whim. Didn’t think I had a shot in the dark, but—”

  “You got it.” Mama grinned from ear to ear. “That’s my girl.”

  “Congratulations, Emmaline.” Grandma Dorothea patted the top of her own well-sprayed, gray curls. She took a moment’s pause. “I’d like to treat you to breakfast to celebrate at The Wistful Teacup, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

  Like a trap.

  Emma smiled. “Delightful. I’ll just get my purse.”

  The bell above the door chimed as Emma and Grandma Dorothea entered The Wistful Teacup. Such a cozy little haven with bookshelves lining the space like wallpaper.

  “A little eccentric for my taste, but I see why you like it here.” Grandma Dorothea looked up toward the chalkboard menu above the old-fashioned cash register and raised her reading glasses to get a better look.

  “I’ll be with y’all in just a minute.” Mrs. Hammonds carried a stack of mugs toward the kitchen with the concentration of those mice from “Cinderella.”

  “Thank you.” Emma stepped closer to her grandmother. “I would recommend the English Breakfast and an orange scone.”

  Grandma Dorothea squinted behind her glasses. “I hope they value quality tea more than penmanship. I can hardly read a word.”

  Probably because she needed trifocals rather than Walgreens readers, but Emma kept that thought to herself. Grandma Dorothea glanced her way, and for a moment, Emma feared she could read her thoughts.

  She wouldn’t put it past the woman.

  Grandma Dorothea was the reason Emma moisturized with rose water tip to toe every night and folded her underwear in thirds before putting them in the drawer.

  The woman could see things. Emma had no idea how. But she had a gift that belonged only in a suspense movie, or—a scarier alternative if you didn’t behave yourself—to a southern matriarch.

  Mrs. Hammonds returned to the counter and wiped her hands along her apron with a smile. “What can I get the two of you?”

  “We’ll have a pot of English Breakfast and a couple of orange scones.” Grandma Dorothea looked to Emma. “Anything else?”

  The love of my life would be nice.

  “No, ma’am.” Emma glanced toward the little white lights and the wooden cathedral ceiling framing the tiny teashop. The details brought a fairytale quality the place, including the rows of books and the roses that were now losing petals. She breathed in the smell of bergamot and the sound of the bell as a couple entered the teashop, and her heart twirled ‘round like Belle in her library.

  But as Grandma Dorothea paid for their breakfast, a sudden wistfulness came upon Emma. This could be the last time she dined at Mrs. Hammonds’ teashop.

  Sawyer’s mother plated two scones and passed them across the counter. “I’ll get your tea.”

  Emma took both plates in her hands so Grandma Dorothea could better balance on those one inch heels, then set the scones down at a two-person table. The table had always been Emma’s favorite, with its tiny window and the floral curtain that reminded her of something inside a British cottage.

  Moments later, Mrs. Hammonds walked over with a steaming teapot and two delicate cups. Both saucers were garnished with sugared pecans. “Enjoy.” She set her hand against Emma’s shoulder, and it was all Emma could do not to hug the woman. So many nights spent eating dinner at the Hammonds’ house. So many afternoons spent working in the teashop. She thought she’d let go of all that years ago, but now she was beginning to realize she’d simply run.

  Emma poured tea into her grandmother’s cup then her own and reached for a package of sugar from the container at the edge of the table. The
scent of English Breakfast filled her as she stirred the dark liquid. If only the steam would wash all the emotion dripping from her heart. But the familiar smell accomplished quite the opposite, and the only thing Emma craved right now was an afternoon spent reading Finding Ever After here at her favorite table, alone with her dreams. She’d spent many afternoons that way, before life got in the way and everything had gone wrong. Before she realized what a gift a dream could be.

  Grandma Dorothea took a slow sip of her tea. The heat didn’t seem to faze her a bit. “I just want you to know I’m proud of you, Emmaline.”

  Emma blinked and wrapped her hands around her cup. She was not expecting that. “Proud of me for what?”

  “For this job. For having the courage to set out on your own from scratch. Few people can do that.” Grandma Dorothea nibbled the corner of a scone. She must’ve approved the taste because she took a larger bite of the orange-flavored treat. “And I do truly hope you are happy.”

  Happy?

  She was certainly proud. Secure. Comfortable. But happy?

  The word plunked to the bottom of Emma’s heart and rolled there like a newly-fallen pecan shell.

  Happy was the sound of the creek rushing over the rocks. Happy was the slow fade of color on the farm before nightfall. Flowers on the porch step, a glass of sun tea that’s brewed on the back porch all day long. Yes, happy. Like tea long in the making, but oh-so-worthwhile.

  She hadn’t been happy in a long time. Fear had caged the courage of her heart. Yes, there was that moment at the creek this morning. And the kiss days prior. But if she were honest with herself, she still didn’t know if she could trust him.

  “Something’s troubling you.” Grandma Dorothea set down her teacup and took another bite of her scone.

  “I appreciate your kindness. I’m just… surprised to hear you say all that.” Emma fussed with her pearl necklace.

  “How so?”

  “Seems like you’ve been mad at me ever since I came back.” Emma reached for her teacup to take a sip.

  Her grandmother set down the scone. “I suppose I have been rather harsh at times. I apologize.”