by C. L. Roman
Finally, Jude wiped her eyes and turned to me. “Sierra, if Blake loves you the way I think he does, you sending him away isn’t going to be the end of everything. Trust me. There’s probably over a century of love and marriage experience at this table, and all of us will tell you that the path isn’t always smooth—but it’s worth it. Every time, the love is worth the pain.”
I drew in a deep breath. “Okay. I want to believe that. But what do I do now? Should I go back to California and see Blake in person? Or should I call him? Send him a text or an email?”
Abby glanced at Jude, whose eyes flickered over to Emmy’s. I sensed that I was missing something.
“Don’t do anything yet, Sierra.” Abby spoke slowly. “I think taking a little time for yourself would be a good thing. Just give it another day, I think.”
I frowned, bewildered. “But shouldn’t I go to Blake and tell him how I feel? What if he changes his mind before I can let him know? What if he thinks I’m really going to end the marriage, and he gives up on me?”
“Sweetie, if he gave up on you after this one little bump in the road, then it wasn’t true love. Just . . . trust us, okay?” Emmy winked at me, and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “It’s all going to work out.”
Chapter Six
Blake
“Abby just called. They’re on their way.”
I turned from where I stood in the doorway of the Hawthorne Suite as Alex strode down the hallway toward me, pocketing his phone as he came. He grinned at me and gave me a thumbs-up.
“She convinced Sierra to come with her?” I figured that Alex wouldn’t be smiling if my girl had dug in her heels and refused to accompany her cousin to the bed and breakfast, but I was nervous. I knew better than anyone else that Sierra could be obstinate at times.
“Yup. Abby told her that she wanted Sierra to see this place, where Abby got her start in the Cove. I guess she played the sentiment card.”
“Whatever she did, as long as it worked and Sierra’s going to show up, I’m grateful.” I rubbed my hands together. “God, I hope I’m doing the right thing. If this plan backfires, I’m going to look like the biggest fool in the world—and the woman I love probably will never speak to me again.”
“Blake.” Cal wandered out of the suite, where he’d been putting the finishes touches on our project. He laid one comforting hand on my shoulder. “Alex and I would never let that happen. We wouldn’t have given you the go-ahead to do this if we weren’t sure about Sierra, too.”
“How can you be sure?” I wondered. “Did you talk to her?”
Both men laughed. “This is the Cove, buddy,” Alex reminded me. “There are no secrets. We didn’t talk to your lady personally, but we do happen to know that she was at the infamous monthly estrogen event last night at the Tide.”
“Estrogen event?” I frowned.
“Alex is trying to find a cute way to say Sierra was at ladies’ night. Jude, Emmy, Abby and a bunch of the other women around here meet at the Tide once a month to have a couple of beers, catch up—and probably to bitch a little bit about the men in their lives, none of whom are allowed to take part in said meet up.”
“Right,” Alex agreed. “And what we heard from our sources is that after some heart-to-hearts with our resident romance experts, your lady was chomping at the bit to fly to the West Coast, where she believes you are currently cooling your heels, still mad as hell. They had to work hard to convince her to take a breather day, or you’d be making your pitch to Cal and me.”
“Which seems like a waste of effort,” laughed his husband.
I looked from one of them to the other, and despite my jittery nerves, a swell of gratitude rose in me. “Guys, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you did to help me. Not only this—” I pointed backward into the suite. “But listening to me, giving me advice—everything. If it hadn’t been for you both, I would be back in California, thinking that I’d permanently lost my best friend and the woman I loved.”
Alex slid his hand into Cal’s, linking their fingers before he raised them to his lips and brushed a kiss over his husband’s knuckles. “What can I say? We’re hopeless romantics.”
“Hardly.” Cal leaned into Alex. “We’re better than that. We’re hopeful romantics.”
Downstairs, a door opened, and I heard a woman’s voice calling.
“Yoohoo! Alex, where are you? You have company, darling!”
Alex grinned at me. “It’s showtime.” He pivoted half way around on one foot and answered Abby. “Upstairs, Abs! Come on up here.”
Cal leaned toward me and punched my arm. “Good luck, dude. We’ll be downstairs when—well, you know what to do.” Together, he and Alex crept toward the back staircase that led to the kitchen and snuck downstairs.
I heard two sets of footsteps on the front staircase along with two different voices. They were coming up from the front entry, the same way guests routinely reached their rooms. It was a narrow, enclosed set of stairs, which meant that they wouldn’t see me until they reached the top. Before they got there, the voice that had to belong to Abby groaned.
“Oh, dang, what’s that smell? Connor, do you have a . . . yikes, yes, you do. Sierra, I left his diaper bag in the car, but the guys keep stuff for me off the kitchen for just such an emergency as this. Go ahead on up and chat with Alex, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Oh, but Abby—” Sierra protested, and at the sound of her voice, my heart began to thud.
“No, no, just go on. We’re fine. I’ll be right there.”
“Fine.” Her sigh was loud enough for me to hear it, and I bit back a smile.
Moments later, Sierra rounded the top of the stairs and appeared in the hallway, and now my hands began to sweat. She glanced around her with a slight frown before she caught sight of me five feet away.
“Blake?” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “What are you doing here? I thought you went back to California.”
“Baby, did you really think I’d leave you here without working all this out?” I crossed my arms over my chest, mostly to keep from reaching for her and holding her tight.
“Oh, my God, I’m so glad you didn’t. Blake, I need to tell you—”
“Wait.” I held out one hand. “Wait a second, Sierra. I need to say something first.”
She tilted her head, her forehead wrinkling. “Okay.”
I took a deep breath. This was it.
“The other day, when I left you at the hotel, I was . . . furious. I was frustrated.”
Sierra closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. Listen, babe. The thing is, I was mad at you for something that was completely unreasonable. Here I was laying out my heart to you, expecting you to just fall into line and accept what I was telling you, when I’d never before given you any real inkling about how I felt.” I touched my chest. “I thought all along, for years and years, I’d been giving you hints. I thought I’d been broadcasting my feelings loud and clear. Only, when I talked to Alex and Cal, I came to realize that maybe I hadn’t been quite so clear.” I paused for a second. “And I also realized that maybe you’d been trying to tell me something, too, and I’d dismissed every opening you gave me as wishful thinking.”
She didn’t say anything, but she nodded, the tips of her mouth turning up just the slightest bit.
“Once I figured all that out, I wanted to do something . . . something that would show you that this—being in love with you—isn’t so sudden or new. It’s not because I feel sorry for you. It’s not because of any damn bracelet.” I held out my hand to her. “And I’m going to prove it to you.”
“Blake, you don’t need to prove anything to me.” Sierra moved closer, taking my hand. Her eyes were fastened on me, and she couldn’t quite see into the suite yet. This was good.
“Maybe I don’t have to—but I want to. I need you to understand.” I squeezed her fingers. “Will you let me do this?”
S
he made a noise that was half-sob, half-laugh and nodded. “All right. I don’t want to spoil your surprise. Lead the way.”
I stepped aside and slid my arm around her waist as we moved together into the Hawthorne Suite. I knew the moment that Sierra’s eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting in the sitting room, because she gasped and gripped my hand.
“Oh.” Her free hand flew up to cover her mouth. “What did you do? Look at all this! How on earth did you manage . . .” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the candles flickering on every available surface. It was late afternoon, almost twilight, and with the curtains drawn over the windows, the candlelight lent a romantic atmosphere.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I had some help. A lot of help, if I’m being honest.” If I got sidetracked into explaining all the hows and wherefores of what was going on, I might get lost. So for the moment, I didn’t give any more details than that and instead reached down to the low table nearest the door.
“Do you remember what this is?” I lifted up a small wooden jewelry box. It wasn’t anything elaborate; the box was the sort of thing that might be found in any department store, something that appealed to girls in their early teens. It was painted pink, although the color had worn away in spots where it was clear that someone had lifted the lid frequently.
“Of course, I do.” Sierra ran a finger lightly over the edge of the top. “You gave me this jewelry box for my fifteenth birthday. I’d been wanting one for a long time.”
“That’s right.” I opened the lid, and soft music tinkled slowly. “About a week before your birthday, we were at the mall, and you were looking at the jewelry boxes. You told me that your friends all had them, and you wanted your own so badly. I’d never really thought about your gifts before then. My mom always picked out something for me to give you. I mean, how was I supposed to know what girls wanted? But right there, at that moment, I knew I wanted to buy you that jewelry box. I saw the way your eyes shone when you looked at them, and for the first time, I knew I wanted to see your eyes shine like that for me.” I set the box down again and brushed my fingers over Sierra’s smooth cheek. “It was the moment I realized I wanted to be more than your friend.”
“All the way back then? But that was ten years ago.” Her breath caught. “When you gave it to me, I was so happy, because I thought it was the kind of gift a boy would give a girl he liked. Or more than liked.”
“You were right . . . only I never said anything afterward. I thought we had time. But then a couple of months later, you started going out with Kyle Simcoff.”
Sierra wrinkled her nose. “He was a jerk. I didn’t go out with him very long.”
I sighed. “It was long enough that I knew I’d missed my chance. But let’s move on.” I eased us forward until we stood next to the long antique dresser, where a small nosegay of dried flowers lay on lace doily.
“Those are my flowers from the junior Snowball Dance.” Sierra picked them up carefully. “I keep them in my memory box at my parents’ house. How—”
“When we were juniors in high school, you’d been dating Mike Carruthers since the spring. I was completely depressed, because it was the longest you’d dated any guy. I kept hoping you’d break up with him, but at the same time, he seemed like a good dude, so as long as you were happy, I couldn’t complain. Then one day—right before Thanksgiving—you told me that you and Mike weren’t together anymore. I was so glad that I didn’t even ask what had happened. You said you were okay about the breakup, but that you were sad you couldn’t go to the Snowball, since you didn’t have a date. I didn’t even hesitate. I told you that we’d go together, because I hadn’t asked anyone yet.”
Sierra lifted her chin so I could gaze into her eyes. “I ended things with Mike because I realized I wasn’t being fair to him. He started talking about us going to the same college, and I knew I didn’t want that. You’re right—he was a good guy, but he wasn’t really the one I wanted. So I broke up with him, and then I got brave and told you about the dance. I hoped that you’d ask me—and I thought maybe we’d have such a romantic night, you’d finally know how much I cared for you.” She raised one eyebrow. “As more than my best friend.” She set down the flowers again. “You brought these to me when you picked me up.”
“And I had a very romantic evening planned. You were gorgeous. We ate dinner at a fancy restaurant. We had a great time . . . until I started throwing up half an hour into the dance.” I shook my head ruefully. “Who knew I was allergic to cilantro?”
Sierra caught her lower lip between her teeth, and I could see she was trying not to laugh. “Your face was so red—with hives. Your cheeks were itching. I didn’t figure out until much later how miserable you were before you actually started getting sick.”
“I had requested a song for us—and I’d been practicing a speech. I was going to tell you exactly how I felt—that I wanted to be your boyfriend. That I’d been wishing for that for a long time.” I gave a brief huff of laughter. “When the song played, I was in the men’s room with my head in the toilet. I wanted to die. For many reasons.”
“So many times we missed our chance.” Sierra sighed. “Didn’t it begin to seem like we were doomed?”
“Never.” I smoothed back her hair. “Because we never stopped being friends, and even when I was disappointed, I still had you in my life. That was all that mattered. And I still had hope.”
“I thought . . .” she began and then stopped, circling her arms around her waist and hugging herself as she spotted the next memory. “Blake. Is that . . . mistletoe?”
“Yep, it is.” Picking it up, I twirled it above Sierra’s head. “When I was a senior in college and got my own apartment, you pestered me to put up Christmas decorations. I told you I didn’t have time. Then you started nagging me to throw a party the night before break. All during college, whenever you were single, I’d been hinting broadly about the two of us being together. I was so obvious about it—or at least, I thought I was—that I figured you were being nice and ignoring me, so that you didn’t have to hurt my feelings.”
“I was so sure you were teasing me each time. I couldn’t imagine you’d want to be with me. You were dating all those beautiful women. I was just . . . me. Plain old Sierra, the girl you’d known since we played in the sandbox.”
“You were always the only woman I ever saw. The others were just distractions when I was sure you didn’t want me.” I brushed the mistletoe down over her face, smiling when she closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “That year, I finally gave in and threw the party. But I didn’t put up any Christmas decorations—except this, which I hung in the doorway to the kitchen, where you couldn’t avoid it. I kept my eye on you all night, waiting for you to be under the mistletoe, but in the end, it was you who caught me. I was standing there talking to someone, and you almost tackled me. You threw your arms around my neck and pulled my face down to yours, and you kissed me.”
Sierra rolled her eyes. “I’d been watching for you to be there, too. But while I was watching, I was also drinking cranberry and ginger mojitos, and I didn’t realize how strong they were. By the time I saw you under the mistletoe, I wasn’t feeling any pain.”
“When you kissed me, I could taste the rum.” I touched her lips with the tip of my finger. “My first reaction was joy—and then I realized how drunk you were. I’ll admit that I didn’t stop you as fast as I probably should have, given how much you’d had to drink, but I did stop. Eventually.”
“I might’ve been wasted, but I remember the kiss. I remember how right your lips felt on mine. I remember wishing that we never had to stop.” She gazed up at me through her eyelashes. “The next day, when we were driving home together, I kept hoping you might bring it up. I wanted you to ask me about why I’d kissed you. But you never did.”
I groaned. “I was waiting for you to mention it, but when you didn’t, I figured you didn’t remember, and I didn’t want to be the dork who asked what the kiss had meant.” I dropped the mist
letoe back onto the dresser. “Still, you need to know that I bought this mistletoe specifically so that I could kiss you that night. And I’ve kept it ever since and hung it up every Christmas, just in case.”
“Blake, I’ve been such a blind idiot.” Sierra dropped her forehead against my shoulder. “I wish you’d just shaken me and asked me why the hell we weren’t together.”
“I was just about to do that. In a figurative sense, anyway.” I tucked her hair behind one ear and reached around her. “Here. You never did read your birthday card from me.”
She took the cream envelope, frowning. “When did you give me a birthday card? I don’t remember.”
I chuckled. “I had it propped up on your pillow in the hotel. But by the time we got back to the room, we were, ah . . .” I waggled my eyebrows. “Thinking about something else altogether.” I tapped the card. “I found this the next morning, tangled in the sheets. After you’d left me.”
Sierra slid her finger under the flap of the envelope and paused. “Shall I open it now?”
“Yeah.” I took a step back to give her room, tucking my fingers into the back pockets of my jeans. “And remember, I wrote this before we left for Vegas. Before your birthday. Before the bracelet.”
She nodded and slipped the card out, opening it up to read aloud by the light of flickering candles alongside us.
“Dear Sierra,
Happy birthday, my friend. I know we don’t usually do cards for each other, but this year, I needed a way to say something that I’ve wanted to say for a long, long time. For lots of different reasons, I haven’t been able to tell you this in person. I haven’t found the right way to say what’s in my heart, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll figure out how to do it this year while we’re away together, but just in case I don’t, this is my back-up plan. This is my failsafe.
You are my best friend, and that’s never going to change. If you read what I have to say and it means something to you, we’ll spend the rest of our lives building on that friendship, making it so much more, using it as a foundation for a love story that will dwarf any of those sappy movies you make me watch.
