by Sarah Monzon
“Dr. Caldwell stopped by the same day you called, and looked him over. Can’t divulge any medical info, but he’s doing better now. And you’ll never guess what else.”
The excitement in Beth’s voice was contagious. “What?”
“Dr. Caldwell’s church funds a mobile clinic. He arranged for it to stop by the encampment. Everyone is getting the medical attention they need.”
“That’s just…” Emotion clogged my throat. “That’s amazing, Beth. Thank you. And be sure to tell Dr. Caldwell thank you for me too next time you see him.” I hung up, a smile on my face.
A knock sounded on the front door, and I bolted out of my seat. All the nervous energy that had coursed through my body before Beth’s call returned in rapids. I ran my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Tate looked too good in his jeans and T-shirt. Casual-sexy. I managed to keep my groan buried deep in my chest, but the hitch of his lips said I’d let something slip to give me away.
Well, why was I trying to hide it anyway? Yes, in case this day was a nice way to soften the blow of rejection, my instincts said to prepare myself, batten down the hatches. Protect. But who was I kidding? If I played it nonchalant, it wouldn’t cushion the heart-shattering fall off my metaphorical cliff, and a thin armor of distance did not mask my immense vulnerability.
As much as my stubborn tongue would allow, I was determined to actually tell him everything. Every thought, every feeling that entered my heart and mind. Let the chips fall where they may.
I lifted my chin and met his eyes. “You look really nice.” Okay, so my mind thought yummy, but nice was as close to honest as I would get. Plus, brownie points to me that the words came out a notch stronger than a whisper.
His eyes twinkled. “Thanks. So do you.”
That brow rose, and since I was finally on the path of admittance, I conceded how charming the move actually was.
“Ready?”
I lifted the sweater draped over my arm. “I’ve got the sweater, so I guess that’s a yes.”
His smile ignited that electrical storm going on in my brain and sent currents all the way to my toes. Grabbing my hand, he tugged me down the steps to a waiting car and opened the back door for me. A shooing motion of his hand had me skootching over, and he slid in next to me.
The man driving smiled at us in the rearview mirror before putting the car into gear.
“Should I even ask where we’re going?” Or why? A let’s just be friends conversation would be easier to take in my own home. I could cry and stuff my face with chocolate from the comfort and privacy of my cushy chair. Even an I love you, too declaration would be best without a public view. And if that was Tate’s plan, why hadn’t he just said it after I had? The easy, natural way.
Tate picked up my hand and threaded our fingers together. The action had the effect of a shushing librarian in that it quieted my noisy doubts. Turned off the power to my electrical breaker brain. I took a deep breath in. Let it out. Felt myself relax into the backseat, the length of our arms resting against each other side by side.
Whatever lay at the end of this Uber ride, I’d cherish this moment.
Too soon the driver applied his breaks and we slowed, turning into a massive field. I sat up, eyes widening when I caught a glimpse of what waited smack-dab in the middle.
“Are you serious?” I turned toward Tate. “Are we really going up in a hot-air balloon?” The book had been a clue, but I hadn’t figured it out.
In a move he’d made a hundred times before, he leaned over and kissed my forehead. “We really are. We’ll go up first, just the two of us, while remaining tethered to the ground, then my friend Jerry will take us around a bit. It’s not a trip around the world, but he assures me an awesome view of both the Cascades and the Olympic Mountains.”
I hopped out of the car, my grin stretching my cheeks as I watched Tate saunter toward a man by the balloon basket. They shook hands and talked for a few minutes before Tate turned and motioned me over.
The balloon was loud—louder than I’d expected—and a bit hotter as the flame filled the nylon belly with warm air. Tate’s friend held out his hand to me and leaned in to introduce himself as Jerry when I shook it. He opened the door to the basket, and I stepped in. Tate followed me, then began fiddling with the balloon. I was ashamed to say I didn’t pay much attention to what he was doing. I was too entranced with the scenery as we floated up in what felt like an open-air elevator, it rose so gently.
We reached the end of the tether, and I glanced over my shoulder, giving Tate a wide smile. This was just one of many gifts the man had given me. He’d been harping on me for years to not ensconce myself so deeply into my beloved books, saying that I didn’t truly live life or experience it with real people. He’d tried to open my eyes to the pages of the world around me, to bring the experiences and adventures I’d only read about into real, vivid, tangible moments. In his way, he made me the heroine of every story, and to me he’d always be the larger-than-life, he’d-better-get-his-girl (and by that, I mean me), swooniest hero ever imaginable.
The rumble of the gas and flames became background noise, and the strings of a guitar were plucked behind me. I turned, surprised to see Tate with his Gibson strapped around his shoulder, fingers moving in familiar chords. He took a step closer, gaze locked on mine.
Like a student following the lead of her teacher, my heart followed the measures of the introduction. Opened at the first sung note.
“I see you, the real you, and I know exactly who you are.
But do you see me and the love I hold inside for you?”
Tate’s voice rang with conviction, with heart, with emotion. She’s not ready yet. The words he’d recently shared with me came rushing back with clarity. I’d thought it funny he’d referred to the song as a female, but he hadn’t been talking about the song at all. He’d been talking about me. I was the one not quite ready. I was the one he saw. My heart squeezed as passion flooded from my center. I was the one he loved.
I wiped a tear away and smiled, my voice shaky with emotion. I was no great singer, but as Tate moved to the chorus, I sang the words with him. A harmony not of words but of lives.
“Baby, I want the best for you, wanna give the world to you.
Baby, I love the whole of you and would give my all to you.
But do you see me and the love I hold for you?”
The last strains of the music drifted away in the wind, leaving Tate and me standing there, staring into each other’s eyes. I took a step forward and placed the palm of my hand on his cheek. I didn’t look away, didn’t waver, didn’t hesitate. My tongue didn’t thicken, and my chest didn’t constrict. These would be the easiest words I’d ever said. “I see you. I love you.”
The guitar pressed into my belly as his hand came up to cup the back of my head, pulling me closer until his lips covered mine. I’d read a lot of romance novels and therefore read about a lot of kisses. Let me go on the record as saying…there was nothing like the toe-curling, knee-knocking, breath-stealing real thing.
Tate leaned back, our faces a mere inch apart as he gazed into my eyes and said the words I never thought I’d hear from my best friend. “I love you, Emory.”
Epilogue
Turned out Tator Tot had been keeping more secrets from me than the fact he’d been in love with me for years. He’d also not shared that a major recording studio had been courting him for a record deal for over six months. So, our little bet? The one where I thought I had a leg up and was forcing him to follow his dream and get over whatever fear he had of making it big in the music industry? Turned out he didn’t need my swift kick in the pants after all. But I sure needed his.
I stopped packing long enough to glance at the diamond on my left hand. We’d done the long-distance thing as I wrapped up the big gala here in Seattle and he settled into the Nashville scene. But I was done with distance, and as soon as I finished up this last box, I’
d be on my way to Music City and a man who surpassed any of my bookish dreams. Who would have thought I’d end up with my own happily ever after? Or, as we liked to call it, our bookishly ever after, because, after all, it all started with a bet and a book.
If you enjoyed this story, check out other books written by Sarah Monzon
Finders Keepers
All Of You
Freedom’s Kiss
The Isaac Project
The Esther Paradigm
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