Her team carried trays of food with grace and style. Not a soul complained. How could they? Sierra’s cooking was out of this world. As the night wore on he’d met so many people he couldn’t keep names straight. His pocket was full of business cards and most of the art had been sold. As people filtered out and artists left beaming, Ezra made his way into the kitchen. Sierra sat at the table rubbing her bare foot.
“Everyone loved the food.”
Her head snapped up, and she grinned then slid her shoe on. “I’m exhausted but glad. I’ve had a few requests for catering jobs. So thank you.”
“Where’s your crew?” The kitchen was empty. Didn’t seem like anything left to do. But she was still here.
“I sent them home.” She blew a sigh and stretched her neck from the left to right.
Ezra strode across the floor and laid his hands on her shoulders. She bristled but relaxed when his fingers kneaded her coiled muscles. “Stressed much?”
“Always.” She hung her head and hummed. “I put some leftovers in the fridge. Take them home. Give them away. Whatever you want.”
Whatever he wanted.
He wanted a second shot. To see if she could try to love him enough this time around. He wanted God to mend their past and give them a future.
“Sierra?” he crooned.
“Hmmm?”
“Do you really believe we weren’t meant to be together?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re meant to be with whoever we commit and vow ourselves to.”
“If you could choose again. Would you choose me?” Gen was right. He couldn’t live with regrets. Not that he wanted to live with rejection but at least he’d know. Maybe then he could move on.
Sierra slipped from his gentle grasp and stood, peering up at him. “Ezra, I’m sorry my dad didn’t give you his blessing. I don’t know why. I didn’t know about it. And you’re wrong about my love for you. I loved you so much.”
Loved. Past tense. This wasn’t going to end well. “But? I know a ‘but’ is coming.”
“I talked to Paul last night. He’s willing to sell the house to me. And he’s in no hurry, so I have time to decide if I really want it. But even if I don’t…I have The Bistro. Church. Obligations. My life is here.”
What she was saying was her life wasn’t with him. He wasn’t enough to leave for.
Again.
“I needed to go to culinary school. Gleaning from chefs in France sounded great. But at the end of the day, I needed education. You say if I loved you I’d have left. But if you loved me as much as you said, you’d have stayed. Or come back. Genevieve caught your attention, Ezra. Whether you want to admit it or not. Or you’d have come home.”
“And you would have told your dad to stick it? That you were going to marry me no matter what? You won’t even tell him your thoughts about the bed-and-breakfast. You won’t even move into a new home without discussing it with them. If I’d have come back, you still would have turned me away.”
She shrugged one shoulder and jutted her chin. “We’ll never know.”
He almost laughed. She could deny the truth all day long. It wouldn’t change the fact he was right.
“Besides, you met someone else.”
They were going in circles again. “Gen is not the reason. I was hurt. Hurt kept me away.” Probably a fair amount of pride, along with a feeling of hopelessness. Emptiness. The need to prove himself worthy to her father and ultimately to her. “And you’re using that as an excuse. I know you. I know you, Sierra.” He tipped her chin, forcing her to make eye contact. “Come with me. Let’s try again.”
Sierra swiped her finger under his earlobe. She held it up, stained red. “She’s not the reason? This looks an awful lot like the color she wore tonight.”
“It’s not like that.” Gen must have gotten lipstick on his neck when she was whispering to him to go after Sierra. To try. He was failing. “Take a chance.”
“Why do I always have to choose to leave, Ezra? Why can’t you choose to stay?” She wiped the lipstick on his shirt sleeve. “There is no us. And you can’t blame it all on me.”
She grabbed her purse and went out the back door of the gallery.
She had a point. But could he give up everything he’d worked for? The prestige. The money. The satisfaction of knowing he’d made something of himself. Teaching in France was a one-time deal. If he backed out, they’d never offer again. He’d lose some of his upstanding reputation in the artist community, which hadn’t been easy to earn.
But Ezra didn’t have Sierra.
Somewhere along the way, he’d lost sight of Who he was working for, the kind of man he wanted to be.
“God, help me. I have some major decisions to make, and I want to make the right ones.”
***
The décor was coming along fabulously. Sierra and Cassie had painted and distressed the shed doors last night. Jax hadn’t been thrilled to hear that Cassie had lifted them, and he told her she was on her own painting them back to the original color after the wedding. But he hadn’t deep-fried her, so that was something.
However, the pranksters were still at it. They’d filled the fountain at the park with a box of bubble bath. Kids thought it was fun to play in, but the park’s recreation director, Jeff Redding, didn’t find it nearly as amusing since they had to completely re-filter the thing. Not to mention all the change from the fountain was missing.
So much for wishes.
Eden had finished last minute details. Audrey had put the final touch on the flowers this morning. Cassie had been on a rampage all day stringing lights through the trees and over the top of the white tulle that created a wall to hide Jemma from Ansel.
Jax, Knox, Gabe, and a few other men from church had helped with the extension cords and setting up the white chairs near the pier. It was going to be glorious, and the weather was supposed to be clear and in the seventies.
“The tables are set up. We can put the tablecloths on tomorrow, right?” Eden gave a nod of approval to the wooden dock posts Sierra and Cassie had wrapped with white lights and bows. “Looks good.”
“It’ll be perfect.” Sierra fanned herself with her hand. “I hope the mosquitoes aren’t biting.”
“They will be.” Eden rubbed her lower back. “We’ve done everything we can for tonight. Go home. Shower.”
“Good idea. I’m sticky and gross. And I bought the most precious little mint green dress for the dinner rehearsal tonight.” She walked with Eden toward the lake cottage to grab their purses. “Cassie might pass out. She’s still at it.”
“She has way too much energy. You seen much of Ezra?”
“No.” He’d made himself scarce since last weekend when she’d catered his gallery event. Today, he’d been in the background sketching the last few portraits.
“Have you at least seen the sketches? Cassie framed them last night. They’re amazing. You should go inside and see for yourself. Jax is going to hang them on that tree.” She pointed to the huge white oak. “People can look at them as they take their seats. It’s a brilliant idea.”
The entire wedding was brilliant. Beautiful. A twinge of envy pulsed in her chest. “I’ll look later.” She hugged Eden and raced home to shower and change then headed back to the cottage. She locked her car and strolled through the wooded yard. Caterers, hired by Ansel’s mom for tonight, rushed in and out of the cottage. Banquet tables had been set up near the water. White tablecloths blanketed them and hurricane lamps with white candles flickered with light as they sat in between vases full of white gardenias, the sweet scent soothing Sierra’s nerves.
The setting sun cast romantic shadows on the lake. Clear lights in giant glass globes canopied the tables, creating an elegant atmosphere for dinner.
After an amazing meal, toasts were made. Sierra had caught Ezra watching her several times.
Now, soft music played and couples slipped under the trees, stars, and lights to dance.
“Hi,” Ezra sidled up beside h
er. Crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow. Charcoal pants. “It’s coming together.”
“Yeah.”
Awkward silence followed.
“I should help Eden.” With what? She didn’t know, but the tension was too much.
“You want to dance instead?”
No. But she wanted to feel his arms around her. It would be the last time. “All right.”
He led her under the trees and brought her against him, his hands warm and secure on her back. “You look amazing.”
Her dry throat barely let her mutter her words. “Thank you. So do you.”
“I’m leaving Sunday morning.” He drew her closer, resting his chin on her head. His heart raced against her cheek.
“I know.”
The timing between them was all wrong.
Again.
Ezra tensed and sighed into her hair as the music died down. He pulled away and stroked her cheek. “I hope you get everything you ever dreamed. Maybe next time I come this way, I’ll book a room at your bed-and-breakfast. Just promise me you’ll take a risk. If not with the house with something. Leap, Sierra. Just…just once.” He framed her face, a sheen covered his hazel eyes. He slowly leaned in and laid his lips on her forehead, lingering.
Then he left her standing under the starry sky.
Alone.
She balled her trembling hands and caught Jemma’s eye. Jemma gave her a tender smile and wave. Sierra hurried through the tables and trees and darted inside, her chest caving in on her.
She rushed to the bathroom and bumped into Genevieve Beaudoin. The French beauty who’d kept Ezra from coming home. The woman he’d met in July and who’d been by his side all these years. He may have said Genevieve hadn’t held him back, that hurt had. But Sierra had a hard time believing it.
“You look about like Ezra. I just saw him outside. Miserable.” Genevieve shook her head. “I don’t understand you two.”
Sierra fought to keep composure. “Look at it from my point of view. The boy I loved left me after telling me that I didn’t love him, and instead of realizing how stupid that was and coming back, he met you and stayed in France. He said the two of you were more than friends at one time. He’s stuck by you all these years. He depends on you. So how am I supposed to see it?”
Genevieve twisted her ruby red lips. “I’ll show you exactly how I see it. How you should see it.” She opened the door across the hall, the room Ezra used as a studio. “Come inside. Take a look at history.”
Sierra licked her lips and tiptoed into the room. Genevieve spoke through the darkness. “I met Ezra that July and I fell in love with his paintings, just like my dad had done. He was the stereotypical tortured artist. Brooding. Hurting. Crushed by heartache. And he painted that onto a canvas. The best work he’s ever done. We became friends.”
She switched on the lights and Sierra gasped.
“Overwhelming, isn’t it? Every day, I listened to stories about the woman he couldn’t escape. The woman who held his heart. And broke it.”
Sierra inched through the room.
One painting after another.
Of her.
On the background of blues and violets, bowing her violin. So beautiful.
That couldn’t be her.
Pondering among poppies, hair in disarray—definitely not her. But Ezra had portrayed her in a new light. The way he saw her, love nearly palpable. She covered her mouth and moved on to them holding hands and walking amongst the autumn leaves.
A red butterfly. Like her hair…amazing.
Sierra singing in a boat.
How long had it taken for him to paint these?
“Over seventy-five canvases covered with you. Some might call it obsessive. Stalkerish.”
No. These weren’t creepy. They were like a memory wall. A cherished memory wall.
“He may have gotten too busy to paint, but that didn’t stop him.” She crossed over to a desk and opened the bottom drawer. Sketch pads. “Wanna guess what these are filled with? Ask me how many paintings or portraits he has of me?”
Sierra sniffed and shook her head.
“None. None,” she stressed. “I’d love to tell you I never wanted more from Ezra. I can’t tell you that. But how does a woman compete with the love of a man’s life? How does a woman compete with a wall like this? I pushed for something, and out of his friendship he tried to give me more. It failed.”
Sierra pinched the bridge of her nose and choked back sobs. “Do you love him? Now?”
“Of course.” Genevieve smiled. “But I’m not in love with him. I’m not sure I ever truly was. I think I loved how he loved you, and I wanted that.”
Sierra had no words.
“I’ve been seeing someone for about a year now. He lives in L.A. It’s why I chose that gallery to run. To be near the one I am in love with. Ezra chose Chicago. Not New York.”
“Ezra is going to France.”
“But he wasn’t when he chose to run Chicago. And so what that he is now? Go with him.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t you?” Genevieve sighed and skimmed the room. “I tried to get him to sell these, and we had the biggest argument of our lives. He accused me of wanting him to rid himself of you.”
Sierra winced. “Is that true?”
Genevieve shook her head. “No. Because you’re what makes him great. You’re his best work. I wanted him to sell them because he was struggling financially at the time. Trying to become someone worthy of your love. He had astronomical offers on his Elusive Collection. He refused, and made a good amount on his other paintings, but the real money came with the opening of the galleries. But he lost his love—of painting, and you.”
Worthy of her love? He never had to be worthy. She loved him simply for him. No conditions. Like God loved her. Why would Ezra think he had to earn it?
She’d been afraid of the finances in the past. How they would make it. But that wasn’t about love. That was simply a legitimate question.
And fear.
Which held her back from going forward.
Fear held her back from so much. Was it holding her back now? Was she using The Bistro, the bed-and-breakfast, and her rooted life as an excuse from going to France? To the unknown? If she decided to go, would Ezra think it was because he now had financial security?
Lord, would you give me a second chance? I don’t deserve it. I haven’t shown much faith when it came down to the wire.
Elusive.
She caught a painting of a man’s hand reaching toward the back of a woman, flaming hair covering most of the canvas. Ezra grasping for her.
And falling short.
“If you love him, leave with him, Sierra. Make a life together. You have what every woman wishes for. A man consumed with love. Undying. Loyal. Love.” She squeezed her shoulder and left her to the collection of paintings.
And a mountain of confusion and fear.
CHAPTER TEN
Saturday morning and afternoon had been spent preparing for the reception dinner. Sierra left Jaynie and her small kitchen crew to finish up so she could be with Jemma and the girls. In an hour, Jemma would be getting married.
Sierra parked and smoothed her pale yellow dress. After last night, she hadn’t slept much but prayed a lot. She kept coming back to the same verse in First John. The one about perfect love driving out all fear.
Little things. Safe things. They were easy to say yes to. But the big things, the uncomfortable things, the uncertain things…she’d refused with all sorts of excuses, then felt guilty. She stood on stage and sang of faith, walking on water, stepping out of boats, trusting God, and they’d been nothing but words for other people to gain strength from.
She’d never let those words take root in her heart.
Sierra had missed out on so much. Kept herself in knots and pasted on a fake relaxed smile and condemned herself for feeling like a total phony.
Would she ever be able to step out of the proverbial boat and
walk on water?
“Oh boy!” Audrey came running, holding the bottom of her dress up and wobbling in heels.
“Stop! You’ll fall and hurt the baby. What’s going on?”
“I loaded up the bridesmaid flowers, the boutonnières, and the bridal bouquet to bring over last minute, fresh. I forgot the stick pins…to make a long story short—”
“Too late.”
Audrey frowned. “I left the van running and someone stole it!”
“What?” Sierra’s mouth fell open. “This is out of control. Does Gabe know? How did you get here?”
“I drove my car. Gabe is with the groomsmen, but I did call the sheriff. They’re looking for it now.” Audrey groaned. “I can’t believe this! What are we going to do about flowers?”
Sierra looked around the yard. “I don’t know.”
“We need to tell Eden.”
They hustled inside, and Sierra knocked on the master bedroom door that had been turned into the bridal suite. “It’s just us.”
Eden yanked Sierra and Audrey inside. “We have a slight issue.”
“Well, so do we, sister!” Audrey cried.
Sierra put her finger over her mouth to hush them. No point freaking out Jemma. “What’s your issue? Never mind. Ours is bigger.”
Eden glanced toward the bathroom. “Jemma is having second thoughts.”
“Okay, you win.” They might not need flowers. Sierra marched to the bathroom. If anyone understood cold feet, it was her. “Let me talk to her.” She knocked on the bathroom door. “Jemma, it’s me. Let me in.”
The door unlocked and opened. Jemma stood inside. Hair done up in gorgeous curls and flowers laced between them. Makeup running and a robe instead of a wedding dress. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” Sierra said, and locked the door behind her. “Where’s your head?”
Eden’s voice filtered through the door. “The photographer says he’s leaving if you don’t come out right now. Pictures were supposed to be an hour ago.”
“Tell him to take a hike then,” Jemma hollered.
“Tell him to wait. They’ll do all the pictures afterward and pay him extra for his trouble,” Sierra countered.
It's Always Been You (Seasons of Hope Book 4) Page 9
