So Much More (Made for Love #3)

by R. C. Martin

  Copyright © 2015 R.C. Martin. All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs ©2015

  www.pinkinkdesigns.com

  Interior design and formatting by Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Preview of Mountains & Men

  Also by R.C. Martin

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To my Father and my dad, who have both encouraged me to always come as I am.

  And to anyone who has ever felt like a mess.

  I CAN DO THIS. I can smile my way through the next hour. Two, tops.

  Shit. I’m the maid of honor, for crying out loud. It’s in my job description! Today is not about me. This whole weekend—it’s not about me! It’s about my best friend—that beautiful bride who is out there dancing with her husband while I sit here, alone, trying to drum up the energy to reapply my smile.

  Addison has been looking forward to this day since before I met her, five years ago. Beckham is the love of her life and they’ve climbed mountains to get here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled for them. I truly am. Not to mention that it’s been wonderful getting to spend the weekend with friends; it’s practically a college reunion with everyone in our group back in town to celebrate the nuptials we’ve all been anxiously anticipating.

  Yet, no matter how happy I am for the newly named Mr. and Mrs. Willis, I can’t ignore the state of my own heart. I want to. Believe me, it’s preferable. If I could just lock that little bitch up and throw away the key until she felt like playing nice, I would. Unfortunately, I’ve put her through the wringer and I can’t blame her for rebelling against my attempts to avoid my reality—even if just for a few days.

  “You and that dress are way too hot to be sitting over here all by yourself,” says Claire as she plops down in the seat next to mine.

  I manage a half-hearted smirk as I look over at her, wearing the same pale blue strapless number that I am. I will admit that Addie chose bridesmaids dresses that are so pretty they should be offended to be titled as such. As for the state of my own beauty, I wouldn’t know. I’ve been avoiding mirrors as much as possible these days. Looking at my reflection is just far too humiliating, knowing who I’ve become.

  “Oh, yeah?” I murmur. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I’m not alone. I’m with you, now.”

  “And Jackson?” I ask, referring to her husband.

  Jackson and Claire are in town from Georgia, where they settled down after college. Jackson’s destiny is there; he was born and bred to be a part of the family business. He was given the freedom to study and play football wherever he wanted—which is how he ended up at Colorado State—but he always knew his stint here was temporary. Lucky for him, he loves his family and his job. Lucky for Claire, he loved her so much he refused to go home without her. They’ve been married for just over a year. Their anniversary was a couple weeks ago.

  I remember their wedding fondly. She dressed me in teal.

  “I’m giving him a break. I’ve made him dance with me for the past hour. He’s grabbing us some cake. You, too. You look like you could use some.”

  Cake. Yeah—cake is good. I’ve already eaten two slices, but who’s counting? I’ve got a sweet-tooth like nobody’s business. Baked goods are my thing. I’m not a fan of candy. No, candy is for children…

  Children. Fuck. Even just the word makes me want to curl up into a ball and hide in the corner.

  Fuck—now fuck has become a word I use as if I have no sensor.

  Though I suppose I won’t be needing a sensor anymore.

  Ugh. Screw the cake. What I’d enjoy even more is a kitchen in which I could throw on an apron and bake the cake. Or a hundred cakes. Or maybe some cupcakes with some freshly whipped up buttercream frosting. With some alcohol. Yeah—spiked cupcakes with spiked frosting.

  No judgement. I wouldn’t eat them all. Just a couple. I’d give the rest away. I usually do. Baking helps take my mind off of things. Always has.

  “Sarah?”

  “What? I’m sorry.”

  She furrows her brow at me, showcasing her concern. Apparently, I’m not doing a very fine job of reapplying my smile. It’s as if she sees right through me. I breathe in deeply when she reaches over and tucks a stray blonde lock behind my ear. “Something’s going on with you. Are you okay?”

  At first, I don’t know what to say. The answer to the question is: Hell no! Nobody knows that, though. I’ve been hiding the truth. Hiding. Avoiding. Evading. Whatever. I know I have to deal with it, but this weekend…it’s not about me.

  Even still, as I try and rationalize the lie that I’ve been repeating, the lie that is at the tip of my tongue, I realize I’m a shitty friend for not fessing up. I’ve spent all weekend with the people who know me best. If they knew what I’ve been keeping from them, they’d be pissed. Even still—there’s no way I can let my mess, my stupid decisions, and my broken heart trample through the bliss that has been Beck and Addie’s wedding weekend.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts at the sound of a familiar giggle. I look away from Claire and spot Avery—Addie’s carbon-copy and matron of honor—with Grayson—Beckham’s best man—as they head for the exit of the ballroom. The reception is still going on all around us.

  Grayson and Avery were married last summer, too. Their anniversary is next month.

  It was a glorious wedding. She dressed me in green.

  I watch as their pace grows faster the closer they get to the door. Then, just as they cross the threshold, Grayson scoops Avery up and over his shoulder. She squeals, clapping her hands over her grin as he playfully bites her side and quickly carries her out of sight.

  “Oh, my god! They’re totally sneaking off to have sex right now,” Claire chuckles. “Color me impressed and extraordinarily proud. Our
angel, Avery, is all grown up.”

  Another half-hearted attempt at a smile plays at the corners of my mouth. What I just witnessed is supposed to have me lost in a fit of giggles. I never thought I’d see the day when Avery, of all people, would be slipping away from her sister’s wedding to have a steamy rendezvous with her man, only God knows where. Then again, I never thought I’d see my life fall apart the way that it has, either. I’m single, unemployed, unhappy, humiliated and, dammit—

  I’m officially the only girl left in our group not married. I’m so far from being married, it’s not even funny. That would be okay if I didn't want to be married. But I do!

  Or I did.

  Or...I think I might.

  Now, even just the idea of me being in a relationship causes the bitch that is my heart to give me the finger. I don't blame her. My love life is pretty much a shit show. I don't pick men well. I'm seriously wondering if I'm meant to be celibate. I pray to God that's not true. Honestly, no one should have to be celibate. If pure, little, innocent Avery is getting laid, we all should be getting laid.

  Then again, maybe it's not the men I choose. Maybe it's just me. A crippling thought, considering I can't be anyone else.

  “Okay—either you start talking, or I’m going to find the sexiest guy in here to come over and stick his ass in that lap of yours. If I can’t find someone single, Jack will have to do, and that could just get awkward. So, take your pick. Truth or lap dance?”

  I hesitate and she arches an eyebrow at me before she stands to survey the room.

  “Fine, fine!” I concede, knowing full well that she’ll follow through with her threat.

  She sits, folds her hands in her lap, and looks at me expectantly.

  “I—”

  That's as far as I get before my head is flooded with the most painful memories that span over the past few weeks. I think of Luke. Micah. My classroom. Those little desks I love so much. The smiling faces that I won’t be seeing next year. I seal my eyes shut, willing my tears to stay away from my cheeks. I can’t cry right now. If I start, it’ll be like a torrential downpour I won’t be able to control. I’ve been saving up my tears for the last few days, promising myself a good cry when my maid of honor duties are complete. They aren’t complete, yet. I can’t cry now. Right now, I have to smile.

  Claire reaches over and gently takes my hand. I draw in a shuddered breath. “Okay,” she says calmly. “Not here. I get it.”

  I nod my thanks as I swallow the knot in my throat.

  “You know, you’re making it very hard for me to want to get on a plane tomorrow morning. You’re also making it incredibly difficult to keep from slapping you. I can’t believe you’ve been carrying around something this big for the last three days without saying anything. I’m half tempted to pack you in my suitcase and bring you home with me until I’ve heard every last hairy detail.”

  “I’d go with you if I knew I’d fit,” I quip, opening my eyes. “Unfortunately, I know how many shoes you packed.”

  “Wait, you’d really come? What am I talking about? You’re a teacher! You have the next month and a half off. Of course you could come. You should come! At least for a week or two. You don’t have anything planned, do you? If you do, cancel it. This trip will be so much better.”

  I was only kidding before. Sure, the idea of running away from my problems seems incredibly alluring. Stupid, irresponsible, and reckless—but those are the adjectives best used to describe most of my decisions lately. At least this one would leave me in the company of good friends.

  “I’m serious, Sarah. Jack and I would still have work, but we can take a couple long weekends. Besides, some Georgia sun might do you some good. I know I don’t know what’s happening in your life, but I want to—and I can’t call myself a friend if I leave you in this state. So will you come?”

  I think rationally for two seconds. I have enough money saved up to last me until the end of the summer. I have no idea where I'm going to go in the fall or what I’m going to do for work, but I don’t have the energy to think about that right now. Right now, I can barely manage a smile. Right now, I want to run.

  “Jack wouldn’t mind if I crashed on your couch for a while?”

  “Babe—there’s a queen size bed in our guest room that has your name scribbled all over it.”

  “Okay,” I murmur, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll buy my ticket tonight.”

  I STAND BACK AND watch as they slowly pull away the tape, leaving behind the new cafe logo across the front window. It’s a larger version of the one that I watched them adhere to the front door. It’s not as if I don’t trust that they’ll do a decent job, it’s just that I can’t believe this is finally happening. I’m afraid if I don’t watch, it won’t actually be real.

  It’s been two months since my dream has become a reality. I’ve been here almost every day as the coffee shop has transformed right before my eyes. I’m sure once it all really sinks in, all the hard work I’ve put in will take its toll and I’ll need to sleep for a week. For now, I just stand back and enjoy the view. The place still has the same eclectic, forever-young, coffee-lover, small-town feel; but with the help of the design team, it’s also got this sleek, modern flare. Not to mention the totally new, state of the art, kick ass kitchen in the back. It’s a shoebox back there, but it’s all the space I need. Suffice it to say, I’m in love. Eddalyn’s interior has been amazing, and the shop that feels as though it’s been my second home for years—it’s finally starting to feel like it’s mine.

  It is. Mine. I still have to remind myself every morning.

  “Little Bird Cafe, Home of Brandon’s Bakery.”

  I turn at the sound of her voice and smile as I watch her approach. Daphne. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, which, amusingly, looks not too much different than mine. She’s in a graphic t-shirt that’s too big and yet drapes off of her thin shoulder in a way that works for her. Her scrawny legs are clad in a pair of cut-off denim shorts and I shake my head at the sight. It’s hard to believe that the four-month-old little girl she pushes in that stroller came out of that tiny little body.

  “Hey,” I say with a grin. “What are you doing here? It’s Saturday.”

  Daphne used to work at LB with me. We were shift buddies for two years. We always loved working together and we threw a fit whenever Lori, our former boss, tried to schedule us separately. Lucky for us, it didn’t happen often. Daphne resigned from her post a few weeks before Caroline was born; now she spends her days writing when she can and claiming the title of Care’s mom and Trevor’s wife. Trevor is co-owner of a tattoo parlor here in town; he’s also the guy who redesigned LB’s logo.

  Since Daphne’s been busy acclimating to life with a newborn, we hardly ever see each other. In the last couple of months, she’s made it a point to stop in at least once a week. There’s a bookclub, made up of seven women in their fifties and sixties, that meets regularly every Monday. Since she no longer has to work through their meetings, they’ve adopted Daphne and baby Care into their group. She usually shows up a few minutes early so we can catch up a bit and I can see her pride and joy—who, I swear, looks different every time I see her. Different and always far too adorable for her own good. She has the power to bring a grown man to his knees.

  “My bestie told me that your new sign was being installed today. I wanted to be here first thing to see it.”

  Logan, a design associate at Eddalyn’s interior and the lead on the Little Bird project, has been Daphne’s best friend for as long as I’ve known them. A couple months ago, they became sisters-in-law. She’s got a great eye and I respect her immensely for the work she’s put in here. It doesn’t surprise me that she told Daphne about the final touch of the redesign happening as we speak. Knowing Daphne, I understand why she thought it important to be here. She knows what this means to me.

  I learned to bake when I was nine. My dad taught me. Sounds backwards, I know, but backwards is about the only way for me to
describe my parents. My mom is incredibly career driven. She works in real-estate and she’s great at what she does. Always has been. My whole life, she’s been the first one in the office and the last one out. My dad—he was never like that. He made his living under the hoods of cars. While he worked hard, home was where his heart was. To this day, I don’t know how they managed to find each other, but they did. The backwards nature of their relationship is what made their marriage work.

  My dad had a passion for three things—cars, baseball, and baking. He taught me everything he knew about all three. I was pretty decent at playing ball. I played from the age of five all the way up until I graduated high school. I wasn’t an all star or anything, but I know he liked to see me out there anyway. I was better with cars than a bat. When I was ten, he bought a beat-up, red, ’68 Camaro and every weekend we’d work on it together. I always felt like more of a man than a boy when I crawled underneath that car with him.

  But in the kitchen—in the kitchen we found our sweet spot. Literally. Figuratively. I liked the instant gratification of getting to mix ingredients together, getting to make something, and then taste the fruits of my labor a short while after. He taught me to be bold and brave when it came to creating something for my tastebuds. We would experiment all the time, making up shit just to see how it turned out. Mom would always get mad when she’d find us, laughing hysterically over a botched recipe—every countertop covered in traces of our failure.

  He died when I was fourteen. Brain aneurysm. It happened so friggin’ fast. Worst day of my life. It still tears me up to think about it. Everything went to shit without him. Home became this cold and desolate place. It was like dad was the glue that held our little family together. Without him, we are broken. To this day, my mom and I barely speak. After we lost dad, she buried herself in work even more. I was surprised to learn that was even possible, but that’s how she got through it. Me? I was saved by an obsession with creating the perfect scone. It was the last experiment he and I endeavored to conquer together. It took me years before I was able to craft a whole wheat, blueberry scone recipe that was delicious enough to call my own—and I picked up more than a few tricks along the way.