by Jean Oram
But maybe this time it would land on a pillow of love and trust and would be okay.
Devon ran faster on his basement treadmill. He hit the incline button, punishing himself with a more difficult run.
He hadn’t been enough to make Olivia stay. He hadn’t been able to shelter that seedling of their renewed connection, protect it, cherish her in the right way. And so she was gone.
She had what she wanted—the valerian. Plus she now had a media storm she could manipulate to highlight her upcoming organic, safe cosmetic line, if she so chose.
That’s what she’d come for.
Like the fool he was, he’d opened his arms, exposing himself to the pain, knowing it was coming. But knowing it was worth it if he could have even one more minute with her in his life.
He tried to laugh at himself for falling for her again, but his chest hurt.
One of her company’s minions had cleared out Devon’s guest room, collected her dog.
Mr. Right.
He supposed the dog’s name was correct, seeing as no human seemed able to step into that role for Olivia.
He’d been a fool to think it was different this time, that sharing their mourning would matter.
Instead it just hurt.
Devon ran faster, his feet thumping the treadmill with quick precision, his blood pumping.
Such a fool.
And he still had a mayoral race to win—without his fiancée at his side. No, not his. Never was. Never would be.
He had to refocus. Take what he still had and shape it into something that mattered.
Nothing mattered.
He’d lost it all.
She had to go fix the company, soothe her family. He knew that. But he was certain she could have done it from here. They could have faced Barry together. It would have been better—standing up to the bully, kissing in public to prove it wasn’t all fake. Running away made them look guilty.
What was he going to say when people asked him where Olivia was? He could say she was just taking care of business back home, but the truth was she had left him. This was the breakup stage. The first few hours of the drawn-out “we couldn’t make it work long-distance” plan.
He’d thought he would have another week. He’d thought he’d have more time.
He stumbled, grabbing the treadmill’s railing until he could get himself back on pace. He kept running, but his rhythm was off, jagged, and when he nearly fell again, he yanked the emergency stop cord, bringing the machine to a sudden halt. Breathing hard, he bent over. He’d run too hard, too fast, kept the warm-up too short. His muscles were screaming and he felt like his lungs were going to explode, but it didn’t come close to the level of pain in his heart.
He stepped off the treadmill and paced the room, trying to get his breathing back under control. He shoved a hand into his hair, but there wasn’t enough to grab onto. Nothing felt right any longer.
Frustrated and angry, he stormed up the stairs to the main floor. He spied a discarded silk tie hanging over the couch and he swiped it up, then banged open his bedroom door. He pulled the new shirts off their hangers, dumping them into a pile on the floor along with the tie. Grabbing his briefcase, he dumped it upside down, scattering contents across his unmade bed, which still smelled like Olivia’s perfume. Everything new went into the heap before he bundled it up, tossing the whole kit and caboodle into the trash bin in his garage.
What a desperate sucker he’d been to let her waltz right in and dress him up, believing it was real. That she’d meant it. That he belonged with her and that this time their worlds would join as one.
14
His last gift from Olivia. Devon pretended his smile was real as he joked with the crowd gathered in the community center to hear the election results as the votes were tallied.
He’d won.
Devon Mattson, mayor of Blueberry Springs.
Devon Mattson, dumped before he reached the altar.
What did he have to do to get it right with Olivia?
And why wasn’t he excited about the win? He’d got exactly what he’d asked for from Olivia—a deal to stop the dam, creating industry and jobs in his hometown. The mayoral seat.
He had everything he’d reached for.
Despite it all, he knew why his win felt empty. It was because Olivia wasn’t there at his side to laugh, say “good job,” hug him and take him home. She would have made this all feel worthwhile.
“I thought there was supposed to be a wedding?” his grandfather asked, looking around the community center’s ballroom, his brows furrowed in confusion.
It took Devon a moment to catch up. “For Jen and Rob? They both got a nasty flu. It was postponed. It’ll be this weekend instead.” In fact, the very date Mary Alice had reserved for him and Olivia. He supposed it was cool the way that had worked in Jen’s favor. Which reminded him. He needed to call Olivia, set up an official breakup date, because he couldn’t go on like this much longer—acting like they were together when his heart was broken.
Ethan shared a look with Devon as if to ask if Gramps was losing a few marbles. The man hadn’t even been invited to that shindig.
“No,” protested their grandfather. “You and that woman. Where is she?”
“Olivia?”
“That’s the one.”
“Right. Well...” Devon felt uncomfortable with the old line he’d been using since she’d left Blueberry Springs five days and seven hours ago. “She’s taking care of business stuff back home, setting up things so her family’s company can come work with Blueberry Springs.”
He wasn’t certain if that was still true or not. Her father might have kept his promise and turfed her out of her position as PR manager after all that had gone down outside Veils and Vows last Wednesday. The media fallout had been huge.
The parts about her sister had been horrible, coverage of their unborn child even worse as reporters turned to speculation about toxins and miscarriages.
But the people of Blueberry Springs had stayed by his side. Hers, too, if she’d stuck around.
Devon had picked up his phone to call her, ask if she was okay, but he’d feared she would take it the wrong way—him calling only to see if their valerian deal was still valid. And if it wasn’t, he hadn’t wanted to know before the election, so he didn’t have to lie about one more thing.
Barry Lunn came across the busy room, hand extended. His son was at his side, looking at Devon hopefully.
“Well, my boy, you did it.” Barry clapped a palm on Devon’s shoulder while he shook his hand. Devon resisted the urge to deck the man in front of Peter. The last time he’d seen Barry the man had been slamming Olivia in front of the press, and Devon had taken several rage-fueled runs on his treadmill since then, trying to burn off the residual anger. “The town is full of smart people.”
Devon said nothing, afraid if he spoke it could get nasty. He sufficed with a curt nod.
“My mom’s already gone home to dry her tears.” Barry gave an affable shrug. “I was hoping to retire as mayor, because where do you go from here in a small town like this?”
“I have a catering business for sale,” Ethan said at Devon’s side.
“Ha! Me, cooking? I’d kill half my customers in the first week.” Barry added to Devon, almost like an afterthought, “It’ll be nice not to have to deal with you in chambers.”
Devon had been edging away, watching Trish and his father approach. As overbearing as they sometimes were, they were still two of his favorite people. At Barry’s words, he stepped back in surprise. “Sorry?”
“You scare me, boy. You don’t back down when you know what you want.”
Not totally true. Take Olivia, for example. He was still waiting for her to call, instead of chasing after her.
“Never once did you think about giving me the gears over contracts.” He emphasized his point with a raised fist. “You’ll be good for this town. It needs an advocate who’ll stand up for it and knows what should be done.” He
nodded once, as though trying to figure out if his words had made sense.
“Excuse me,” Devon said, pushing past him.
The former mayor caught him by the arm. “I’m sorry, Devon. I know you’re mad. Wednesday wasn’t my finest moment and my desperation showed.”
“It’s not that. It’s about who you hurt,” Devon said, his voice hard.
Barry hung his head and Peter took the opportunity to hold a magazine page in front of Devon’s face. He tried to avoid it, but the woman depicted there caught his eye. It was Olivia in an old Carrington ad.
Peter grinned and held up several more folded pages along with a pen. Devon touched the first worn picture. It was autographed by Olivia, who was radiating happiness right off the page. She was beautiful and glowing, looking exactly the way she had back in college. Happy and free.
His.
Their love had been real. Both times.
He had to do something.
Peter waved the pen and Devon shook his head. “Sorry, Pete. She’s not here.”
He turned away, stepping right into the outstretched arms of his stepmom who, teary-eyed, engulfed him in a massive hug. He let her hold on for as long as she liked.
“Our boy,” she said, her voice choked.
And he realized that he was indeed their boy—hers, too. She might have been unprepared to step into a mothering role for him as a teen, but he saw it now. She was a mother. She’d taken him in for just as many stitches as his own mom. She’d grounded him, baked him cookies, and had always had an ear at the ready, his biggest advocate and protector, glad to celebrate his biggest triumphs.
“You’re a good woman, Trish. Dad’s lucky to have you. As am I.”
She pulled away, took one look at Devon and broke into happy sobs. He had to admit he was feeling a little choked up himself.
“Thanks for being there,” he added. “For all of us.”
He’d left her speechless. That was a first.
Behind her, his father smiled, his own eyes wet. He moved around his wife and yanked Devon into a tight hug that almost made Devon worry about cracked ribs. “You make me so proud.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Ethan, old coot, take me home,” Gramps said, turning to Ethan. “It’s getting too sappy in here for me.”
“I agree,” Ethan replied. “And for future reference, you’re older than I am.”
“You limp more.”
“I was paralyzed for a month. Was in a wheelchair for years. I had to learn to walk again.”
“You did it once, why not do it twice? Quit your complaining,” Gramps grumped.
Ethan smiled slightly and gently took their grandfather by the arm, supporting him while he tugged overshoes over his dress shoes. Completely unnecessary on the beautiful June day.
Ethan turned to Devon. “Oh, and congratulations, butthead. Don’t screw up the town.”
Devon had a million comebacks, all biting. He sufficed with a simple dig. “Either or, Ethan snores. Can’t wait until you start dating so I can taunt you with that one. I’m sure Trish could get Mom to share some baby pictures, too.”
Trish had a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I already have some stockpiled.”
Ethan glared, but everyone knew it was just for show. “You know I don’t date.”
“That’s because he’s Oscar the Grouch,” Mandy said, joining them. Trish and their dad excused themselves to go accept offered congratulations as the proud parents.
“Oh, look, it’s Fluff.” Devon gave Mandy a hug, sticking up for Ethan while impeding his sister’s attempt to give him a good shove for using her old nickname, which came from the way Trish and Dad treated her—like she was fluff, incapable of taking care of herself.
“Why aren’t you smiling? You won!” Mandy declared. Nicola joined them, her babies at home with Todd.
“I am smiling, see?” Devon gave an exaggerated grin, fairly certain he looked similar to Jack Nicholson playing the Joker.
“Olivia broke up with you,” Nicola said with a gasp. Mandy’s eyes expanded and her jaw dropped.
“My cue to leave,” Ethan muttered. “You ready, Gramps?” Their grandfather was still fumbling with his shoes.
“Women,” Gramps grumbled.
“Tell me about. They leave at the first signs of distress.”
The two went limping off, commiserating.
Nicola and Mandy were still staring at Devon in shocked surprise. He took a step closer in case he had to muzzle them, then looked around for eavesdroppers even though their horrified expressions had probably already given everything away.
Mandy’s gaze turned sympathetic. “You need to go to her. Seriously, Demon Boy. I thought you were happy until I saw you engaged.”
The first time he and Olivia had broken up he’d wished he’d tried harder, let her know he still loved her, still wanted her.
And hadn’t he promised himself not to repeat his past mistakes?
Olivia had spent days in her hotel room writing press releases that often skirted around her personal life and instead focused on dealing with details related to the All You product line. She couldn’t wait to return home and have her real office back, be in her own space. But her father had decided that the core group from Carrington needed to spend another few days on retreat, brainstorming and having breakout sessions on how they could get the new line to market as soon as humanly possible. And then cut a few months off that schedule.
Thank goodness for Emma. She was amazing, taking on incredible amounts of detailed tasks and timelines, contingency plans and more—all stuff that made Olivia’s brain hurt, leaving her to deal with PR and marketing. Which felt…well, lackluster and boring.
She missed Devon. She was only hours away and every night she had to force herself to stay away.
But the worst was that with every release she wrote, trying to cover up the disaster, she realized just how much she’d let him down, how undeserving she was.
So instead of going to him, she cried herself to sleep. Instead of calling, she mentally begged for his forgiveness, prayed he understood why she was staying away.
She was so tired of her job. Spinning webs, creating images that weren’t fully accurate. When exactly had she become someone who directed everyone to look away from the issues? And even worse was the fact that Luke’s company, Cohen’s Blissful Body Care, had taken an image hit over the whole disaster as well. He’d stepped up, defending Carrington Cosmetics which had only served to have the media take a closer look at Cohen’s products’ ingredient lists.
Olivia had been grateful to have Jen’s wedding dress to work on for the first two nights. Something to absorb herself in, take her mind off the real world. When Olivia had left, right after the fitting, she’d had Ginger ship the dress to her so she wouldn’t leave Jen in the lurch. She told herself it would help Devon’s campaign—keeping her promise to the bride-to-be—but in reality she’d just wanted something creative to distract her, wanted to do something that would help a woman who was getting her happily ever after.
So she’d gone out and bought needles, thread and a stitch ripper, and had spent several wonderful hours in her own little world, doing the alterations by hand before sending it back in the nick of time for last weekend’s wedding.
However, the rush had been for nothing, as Ginger had communicated the news that the young family had come down with the flu the night before their big day. However, this weekend they would tie the knot—thanks to Olivia, who’d insisted the family take the reservations Mary Alice had indeed made on her and Devon’s behalf. And so, by the sound of things, the town was being its usual accommodating self and taking the last-minute change of plans in stride. It made Olivia want to be there.
Of course, with a change of plans there were a few hiccups, such as one of the bridesmaids not being able to make the new date. She just hoped it didn’t impinge on Jen’s courage to walk down the aisle. Olivia looked at her own ring, realizing the dream of her and Devon b
eing together was over. She slipped off the ring and set it on her desk with a sigh.
She swiped at her eyes and refocused her thoughts on the new product line instead of what was happening in Blueberry Springs. All You was going to happen. Really happen.
That should excite her. Just like the news of Devon winning the election had excited her. He had sent a text after she’d fallen asleep last night, letting her know he’d won.
It had been a disappointingly short message, but even so, she’d been truly happy for him. Not just because it meant that Carrington’s source of valerian was secured, but because Blueberry Springs would be in good hands. He was the right choice.
She looked at her phone. She wanted to call him, pass on her congratulations, hear his voice, find out if it was okay for them to be seen in public together.
But he hadn’t called her or reached out other than the one text, which suggested to her that things had been quite bad for him after she’d left, and he needed to keep his distance. They had definitely been bad for her in the news, so she completely understood.
Both of them were in damage control mode.
Still, she’d been hoping she’d be the first one he called when the votes came in. Carry the facade of them loving each other just a little further into his new life.
Feeling dejected, Olivia called her dog and leashed him, determined to shed her mind of everything.
In the lobby she bumped into Emma who was talking with Luke, heads bent over something he was holding.
“Luke!” Olivia came closer. “I thought you’d gone back with the rest of your company.”
“I missed you.”
“Me?” Olivia laughed in surprise.
“Is that so funny?”
“Just unexpected.” They were friends; it was ever so clear to all that they were nothing more. The companies didn’t need them to marry now that she’d secured the ingredients for All You. And Cohen’s had never really needed Carrington Cosmetics, anyway. It had been more a case of one old family friend trying to help out another. And in fact, much to Olivia’s chagrin, her recent bout of not-so-great publicity had given Cohen’s a bit of a black eye as well—thanks to Luke trying to defend Carrington to the press and instead resulting in the toxin light being shone on some of their products as well.
