by Melody Grace
My thoughts are interrupted by the bell above the door. I quickly wipe powdered sugar from my face in case it’s a client, but instead, Marcie waltzes back in. She’s tanned and smiling, and instead of her usual business outfits, she’s in loose pants and a tank top, her usually blown-straight hair in riotous natural curls.
“You’re back!” I leap to my feet. “I didn’t know you were coming so soon. How were the islands?” I ask.
“Oh, just blissful.” Marcie beams. “Hi Lottie, you look well. Is that boy of yours behaving himself?”
“Just about.” Lottie smiles and packs up her things. “I was just heading out. Nice to see you!”
Good luck, she mouths at me as she heads for the door.
Marcie bustles through to her office, and I take a deep breath. I didn’t think I’d see her so soon, so I haven’t prepared any pitch about taking over the business, but I don’t need to jump to that right away. If I just update her with how great things have been running, I’ll see if she says anything about getting back to Florida anytime soon and leave it there for now.
I head over to her office and give her a quick update on everything that’s been happening. “And Liv Sullivan had her offer accepted too,” I say proudly. “We got it under asking price, too.”
“Mmm? That’s great.” Marcie glances at her phone. She seems distracted when she should be seriously happy right now. She took off on a two-week cruise, and while she was gone, I delivered a truckload of happy clients and earned the agency a ton of commissions. That should get me more than a vague smile, right? But either way, this next news is sure to knock her socks off.
“And I brought in a new client,” I say proudly. “The Callahan Group. Exclusive on all their new developments.”
Marcie finally looks up. “That’s wonderful, honey. Great job. I knew you’d take care of things while I was away.”
I take a seat. “So you had a good time?” I ask.
“The best.” She smiles. “Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Time to think about things, get clarity on the future . . .”
“Right.” I nod, enthusiastic.
“And that’s what I wanted to talk about.” Marcie finally puts her phone aside, and gives me a big smile. “We’ve had a great run here, but Bob and I are ready for a change. We’ve been talking for a while, and while we were gone, we made the big decision. We’re going to move down and take the boat out full-time.”
Yes!
I manage to keep from punching the air with delight. “That sounds great,” I say instead. “You’ll have an amazing time. You’ve earned it,” I add, and she laughs.
“I should say.”
“And you don’t need to worry, the business will be in safe hands,” I add, feeling something other than heartbroken for the first time all week. This is it, everything I’ve been working so hard to achieve. Marcie’s not the only one who’s earned her change: I put in the hours, hustled hard, and now here it is, my own business at last.
“Yes, it will be,” Marcie agrees. “I’ve already talked to Ron, and he’s excited to expand to include our little office.”
I stare. “Ron?” I echo, confused.
“Ron Parsons, you know, from Parsons Realty up in Wilmington. And don’t worry, I already told him what a great agent you are, and he’s promised to keep your job open, to start with anyway.”
I’m stunned. She can’t be serious! Ron freaking Parsons. He with the lime green polo shirts and hard-sell tactics, all smug and hair-gelled. She’s selling the business to him?
“But Marcie, I wanted to talk to you about it,” I start, trying to keep calm and professional. “I was thinking I could take over.”
Marcie blinks. “You?”
“I have savings,” I tell her. “And I could get a business loan, work out some kind of payment plan.”
She gives me a patronizing smile. “I applaud your ambition, but honey, you’re much too young.”
I bristle. “I closed fifty-three deals in the past year.”
“So many?” Marcie looks surprised. She would be. She’s done barely one tenth of that business herself. I can only hope she takes a beat to reconsider, but then she shakes her head. “You’re a great saleswoman, but Ron has a whole team behind him, he knows how the business works.”
“Please,” I beg, getting desperate. “Give me a chance, just hear me out. If you’re worried I can’t handle it, I’ll put together a business plan for you; we can sit down together at the bank!”
“Oh sweetie, I wish I could.” Marcie doesn’t seem that regretful. “But Ron and I already shook hands on it, weeks ago. The contracts are all drawn up. It’s for the best,” she adds, comforting. “You’re young, you don’t want the stress of managing a place like this. You just keep on selling, and soon you’ll have other things to worry about, like a family.”
Is she serious? I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying something I’ll regret.
“Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Marcie suggests brightly. “Go treat yourself, have some fun. Whatever you want!”
I wander back out into the office, dazed. I can’t believe it, that I’ve been busting my ass for so long, and it’s all for nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing. I grab my bag and open the door—and find Lottie sitting on the steps. She gets up, and I can tell from the sympathy on her face that she’s heard every word through the open windows.
“I need a drink,” I sigh.
“I know something even better.”
Five minutes later, we’re sat at Franny’s bakery with a table full of cake.
“Too young!” I echo Marcie’s words, angrily waving my fork. “I’ve been keeping that place afloat for years!”
“Mmmhmm,” Lottie murmurs supportively.
“Does she even care about the clients?” I continue, fuming. “She’s passing them all off on Ron. Ron! His agents don’t know the area, not like me. They’re all flashy suits and no soul, they won’t care about anyone at all. Do you think they’d go help a client break into his new house at three in the morning because he’s left the keys inside? Or mop the basement on their hands and knees when a pipe busts and the buyers are due to arrive any minute?”
“Here, try the chocolate.” Lottie slides a plate closer, and I take a big mouthful.
“I’ve been working for this. I deserve this.”
“So do it yourself.”
I pause my rant. “What do you mean?”
Lottie shrugs. “Set up on your own. You said yourself nobody knows this town like you do. The agency clients are only there because you take such good care of them,” she adds. “Who do you think they’d choose between you and this Ron guy? You have the money saved, you’ve got your real estate license, so why not go into business for yourself and run the competition out of town?”
I pause, a forkful of cake halfway to my mouth. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner, it makes perfect sense. “I guess I figured I needed the agency for the legal stuff, the clients . . .”
“Hire a lawyer, woo the clients,” Lottie replies. “Simple.”
And it is. I could have everything I wanted, without needing Marcie or anyone else’s permission. But thinking about going out on my own, I can’t help feeling sad all over again. Will would want me to do it. He was my cheerleader, always on my side. I’d never known a guy like that before: someone who really wanted me to succeed, and didn’t get jealous or want to cut me down to size.
“You’re thinking about Will again,” Lottie says, sympathetic. “You get this look, like someone just stomped on your heart. Eat some more cake.”
“Cake won’t help, not when he’s off with her.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Lottie finally looks impatient. “You’re Delilah Morgan. You never just sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You hustle and get it done.”
I shake my head. “Save the pep talk,” I tell her. “I’m still trying to figure all this out.”
“Don’t wait too
long,” she warns me. “He may say he’ll wait, but life gets in the way sometimes. By the time you make a decision, the chance might be gone.”
“Gee, thanks.” I give a hollow laugh. “Real supportive.”
Lottie grins. “You said to cut the pep talk! It’s OK, babe,” she says, patting my shoulder. “Life may suck right now, but at least you’ve got carbs.”
We sit and devour our body weights in cake until Kit gets out of playgroup, and I walk home. The boat trailer is still parked outside my place. I need to get it hitched and driven down to the creek again, but now, I find myself climbing up and hauling myself inside.
I sit on one of the benches and look around. The old, splintered boards are nowhere to be seen, but there are new things too: a set of waterproof pillows, tucked in a case, and a sturdy built-in box that will be perfect for my fishing gear. I feel a flood of emotion, seeing what he’s done for me. Will’s work is flawless, the wood smooth and polished. He must have worked hours on this, keeping it a secret from me the whole time, putting such care and attention into every piece.
My heart twists. God, I miss him so much. How is it that someone can become a part of your life so fast, it’s like they’ve always been there? Being with him, it felt so easy, like we’d always been there, and always would be.
“Permission to come aboard?”
I snap out of my thoughts, surprised to find someone on the sidewalk. “Daddy!” I blink, confused to see him standing there in his work shirt and tie. “What are you doing here?”
“Your mom suggested I stop by.” He climbs up onto the trailer and steps in the boat. “Look at this thing,” he says, sounding wistful. “I can’t believe he’s still around.”
“I thought he was a goner, but Will fixed him,” I explain.
Dad takes a seat on the bench opposite me and loosens his tie. He must have driven down straight from the office, but I’m still confused. I can’t remember the last time we even met without Mom around. It was back before everything happened; since then, I’ve kept our visits to family dinners and holidays.
“I still remember the time you caught your first ten-pounder,” he says, a nostalgic smile on his tanned, weathered face. “You can’t have been more than nine years old.”
“Eight,” I say, softening at the memory.
“We spent some good times out on the creek in this old thing.” Dad pats the wood. “We should do it again sometime, if you’d like,” he adds, a hopeful note in his voice.
I nod slowly. “Maybe.”
There’s silence. Dad lets out a sigh. “Your mom told me you and Will were having some problems—”
“Dad.” I cut him off quickly. He’s the last person I want to talk to about forgiveness and betrayal right now.
“No, you need to hear this,” he insists. His eyes are on me, full of sadness and regret. “I know things aren’t right between the two of us, and they haven’t been since . . . what I did. And I’m sorry about that, sweetheart, you have to know I’m sorry. But those were my mistakes, not his,” he says gently. “I just don’t want you punishing him because I’m the one who really let you down.”
Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them. “You hurt me,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“And I’m scared that if I give him the chance, he’ll hurt me like that, too.”
My dad looks at me sadly. “Maybe he will. Who can say? But maybe he’ll turn out to be a better man than I ever was.”
Now I can’t hold the tears back. “You’re not bad,” I tell him. Dad fishes in his pocket, and passes me a handkerchief. I blow my nose messily into the cotton. “How do you still have these?” I ask, sniffling.
“I’ve learned they come in handy sometimes. It was how I met your mother, you know,” he adds, with a nostalgic smile. “She was having trouble with her new contact lenses, just standing in the street with tears streaming down her face. I thought she was crying her eyes out; I offered to help beat the man who upset her. She laughed and laughed. I was dressed in my tennis clothes at the time, so I guess I didn’t strike the most threatening figure,” he adds, rueful. “But the offer stands, if you want.”
“What, you’ll go knock Will out?” I can’t even imagine that. My father gets squeamish even taking a spider outside. “Thanks, but I’m not sure that would work out too well, for either of you.”
“I don’t know.” Dad looks relieved to see my smile. “There’s some fight in the old dog yet, especially when it comes to my baby girl.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
“You’ll always be my baby girl,” he corrects me, looking kind of watery around the eyes too now. “And I hope . . . well, I hope that one day we can go fishing again.”
I pause, regret aching in my chest. This is the closest and most honest we’ve been with each other in years. “I’d like that, too,” I agree quietly.
We sit in silence for a moment, then my dad gets to his feet. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
I rise too, and offer him a hand as he steps back out onto the trailer flat-bed. He pauses.
“I just want you to be happy, you know that. But I will say something, coming from the other side of the story.” Dad looks solemn. “Hurting you and your mother was the worst thing I ever did. It still haunts me, and I’ve spent every day since earning back her trust, and making it so she never has to question how much I love her ever again. I don’t know much about your Will,” he says, “but he seemed like the kind of man who would spend a lifetime setting things right.”
He climbs down and leaves me to my whirling thoughts. I notice that the handkerchief has fallen, so I bend down to pick it up. That’s when I notice the writing carved into the side of the boat, almost hidden down by the bench. I kneel to take a closer look.
This was the day I fell in love with you.
My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh, I feel like I just got winded. Hard.
Will.
There aren’t enough words for how I feel thinking about him, remembering that afternoon in the water, his lips burning hot in the icy creek. And later, together at his place . . . how he knew just how to touch me, drive me to the edge, as if he could read my mind, knowing I’d never let myself fall like that before, but promising to catch me regardless.
It was the only time I’ve ever felt something so deep, a connection beyond anything I could imagine, and now, I feel a regret so bittersweet it makes me want to cry.
Am I really going to give all this up because of one mistake?
My heart aches. I remember what my mom said, about choosing a life with Dad rather than one without him. It seemed so clinical at the time, but now, I see it wasn’t about making a calculation, it wasn’t about rational thought at all.
It was just about love.
And for the first time, I understand.
Yes, it hurts, and yes, I still feel like Will betrayed me by not telling me everything, but right now when I think about the future, and what I want from my life, all I can think about is him. Laughing and talking and driving each other crazy with desire. Waking up with him as dawn breaks through the windows and feeling him reach for me in the middle of the night. I want it so much, I can’t stand it. A life together, my partner, my cheerleader.
My love.
God, just a couple of weeks without him has already been an eternity. How am I supposed to get through another sixty years without him by my side?
I pull out my cellphone and dial. “Eva?” I ask, when she picks up. “About that trip you suggested . . . can I stay tonight?”
My head is still spinning, but I know what I have to do.
“I’m coming to New York.”
Twenty-Two.
Thanks to my credit card and a last-minute flight, here I am less than twenty-four hours later: walking the busy New York sidewalks towards Will’s last known address, wondering if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life by putting my heart on the line like this.
&nb
sp; Or if I already made that mistake, letting him walk away.
“He’ll be so happy to see you,” Eva reassures me, walking alongside. I stayed at her place last night, and even roped her into coming with me now, in case I lose my nerve. “You guys will fall into each other’s arms, make out, and live happily ever after.”
“I hope so.”
She makes it sound like a foregone conclusion, but my stomach is twisted up in knots, and every step makes my pulse race with sick anticipation. I look around to distract myself, but it’s not comforting either. “This is so weird, I just can’t picture Will here at all.”
It’s a neighborhood down near the financial district, all sleek doorman buildings, chrome and glass. Everyone on the streets is polished and chic, striding off somewhere with no time to spare. It’s another world from the man I knew: two-day stubble, work-boots and jeans, living in that shack in the woods, and never happier.
But I guess we’re not in Oak Harbor anymore.
“Are you sure you got the right address?” Eva asks, as if she’s not convinced either.
I check again. “I think so. His friend, Declan, says this is where Will had him send some contracts over the weekend.”
“It’ll be fine.” Eva can clearly tell how scared I am, because she puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “This was his old life, remember? He already chose to leave it all behind.”
I nod, but inside, my doubts are still swirling. What if he’s already chosen to go back to all of this?
What if I’m too late, and I pushed him away so hard that he’s really gone for good?
We reach the address, one of the fancy new buildings, but I pause on the sidewalk, still unsure. “He might not even be here,” I say, looking up at it. “Or maybe he is, with her.”
“Then we’ll cuss him out and go see Hamilton,” Eva replies brightly. “And drink until you feel better—or so hung over it doesn’t matter anymore.”
I manage a faint smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“Always. Now go get him back.” She gives me a light shove towards the entrance, so I gather up my strength and step through the revolving glass doors. Inside, the lobby is all marble and minimal, and it takes me a moment to even find the elevators. I step into one behind a couple of guys in suits, and watch them check their phones, so clean-cut and focused, barely glancing at their surroundings like on autopilot before they reach their floor.
