Pinned against him, I could do nothing except explore his body with my hands. His chest felt like a solid plate of muscle, and I trailed my hands up and down his back as much as I had sense to. He shifted, pressing me to him, and I felt his firmness through his jeans.
“Oh—” I gasped.
Cairn broke our kiss and lazed his mouth along my jawline to my ear, sending tiny tremors through my charged body.
“I have wanted to do that since the first night I met you.”
“Good.” The word took immense effort because of my pounding heart.
He chuckled and pulled away, cupping my face in his hands, and rubbed one thumb along my cheek. “Fuck,” he exhaled. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” His fingers drifted over my lips, and I closed my eyes.
Cairn pressed his lips to mine again, this time with less urgency. He savored my mouth, licking and lapping and pulling until a groan I didn’t recognize escaped from somewhere deep inside me. Cairn groaned, too, and moved his hand between my legs.
I quivered at his light touch over the lace of my panties, and he sucked in a breath.
“You’re wet.”
An ache began to build, and Cairn glided his hands up my body to my breasts. He kissed me while he teased one nipple through the silk, grazing and stroking before moving to the other. God, I was getting so close. I arched my body into his hands until he suddenly broke our kiss and pushed me to my back. He inched his hands up my torso, taking my nightie with them.
I was burning with need, but this was happening so fast.
“I can’t—”
“I know,” he said, his voice thick. “We won’t.” He paused and studied at me, those languid eyes heating to burning pools. “Yet.”
Before I could say anything, he took my right nipple in his mouth and sucked hard, and I immediately bucked. He clamped one hand over my mouth to stifle me as I came, a storm of sensation, with Cairn at the center.
When the shocks subsided, he kissed my neck and then my chin, my mouth, my eyes, everywhere before pulling away.
“I have also wanted to do that since the first night I met you.”
Euphoric, I burst into laughter, and he clamped his hand over my mouth again. “My parents are down the hall,” he whispered, “and no matter how old you are, getting a girl off under your parents’ roof is, I think, always disrespectful.”
I pushed his hand from my mouth. “And yet, the good solicitor is doing it right here, and having fun while at it.” I grinned. It had been so long since I’d felt this good.
“And having fun,” he repeated, tracing my cheek with the back of two fingers. His gaze, as intent and interested as that first night, made me remember my nakedness. I tried to cover myself, but he caught my hands with his, linking his fingers in mine, and held them above my head.
“What is it?” I asked, uncertain.
“It’s just that this is the first time I’ve seen you so happy.”
I pursed my lips. I am happy. With you. But it’s more than just happiness …
A blade of fear, the kind that alleged miracles weren’t real, lanced my chest. I started to look away, but Cairn caught my chin.
“Bea, I have waited a long time for this, too. I’ll go slowly with you, and wait until you’re ready.” He swept his lips to my ear. “But you will be ready, and when you are, I intend to make you happy for a very long time.”
I was too stunned to understand what he meant.
“WE NEED TO HAVE a party,” Eleanor said at dinner a few weeks later. “On Friday. To celebrate everything that has happened since we met you, Bea.”
The donation was working. My stem cells engrafted into Lizzie’s bones, which were growing new, healthy marrow. I’d traded research days with hospital days and spent a lot of time conversing with her nurses and doctors. Everyone was filled with optimism for her recovery.
However, a chill had settled in me. My time in Scotland was almost over, and I’d gotten word about my next nursing assignment in the States.
I hadn’t found my family, either, but I no longer cared. What was I going to do without this family? The old feelings of not belonging anywhere returned, but it was the thought of leaving Cairn that edged a cold into my bones.
“Are you going to leave, Bea?” asked Ansley. I sought Cairn’s eyes across the table. Late nights at the hospital had darkened them, and he clenched his jaw. We didn’t talk about the what-ifs. I was too afraid to broach the subject.
“Yes,” I said at my plate. “I have to go back to my job.”
“So it will be like a going-away party?” Ansley sounded worried. I glanced at Cairn again, who suddenly stood and walked into the kitchen, Eleanor close behind.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
The restaurant Eleanor picked for the party was located along a side street Cairn and I had walked many times at night. Oval glass chandeliers spilled champagne-colored light through long windows, and vases of ivory roses—most early-bloomers from Eleanor’s garden—dotted the old tables that were interspersed with flickering candles, silver glassware, and ferns.
Before we walked through the antique doors, Cairn pulled me aside and kissed me, the ardor and generosity behind it flooring me. Already fighting back tears I didn’t want him to see, I hid my face in his neck.
“I have a surprise for you tonight. Don’t leave my side,” he said into my ear.
He would never understand how much I didn’t want to.
Eleanor had invited all the Brightwell family and friends, so I didn’t recognize many faces. This didn’t stop the line of people who wanted to hug me or kiss me for what I’d done for Lizzie. An overwhelming, almost unbearable, love for these people filled my body.
After a while, Max held a glass high and clinked a knife to it. “Everybody, gather ‘round, please,” he said.
Cairn pulled me to his side, and I closed my eyes against his warmth. So much had happened in three months—so many unexpected and joyful things—but the best part was this. How was I going to live without it? The thought of my plane surging into the sky made me tense. Cairn sensed it and pulled me closer.
“We Brightwells have many things to celebrate tonight,” Max said. “Friends. Family. Second chances. But above all this, love.” He rested his gaze on Eleanor, who held her children. Max then shifted to me.
“A few months ago, my wife got an email from a girl far away. This girl was searching for a miracle of sorts. She was searching for her family.” Cairn rested his cheek on top of my head, and my throat tightened.
“Now, as it turns out, we were searching for a miracle, too. And it came to us in you, dear Bea. Our Lizzie is in the hospital tonight, but she’s still with us because of you.” Max’s voice broke, and my tears started to fall. “What is a family, Bea? What do you think it really is?”
My heart knew the answer. Had known it all along.
“A family is anyone who loves you.”
This time, tears spilled down Max’s cheeks. “Aye, dear girl, that’s right. And we love you. That makes you our family.” A sob escaped my mouth. For what we had lost to get here. For the love that had been waiting all along.
“But it’s not me who needs to tell you that. Cairn, my son?”
I quickly wiped my tears as Cairn released me to retrieve a long tube wrapped in silver and ivory paper.
“For you,” he said, his outstretched hand shaking.
“A going-away gift?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“More like a coming-home gift.”
But I didn’t hear him as I unwrapped the tube and pulled out a thick parchment scroll. When I unrolled it, I saw it was my family tree. A watercolor Scots pine, the national tree of Scotland, arched in the background, and over its branches silver lines linked the lineage I knew. Cairn had copied the entries from my worn page and made me a beautiful map of my family.
I touched the paper and traced the names along the branches, as I had done over and over again with my original tree.
“I know we didn’t find many answers,” Cairn said. “Or your flesh and blood family, Bea. But it’s my hope that you found something more. Because I know I have.”
I stopped at my name, and everything that had spun in me for two years finally stilled.
More was here. A new branch connected my name to a whole family: Max Brightwell. Eleanor Brightwell. Brian Brightwell. Ansley Brightwell. Lizzie Brightwell.
And Cairn Brightwell.
A thick silver line linked my name to Cairn’s, and on that line was a ring.
“Bea, look at me.”
I couldn’t stop the tears. Cairn cupped my face as he spoke.
“Oh, Bea. When you stepped into our house, I knew my life would change. I saw you, and I couldn’t breathe. Here was this wee thing who came all this way alone to find her family. I was so impressed by your courage and your drive. I wanted to help you find what you deserve. But as I got to know you, other things impressed me, too. Your intelligence, your humor, your beauty. I fell in love with you. And then you did the unexpected.” That low voice tripped with emotion. “You saved my sister.”
His next words opened a new doorway to forever. “You’ve given us all a second chance with Lizzie, but you’ve given me a second chance with love. One I’m not going to waste.”
He plucked the ring from the tree. Lowering himself, he took my hand in his.
“You are my miracle. You are my family. And I love you, Bea. Will you marry me and let me be your family?”
I knew at that moment that I wanted to be part of this story for the rest of my life.
“Yes,” I cried. “Yes!” Cheers erupted around the room as Cairn pushed the ring on my finger. Before I could say another word, he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me into the air. He kissed me deeply, and I laughed when he finally released me.
“What’s so funny?” he murmured.
“You told me that you would make me happy for a long time. I guess you’ll have to start tonight.” With joy, I touched that wave of dark hair.
“Yes?” he said, his eyes growing bright.
“Aye,” I corrected. “And for the rest of our lives.”
Brandi Willis Schreiber has imagined romance stories her entire life in her head but only recently started writing them down. A graduate of Texas Tech University, she has a master’s degree in English literature and uses her love for nature, travel, poetry, and everything beautiful to fuel her fiction, which will always have a happy ending. Her work has appeared in All Things Dickinson: An Encyclopedia of Emily Dickinson’s World, The Texas Review, Red River Review, and elsewhere. This is her first published romance short story, and for that she’s over the moon. Brandi lives with her husband, rescue dog, and other wild creatures in her beloved West Texas.
Connect with her at http://www.brandiwillisschreiber.com, on Twitter (@bwschreiber), and on Facebook (authorbrandiwillisschreiber).
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Second Chance
Ford,
No, I have not changed my mind. This is it. My second chance. Finally, after four years of college, I’m returning to our little dinky hometown for two weeks. Moreover, during those two weeks, I fully plan on getting with Wesley Givens, former high school quarterback and my adolescent crush. Stop trying to talk me out of it.
— Lana
P.S. Don’t forget to pick me up at the train station on Friday.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Second Chances Suck
Lana-Banana,
And as I told you last week (plus every night since via text), this little plan of yours is flawed. However, you appear determined to follow through despite my warnings and multiple uses of emoji. Who can resist the smiling poo?
Despite my countless attempts to remove all memories of Wesley from your mind over the past four years—and I admit going to different colleges made the task harder—you seem set in your ways. For the last time, here’s a list of reasons you shouldn’t try this:
1. Wes Givens was a total douche-lord in high school. Must assume he wore some kind of invisible anti-douche shield when he was around you. Will consult various comic books about said garment.
2. You are so much better than Wesley Givens. You, my friend, are cool, fun, and kind. Three adjectives that could never be used to describe Wes the Less.
3. Wouldn’t you rather spend these two weeks as a carefree, recently graduated, soon-to-be law student? You’re about to move to Washington, DC. This makes you infinitely better than Wes-peaked-in-high-school-Givens.
Heed the advice of your oldest (and coolest—even if I wasn’t cool in high school due to lack of high school footballing) friend. Avoid Wesley Givens.
P.S. Train station — Friday night — check.
P.P.S. I’ve missed you.
THE TRAIN HORN LETS out a loud welcome, and I step down the steps and onto the platform. My bags weigh a ton. Thank God my parents drove to Syracuse for my graduation and brought most of my stuff home with them. No way would I have been able to drag everything else through all the train changes and switches back to Pennsylvania.
“Lana-Banana.”
I hear Ford’s distinctive bellow as it mixes with the other noises of the train station. The chug of the engine as the train moves again, the voices of people reuniting, and the scraping of luggage wheels against the concrete.
I smile in spite of myself. Ford Campbell has been my best friend since the fourth grade. Ever since the day some kid was making fun of him in the cafeteria, and I decided to show my support in the only way a nine-year-old could. I made him a red-and-blue friendship bracelet. Then we were forever linked as best friends. A weird notion, I’ve always thought, since we are complete opposites. Apparently, the saying is true and opposites do attract because we’ve always been inseparable.
Well, until we went to different colleges. But I was only in upstate New York and Ford was in Boston. So, we still got to visit a couple of times a year. Besides, it’s not like we live in the Dark Ages. We’ve texted on a daily basis for the past four years and FaceTimed like every other day.
Now that I think about it, he should totally be sick of me.
Only Ford never gets sick of me. That’s one of his better qualities, I’ve always thought.
Bounding over to me with his signature lopsided grin, floppy brown hair, and light green eyes, I can’t help but smile. Ford is the most positive, optimistic person I know.
He wraps me in a big, chest-crushing hug and I smile against his … whoa. When did Ford’s chest become so hard and muscular? Pulling away, I give him a long onceover. His arms are a lot bigger than I remember, too. I think back to the last time we were together. I guess a lot can change in one whole school year.
“Are you ogling me, Banana?”
“Are you on steroids, Campbell? Or do you spend every waking second at the gym? Wouldn’t that get in the way of your incessant comic book reading and crazy-boring computer programming?”
I tease him, but Ford is the smartest person I know. He left MIT with about a hundred job offers. After months of agonizing, he narrowed it down to two different positions. One is in San Francisco, and the other one is in Washington, DC. Guess which one I hope he takes?
“She comes off the train in rare form, everyone,” he announces to the platform of dwindling pedestrians.
I roll my eyes because I’m honestly not sure what else to do besides openly stare at my suddenly kinda-hot best friend. “Ha. Ha. Ha. You are so hilarious. Why don’t you stop being such a goober and help me with these bags.”
“I thought your parents were up a couple of weeks ago to help you with yo
ur stuff,” he says as he grabs my two heavier bags as if they weigh no more than a paperback book.
“They were.” I look over at him as we walk through the door that will take us to the tiny parking lot. The Cherrydale train station is less of a station and more of a platform attached to a parking lot with one tiny vending machine that has been out of order more years than I’ve been in college.
“Coulda fooled me,” he says and points toward his car. “Bet they were bummed they couldn’t be here when you got home.”
“Totes,” I say and climb into the front seat. “But they had that wedding for my dad’s boss’s daughter. They’re making a whole weekend out of it.”
Ford laughs and puts the car into drive. As we make our way from the train station and through our super small central Pennsylvania town, I do my usual inventory of the area, noting what’s changed (not much) and what’s new (also, not much).
Letting out a sigh, I lean my head against the headrest. I don’t think I can ever live in this small town again. Washington, DC, will definitely be a welcomed adjustment. I still can’t believe I’ll be starting Georgetown Law in two short weeks. Ahhhh.
“Tired?” Ford asks.
“Nah. Just feeling … introspective,” I decide.
“Well, if that’s all.” He makes a turn onto my parents’ street. “I happened to hear of a party that one certain redhead might like to attend tonight.”
I turn said red-haired head in his direction. “Someone in this town is having a party?”
“Ran into Sam this morning. Some girl who was a year younger than us is returning to college next week, so she’s throwing a sort of alumni homecoming and end-of-summer party tonight. Should be some people from our year, too.”
My heart starts beating fast. “Really?”
I watch Ford roll his eyes. “Yes, really. Seriously, Lan? Is this whole hook-up-with-Wes-Givens plan still green-lit?”
SECOND CHANCES: A ROMANCE WRITERS OF AMERICA® COLLECTION Page 34
