He draws near, and I halt my pacing.
“I’m not afraid,” I choke through oncoming tears.
“It’s okay to be afraid. But it’s also okay to conquer those fears. Brandon left a hole in your heart, and you’re trying to fill it with excuses, with short-term relationships, with your work—”
“Stop it,” I cry shakily. A lone, hot tear stings my cheek like Chad’s words sting my heart.
“You do need to let go. Let go of the fear.” He places a firm hand on my waist, causing tingles to run up and down my spine at a rapid rate.
“Chad, enough.” I sniff back the tears. “Look, we’ve had our talk, we’ve come clean, and now I think we just have to move on.”
“Move on to where?”
I take a step back towards the door, his grip on my waist letting up only some. “I don’t know…” I mutter.
If Chad and I aren’t going to try a relationship, what does that mean for our friendship? Is this the end?
I didn’t think it possible, but my stomach starts to ache even more, my head feels light, my heart pounding so hard it hurts now.
“Look.” He tightens his grip on my waist and draws close. His breath is warm on my face. “I want to give us a chance,” he whispers. “When you’re ready to let go of your fear and give us a chance, you know where to find me.”
He looks at me longingly through a lengthy and tingling silence before bringing his face closer to mine, so close his lips are poised just above my own.
“When you’re ready,” he whispers, his eyes growing glossy. His lips press quickly and firmly to my forehead, and, as abruptly as his misguided kiss came, he brushes on past me and reaches for the door.
The rush of tears return and sting my throat as he turns and says, “Goodbye, Sophie.” He casts his eyes so quickly to the ground and ducks out into the night without another word, leaving me with a question on the tip of my tongue.
Where do we go from here?
Chapter Forty-Eight
“I’m just so excited, Sophie!” Claire screams into the phone for the third time.
“You should be, Claire,” I say quite loudly into the receiver.
“It’s not like I’m actually pregnant yet, but can you imagine the excitement when I am?!” she bellows. “Omigod! O…my…god!”
I tell her that the world will rock and angels proclaim, “At last!” when she’s got a bun in the oven.
“I’m so glad Conner finally came around,” she puffs.
“I told you he would. Patience—it’s all about the patience.”
The time has finally arrived. Conner’s proven to have a solid career in Spokane, Claire enjoys her work at the hospital, they’re even talking of turning in their renter’s papers for owner’s papers, and they have decided it’s time to start thinking about expanding the Whitley clan.
“I’ve been droning on and on about my news,” Claire says after she’s informed me with much gusto (and a few too many descriptive details) that she and Conner are officially trying to get pregnant. “So tell me, have you heard?”
“It’s done,” I sing. I give the double batch of buttery pâte brisée a few good and hard whacks with a rolling pin. “Rose is officially a Holman.”
“Squee! Omigod!”
“I know!” I squeal loudly just for the heck of it. It is, without a doubt, some of the best news. Ever.
“So Brandon signed? It’s done? He’s…like…gone?” Claire’s thunderstruck.
“It’s all done. Robin called an hour ago saying they were leaving the courthouse, papers were signed, Brandon’s on his plane already headed back to NYC and outta here!”
“Jeez, I bet she’s relieved.” Claire sighs. “I bet you are!”
“I am, but you know I’ve forgiven that whole ordeal a long time ago.”
“I know, but still.”
“In fact,” I say, slightly turning the conversation. I pound harder at the disc of dough I’ll be using for some pies—a classic apple and a scrumptious peach-cherry. “I know I won’t ever forget what happened.”
“Of course not,” Claire says understandingly.
“And I won’t ever forget Brandon.”
“So try.”
At the sound of the oven timer, I drop the greasy rolling pin and saunter gaily to the ovens.
I can’t help but be in a positive mood, even though the whole Chad thing still rests kind of unsettlingly over my head. Today’s a special day. Rose, Phillip, Robin, and Bobby are one official family. Well, all right, they always were, but that little piece of paper saying Rose is a Holman is that cherry on top of that cupcake. It just…completes everything.
“The facts are the facts, Claire.” I remove from the oven a perfect batch of purple macarons, what will be the fifth batch of black currant and dark chocolate treats this week.
“What are you saying?” she asks, interest piqued judging from her tone.
“Brandon’s a part of my history, always will be. I can forgive, can’t really forget, and that’s all right. I can move on. I can stop…being afraid.” I smile to myself.
I tell Claire that Chad’s right; I’ve been running in fear and using every excuse in the book—from Brandon to The Cup and the Cake, even my choppy history with Chad—to keep from moving forward. No wonder I can’t find love! I’m Sophie Wharton, single and scared.
“Valid points,” Claire says. “So, what now?”
“Oh, the question that’s been on my mind twenty-four-seven,” I exasperate as I return to my pâte brisée, giving the macarons a few minutes to cool.
“Well, as Conner would say, piss or get off the pot.”
“I love ya, Claire,” I say with a laugh. “So you two still thinking of coming in May? You know Emily emailed to confirm she’s got her ticket and will be here that last week? If you aren’t here, aww, girl…”
“You think I’d miss an opportunity to see you? To see Emily? To see Lara before she runs off to Chicago?!” She gasps. “Unbelievable, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but, I’ve got to tell you, life throws some serious curveballs. What I’ve gone through with Chad here…I’m beginning to feel like nothing can surprise me anymore.”
“It is an adventure,” she says in a dreamy voice. “So you think she’ll have a big wedding, what with her mom being a planner and all? You know she kicked ass with my wedding?”
I laugh and tell her I don’t really peg Lara as the type who’d go to Tulle Town on a wedding. Then again, would I peg her as the type to stop Worth mid-sentence at a dinner downtown to offer him what she called “a romantic business proposition”? Right there, in between the salad starter and soup second, Lara popped the question to Worth. It wasn’t on bended knee or with a ring or anything. (That’s how Worth did it a few days later in Olympic Sculpture Park.) But Lara laid her cards on the table, said she loved him, said she felt it was time to make this move in life. She wants to live closer to her mom, she’s ready for a change in her career, and she wants Worth to go with her, as her husband.
I told her she had some serious guts putting herself out there like that, and she just said sometimes you’ve got to put it on the line—take that risk. (And, she added, at thirty-two, she’s not going to play the sitting duck any more.)
“Whatever Lara and Worth have planned, I’m sure it’ll be beautiful,” I say to Claire.
“Do you know when it’s planned?”
“No clue. But no worries, Claire.” I titter. “You’ll get an invite. We’ll all be there.”
“Oh, this is so fun! You know, being over in Spokane away from you all isn’t so bad. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it isn’t great, but it’s not as bad as I feared.”
“Oh yeah? You and that Stacey best buds?” I tease.
I give the dough another good beating before rubbing more flour on the pin. Slowly and carefully I roll the pin along the disc, drawing a larger and more circular shape.
“Oh, yeah, Stacey’s great,” Claire replies. “But she’s no
t you. She’s not Robin or Lara, or Emily or Jackie.”
“Of course not.”
“I miss you girls,” she says in a bittersweet kind of way. “But it isn’t that bad, because we all stay in touch. It’s like, you always wonder with friendships if you really have what it takes to last, you know? You wonder if you’d really be close friends if you weren’t living right next door.”
“True.”
“Turns out I’ve got some pretty awesome girlfriends.” She sighs in an upbeat way, then blurts out, “Well, I need to drink some apple juice, put a warm pad on my tummy, and take an ovulation test.”
“You what?” I laugh so abruptly and hard I nearly roll the pin straight off the dough and onto the steel tabletop.
“It’s this whole really strict fertility regimen,” she explains. “I’m using, like, five different techniques, cross-referencing everything.”
“Claire, you’re a hoot.”
“Hoot or no hoot, this woman’s getting knocked up.”
“Well, you do that. I’m going to get back to work,” I say at the sound of the next oven timer, indicating the finished batch of peanut butter and chocolate cookies. “I promised Robin I’d have a whole slew of cupcakes ready to celebrate Rose’s big day, and I’ve got loads of things to bake in addition.”
“Yuu-mm-y,” she sings. “Oh! And good luck with your thing.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “If I don’t find someone to help out here soon—”
“Not that, you dummy. Chad. Good luck with figuring that out.”
“Oh,” I say, monotone. “That. Yeah. Well…I’m taking my time.” I pull the cookies from the oven.
“Your sweet time!”
“I want to do things right, Claire,” I say. “Besides, he said when I was ready for my answer I could find him. Whether I stand by my original choice to move on and try to just be friends, or just sit in limbo, or…” I sigh loudly. “I don’t know. I’m working on it.”
“You talk to him since then?”
I feel sheepish as I tell her no.
“You still feel the same? You want him?”
I breathe in deeply, bite my tongue, and say in a small voice, “Yeah.” I exhale loudly. “But I don’t know if we could really work things out.”
“Well, you’ll figure it out eventually. I love you. Talk to you tomorrow?”
“You’ve got it,” I say as Oliver appears. “Love ya. Later.”
“Sophie?” Oliver says as I hang up the phone.
“I know, I know. I’m moving kind of slowly.” I rapidly transfer the hot cookies to the cooling rack. “Give these babies a minute to slightly cool and—”
“You’re needed up front.”
“Oh no.” I roll my eyes, instantly thinking I have to deal with a fellow store owner who’s not exactly happy with the amount of garbage The Cup and the Cake has, and come Friday it’s always evident, the day before trash picks up, that I tend to take more trash bin space than his party supply store.
“Is it that crabby guy two doors down complaining about the trash overload aga—”
“No,” Oliver says without any expression.
“Angry customer?”
“Just get up there,” he says, his accent thicker than usual as he speaks rather gruffly.
As I pass by Oliver, he rests a hand on my arm and whispers, “If you need to take it outside, I totally have you covered. Just give me the code.”
“Okay,” I say through a nervous laugh. I pat him on the shoulder and make my way to the front.
“Yes?” I say to no one in particular as I slip behind the front counter. “Can I—”
“Hi, Sophie.”
“Chad!” I rest my hands on the countertop and watch in bewilderment as Chad slowly meanders through the web of café chairs and tables, most of them filled with chattering customers.
“I know, cat and mouse,” he says with a shrug, both hands snug in his pants pockets.
I’m so confused. I thought he’d say he’d give me time? It’s been, what? Three days? I know I still have feelings for him, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with them! I don’t know if it’s healthy for us to take things further, or for us to walk away, or—
“I agreed to give you time—whatever time you needed,” he says. He looks down at the ground as he steps closer.
“Yes. Yes, you did. But—”
“You know how I feel about you, and I know how you feel about me.”
“Y-yes,” I stammer.
“That’s enough for me.” He stops at the opposite side of the counter, and when I’m sure he’ll lean forward, perhaps lean on those tattooed arms of his and give me a cocky smile, he surprises me and stops in his tracks. He casts his glance downward.
“And that’s enough for you,” he says, “because that’s all we need.” He lifts up his head, cocked to the side, and presses his lips together tightly. His hands are still snug in his pockets. He’s so close, yet feels far as he fixes me with those dark, coffee-browns of his.
“Chad.” I survey the café, relieved that no one seems to be the least bit interested in the dramatic ridiculousness that’s unfolding before them.
“Sophie,” he says in a light tone. Hands still in pockets, he moves slowly forward, turning the corner. He advances to my spot behind the counter.
I say his name in a warning way. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“I’ve waited in the shadows before, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the love of my life slip between my fingers again.” He takes a now-trembling hand of mine in his, and a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, the corner where I can see the slight hole left behind from a once ever-so-obnoxious lip ring.
“I’m willing to risk it all to be with you, Sophie. I want a chance and I’m not going to let anymore time pass between us.” He squeezes my hand and draws closer.
“Chad, you’re making a scene.”
His grin widens into a smile. “I haven’t even begun to make a scene.”
“Chad, don’t.”
“Uh oh. Sophie losing control?” he teases.
“Stop it.” My voice is low and hoarse. “Please.”
“I know we said we can’t repeat Paris, that we can’t go down that road again.” His smile fades, his face turns serious, introspective.
“That’s right,” I say weakly.
“Because the past is the past.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But this is now, and we have the future.” He draws so near I can feel his breath, as close and warm as that night at my apartment when I thought he was going to kiss me.
“I want to be with you, Sophie. If you want to be with me, then let’s do this. Let’s take this risk, this chance, and go for it.”
He places his free hand on my waist as I stare at my limp hand in his.
“And if I don’t want to take the risk?” I say, voice shaky.
“Then I’ll let go. But,” he moves his hand from my waist and holds up a finger in front of my nose, a smile coating his lips, “I warn you, I won’t give up easily. I’ll pester you, I’ll call you, I’ll text you, I’ll come into your café and declare my love for you—”
I can’t help but laugh, a laugh mixed with a teary feeling stinging at my eyes. I rub at my nose and sniffle.
He places his hand on the small of my back and draws me against him so I can feel his warmth, feel his heart racing, my heart racing.
“I should have told you how I felt about you from the start. I should have told you when we were in Paris, when you said you wanted only to be friends. That night Conner and Claire got engaged.”
I nod slowly, nervously.
“I agreed and let you be in control then because that’s what you wanted. And now?” A wide grin begins to spread across his face. “I don’t want to live a life of regrets. Not being honest with myself—not chasing after the woman I love—would be the biggest regret of my life.”
He pulls me close, his touch to my back deepening, and then his l
ips—his tender, moist, warm lips—slowly and tenderly press to mine.
The kiss is slow at first, taking my breath away and making me fall limp into his chest. Then, as he presses his hand more firmly against my back, my body sinking even further into his, my toes going numb, my lips parting more, the kiss deepens. His lips part my lips hungrily. His tongue temptingly grazes mine before it begins to dance with mine in that intense, familiar way.
Everything feels good and comfortable and safe, passionate and real and right. His strong arms wrap around me, enveloping me in a tight embrace as our kiss continues. We kiss with a passion that’s been bottled up tightly for years, a kiss rich with history.
As we part, my breath stolen, my head cloudy, my toes still tingling, he speaks in a soft voice. “I love you, Anna-Sophia. I always have. All these years.”
My stomach’s a flurry of butterflies, my head so light I feel like I’m floating. I grip the edge of the counter and swallow.
Do I love this man? This man who’s been my friend all these years? A friend one minute, one with benefits the next, a murky history that’s more tightly wound with dramatic twists and turns than a cheesy episode of 90210? This man who drives me up the wall with his teasing, with his quirky quips, with his smile, with his warmth, with his…love for me.
“This is insane,” I finally breathe out. I fan at my flushed face. I look out at my customers, a few looking this way and tuning in to the dramatic episode, whether I like it or not.
“But Chad,” I say under my breath, looking at him with beseeching eyes. “This can’t work, can it? I mean, you? Me?”
“That’s exactly why it will work.” He puts a hand on my waist again. Our eyes lock. “We’re drawn to each other; we can’t deny it. There’s a pull we just can’t fight anymore.”
“But we’re crazy together,” I splutter with a skeptic chortle. “This is insanity.”
“Crazy. Insane. I’m crazy-insane in love with you. Isn’t that the best kind of love?”
“Chad.”
“Don’t believe me?” He lets go of me and leans against the counter. “Excuse me!” he says loudly.
“What are you doing?” I yank on his arm and he raises both hands and begins to clap.
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 38
