by Katy Paige
Maggie nodded, pressing down on the steamer. “Of course he did. Doesn’t want you out of his sight. So, you’re stayin’?”
“Well, no. I mean, I’m not staying right now, but I’m definitely coming back. By Thanksgiving at the latest.”
A momentary worry passed over Maggie’s face and Zoë knew it was a remnant of their distrust. She was anxious to reassure her friend, to win back her trust.
“I have one more surgery on my face two weeks from now. And then another three weeks to recover. And I need to try to make things right with my sister before I move here. I’m coming back, Maggie. Nothing—” Her voice broke a little with the intensity of her feelings. “Nothing could keep me away. Not for long anyway.”
Maggie slid a cappuccino to Zoë, and when she looked down, Maggie had shaped a heart in the foam. Zoë looked up at her with a smile, then glanced over at the windows, where Graham stood, staring outside, distractedly wiping the same spot over and over again. Huh. She hadn’t noticed him there. He hadn’t come over yet with his usual smarmy charm and innuendo.
“How was the dance?”
“The dance? Oh, the dance! We never made it.”
Zoë gave Maggie an inquiring look and Maggie giggled, looking happier than happy. Huh. Interesting, that.
“So all is well?”
“All is very well,” confirmed Maggie.
“Though not with everyone, perhaps.” Zoë took another quick glance at Graham, who stared out the window, his hand making the same, slow circular pattern with a rag, a bottle of cleaner in his other hand, limp by his side. “What’s up with Graham?”
Maggie looked over at her cousin and shrugged. “He’s been like that all mornin’.”
“Was he at the dance last night?”
Maggie nodded, still looking at Graham when the door swung open and Julie Sørensen walked into the café, standing on the welcome mat uncertainly as she scanned the room. Zoë watched as Graham’s whole body shifted toward the door, his hand holding the rag falling limply to his side. Julie must have seen him—Zoë could have sworn they stared at each other for a tight moment—but she huffed softly, turned away from him, and headed quickly to the bar.
“Good morning, Maggie,” she said in a clipped, polite voice.
“Heya, Julie. Coffees for your uncle and cousins?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered.
“I know their orders. But I don’t know yours.”
“I don’t want anything,” she said, looking down.
Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, Graham was sitting on the stool next to Zoë, on her other side. He nudged her gently.
“How’s the cutest lass in all o’ Gardiner?” he asked, pushing his too-long, red bangs off his forehead, and giving Zoë a flirtatious smile.
“Umm…” She darted a puzzled glance at Julie, who might have flinched. “…fine?”
Graham trailed a finger down Zoë’s bare arm. “We never got that drink while you were here visitin’.”
He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke. He kept shifting his gaze to Julie, who remained statue-still, but for the tight flexing of her jaw.
“You are quite the Casanova,” Zoë replied, shaking her head at his teasing ways, and she could have sworn she heard Julie snort softly beside her.
Graham must have noticed too because he narrowed his eyes, withdrew his finger, stood and turned on his heel, pushing aside the curtain to the back room as he stalked away and jerking it shut behind him.
Maggie smiled brightly at Julie as she turned back around, missing all of the drama, and offering the young woman a tray with three paper cups of coffee. “All set. House account.”
“Th-thanks,” mumbled Julie, taking the tray and heading for the door.
“Mags,” said Zoë, watching Julie go. “I’ll be right back. Going to go say a quick goodbye to the Lindstroms.”
“Oh, sure! Leavin’ me for greener pastures!”
“No way! I’ll be right back! Keep my coffee warm!”
She rushed out the door and caught up with Julie quickly.
“Hey, Julie! May I walk with you?”
Julie turned around and Zoë could see it on her face. Yep. Something had happened between Julie and Graham, no doubt about it.
“Zoë, right? The prettiest lass in Gardiner?” Her face was sour, but Zoë thought she probably didn’t mean any personal offense.
“I don’t know about that.”
The younger woman walked at a clip, her kitten-heeled shoes clapping angrily on the asphalt of the sidewalk. She suddenly stopped short, turning to Zoë. “You’re older than me…so, maybe can you tell me this: Why are guys such jerks?”
“Well…”
“Because some of them are really, really jerky.”
Zoë reached out and touched Julie’s arm. “Some aren’t.”
Julie’s brows furrowed, her lips tightening. “Some are.”
“In my experience,” she started, setting a more leisurely pace that Julie, mercifully, followed, “the jerky ones are complicated. They’re trying to hide something, overcome something...” she shook her head, searching for the right words, “…or sometimes they’re just afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Zoë shrugged, trying not to grin. “A really pretty girl who makes him feel things he doesn’t want to feel, for starters.”
Julie took a deep breath and sighed.
“And some?” Zoë amended. “They’re just purely jerky. It happens.”
“How do you know which is which?”
“You have to get to know him. You have to let him get to know you. You have to be honest. That’s most important of all. Believe me, I know. You’ll figure out quickly if he matters. I promise.”
Julie reached for the door of Lindstrom & Sons and gave Zoë a small smile.
“Thanks, Zoë.”
“Anytime,” said Zoë, and followed her inside to say her goodbyes to Lars, Nils and Carl.
***
That night, she lay with her ear resting on Paul’s heart, listening to the steady rhythm of beats as he ran his palm up and down her spine.
She’d been waiting for him in their bed when he got home from school, lying naked on her side, glasses off, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. It hadn’t taken him more than ten seconds to strip and join her there. That had been two hours ago, and the sun was just starting to set now, the golden light intense in his bedroom, bathing their bodies in a warm glow.
Being with Paul, feeling her body intimately fused to his, him moving inside of her, his lips on her skin, on the most intimate parts of her body, was the most exquisite completeness she had ever known. She wanted the gift of his heart to always be visceral to her. She promised herself never to take him—or their unconventional love story—for granted.
She thought about Jane and Lars, Maggie and Nils, even Julie and Graham. She hated that she had to miss even a few weeks of their love stories unfolding. She couldn’t wait to come home for good.
“Lots of drama in this little town,” she mused lightly, tracing the words I love you on his chest with her fingertip.
“I love you too,” he said softly, pulling her fingertips to his lips for a brief kiss then resting them lightly on his chest again.
She sighed contently, pressing her lips to the solid warmth of his chest before settling her cheek back down comfortably.
“What kind of drama?”
She leaned up on his chest, her blue eyes catching his. “Oh, you’re a sucker for the gossip, aren’t you? I didn’t know that.”
“All guys are suckers for the gossip. We just act like we’re above it.”
“Something happened between Graham Campbell and Julie Sørensen at the dance last night.”
“What do you mean?” His tone was terse, and his eyes narrowed.
“Graham’s just a kid, Paul. You could help reform him, you know. I bet you have heaps of experience with difficult kids.”
“He’s got a foul mouth on him, and
Julie’s a nice girl. I’m telling Nils and Lars that he’s going after their cous—”
“You will not!” said Zoë, leaning up and catching his eyes. She pointed a finger in his face. “What I tell you here…in our bed? It’s between us. You and me. You don’t go running off to—What?”
He was staring at her, his face so focused—so shattered and raw and full of love, she felt the air rush out of her lungs, leaving her breathless, leaving her amazed.
He put his arms under her shoulders and pulled her up against him, searching her eyes fiercely. It took Zoë a second to realize they were glistening with emotion.
“What is it?”
“You said our bed.”
“Mmm,” she said, understanding, her heart overflowing with love for him, all other thoughts dispersing like dust in the wind. “Is that okay?”
“It’s a dream,” he whispered. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she knew there was a lump in his throat. She could almost see it.
She cupped his cheeks in her hands, desperate to reassure him, to let him know the dream was real. “No, love. It’s not just a dream anymore.”
“Promise me you’ll come back,” he whispered, and she saw the worry in his searing gaze.
“You see me?” she asked.
“I see you,” he answered.
“I only see you. I love you. I love you forever,” she said, her hands trembling lightly. “Wherever you are is my home, and I’ll always come home.”
CHAPTER 21
Four Weeks Later
“You look like a wreck,” Zoë said, searching his eyes.
Paul shifted lightly in the chair beside her bed in the hospital room that would be Zoë’s home away from home for the next two days.
“I told you I would be.” He took a deep breath, playing with the thin plastic bracelet on her wrist before lacing his fingers through hers. “And you know how I feel about lying.”
“Don’t you want me to be beautiful?” she teased.
“Impossible to make improvements on perfection.”
She chuckled, brushing the tape on the back of her hand that held the IV line in place. He knew it was bothering her. She kept touching it.
“Can I get someone to help with that? Make it more comfortable?” He wanted to be useful to her. He didn’t like how helpless he felt sitting beside her bed waiting for her to be wheeled into surgery. But there was nowhere on earth he’d rather be than with her. That was certain.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m glad you got here yesterday, and we had a day together before this.”
“Me too,” he said. “Have I told you my favorite thing about your apartment, sweetheart?”
“Nope.”
“All those half-packed moving boxes.”
“That’s your favorite?”
“Okay,” he said, feeling his expression softening, thinking of her bed. “My second favorite.”
He hadn’t seen much of Mystic since arriving in Hartford yesterday morning. They’d spent almost every minute of the last twenty-four hours christening her apartment: her bed, her couch, her kitchen counter, the bean bag in the corner of her room, and the shower stall in her bathroom. Twice.
He took a deep breath, his body remembering how good it felt to be with her—every single time—and goose bumps raised up on his arms. Nothing like a few weeks apart to make them ravenous for each other. He barely remembered her driving them back from the airport, only that he couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t stop reaching over to touch her, and that it took every ounce of willpower not to make her stop the car and pull her onto his lap.
He looked up as a nurse entered the room.
“Zoë, I’m going to check on your vitals. We’re going to be wheeling you into the OR in about twenty minutes. Dr. Chester will administer the anesthesia, but Dr. Drew will be there the whole time too. Do you have any questions for the doctor before they get started? I’m happy to let him know—”
“No, thanks,” said Zoë, with a warm smile. “Dr. Drew and I are on the same page. Just anxious to get it over with. It’s my last one.”
“I heard that. Congratulations. You’re going to be even more beautiful.”
Even more beautiful. As if that was possible. He wasn’t kidding before. In his eyes, the Zoë he met on his front porch cradling a shivering Cleo would always be the most beautiful girl in the world. No matter what.
Paul squeezed her hand then released it so the nurse could take her pulse and check her blood pressure. He stood up and walked to the windows, looking outside at the manicured green lawn and tidy bricked patio where several people drank coffee on benches set artfully under vibrant autumn trees.
Loving her from so far away was a constant ache. Being away from her was proving more emotionally and physically challenging than he could have imagined. Despite calls, emails and texts, he was frustrated. He didn’t want her in Connecticut. He wanted her in Montana, in his life, in their home, in their bed. And it seemed like Thanksgiving was her best bet for moving at this point, rather than Halloween, as he’d hoped.
From what he gathered, her attempts to connect with her sister had not gone very well. Thea wasn’t answering Zoë’s texts, emails or phone calls and the two times Zoë had camped out on her sister’s doorstep, her sister hadn’t answered the door. He clenched his jaw in frustration and anger. He understood Thea’s position but there was nothing Zoë could do to reverse the past. Rejecting her efforts to apologize and reconnect after two long years seemed like plain meanness to Paul. And the longer Thea held out, the longer Paul would have to live without Zoë.
He thought about going to see Thea while Zoë was in surgery, trying to reason with her, ask for her forgiveness on Zoë’s behalf. But two things stopped him: one, he didn’t want to leave the hospital until he knew Zoë was okay, and two, it simply wasn’t his battle to fight, as much as it hurt him to see her struggle for forgiveness. He had to let her sort it out herself, which sort of pissed off his inner Westley, who wanted to swoop in and save the day.
The nurse gave Zoë a gentle pat on the arm before looping her stethoscope around her neck. “You need anything else, hon? I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
Paul turned around to see Zoë take a deep breath and nod, reaching for Paul. His chair scraped against the floor as he sat back down and scooted closer, taking her hand. He had something to say to her and with only a little time left before her surgery, he guessed now was the moment. He brought her hand to his lips and rested them against her soft, warm, pale skin. When he looked up, he knew his eyes were probably glistening.
“Zoë—” he started, his heart in his throat.
“Zo! How’ya doing?” asked Sandy, appearing in the doorway of Zoë’s hospital room.
He bit his cheek. What he needed to say would have to wait.
Zoë’s aunt smiled warmly at Paul. He’d barely said more than hello to her since arriving, but he got the feeling she approved of him. “How’re you doing, handsome? You look a little worried. He hasn’t been through as many of these things as us, huh, Zo?”
Zoë smiled up at Paul before looking back to her aunt. “You didn’t have to come, Sand.”
“And miss lucky number four? Are you kidding?” She pushed Zoë’s black bangs off her forehead and leaned down to kiss her niece. “You doing okay? Really?”
Zoë nodded, squeezing Paul’s hand.
“I think you’re good for her,” said Sandy, smiling at Paul.
“She’s good for me,” he answered. “Too good.”
“I like him, Zo. I like him so much.”
Paul smiled back at Sandy, grateful for her in Zoë’s life, and—in that moment—grateful for her in his life too.
Sandy shifted her weight, flicking her eyes from Zoë to Paul nervously. “Uh, Zoë. There’s uh, there’s someone here to see you. Someone who came with me.”
“Rob?”
“Uh, no.”
Paul looked up to see a blonde, blue-eyed woman standi
ng in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Me,” she said, staring at Zoë.
Zoë dropped his hand. She covered her mouth, and when he looked down, tears were pouring out of her eyes. And then he knew. This was Thea.
“Hey handsome,” said Sandy, gesturing for Paul to follow her. “Buy me a cup of coffee, huh?”
***
Paul’s eyes told her he wouldn’t leave her unless she wanted him to.
“I-It’s okay,” Zoë managed through sobs, pushing her tears away with the back of her hand. “Th-this is my sister. Th-thea. Thea, th-this is P-Paul.”
She watched as her boyfriend crossed to her sister and offered her his hand. “Good to meet you, Thea. Really glad you came.”
“Thanks,” said Thea, and Zoë could tell she was a little impressed.
Paul came back to her side and leaned down, kissing her lips softly. “I’ll be back in a little bit?”
She nodded, mouthing Thank you to him as he followed Sandy out the door.
Thea. After two long years, she was alone in a room with her sister, whom, coincidentally, she hadn’t seen since surgery that saved her life. Sandy claimed she’d come to the hospital to check on her for days after, but Zoë didn’t remember seeing her. And once Zoë had made it through the woods and was lucid, Thea never came back again.
Zoë patted her bedside, but Thea pulled a stool over from the corner of the room and perched on it, about a foot from Zoë’s bed, out of reach. Zoë folded her hands over her belly. Don’t expect too much. She’s here. She’s here. It’s more than you could have hoped.
“You nervous?”
About my surgery? No.
To see you? Yes.
“No,” said Zoë. “I’m okay.”
Thea looked at her little sister, shifting on the stool.
“I’m still mad at you, Zo.”
Zoë nodded, tears burning her eyes. She looked down at her hands.
“But I still love you too.”
Zoë felt her face crumple into creases as her eyes filled with tears that coursed down her face as she shook her head back and forth. She didn’t realize how much she needed to hear those words, how much she had missed them. But the agony in Thea’s voice hurt her heart too.
