by Kristy Tate
Charlie squeezed Zach’s hand. “I would love to meet your mom.”
“It’s not too soon?” he asked, his face filled with hope and questions.
Charlie shook her head.
“I was so critical of my mom for leaving us and her home for some man she barely knew, but I get it now. It’s not just traumatic brain injuries that can alter your life. Falling in love—did I tell you I’m in love with you?—because if I didn’t, I’m telling you now that I totally am.”
“I’m in love with you, too.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.” He kissed her briefly. “Even after I regained my memory, I was different. The experience changed me. For the better. And I’ll never be the same person again. A couple of lessons I have learned from this experience are to savor every moment and to treat everyone as if it’s the last time you'll ever see them. Every day is special and everything can change in an instant. I’m taking chances—like coming here and rescuing you—because I may not get another one. And I’m telling people how I feel. Since my accident, I learned that my fear of rejection was smaller than my fear of missing out on something amazing.”
He tipped her chin with his finger so he could look her in the eye. “I have also come much closer to God and have been strengthening my relationship with Him because I know today is the only day we are promised, and I want to do all I can to serve him every day. And I’ve been given an amazing gift that most people will never enjoy. With the money from the Wonder Weight Loss app, I want to bring as much love and goodness into the world as I can. I don’t know exactly how to do that, but I want to find out. Would you like to help me?”
Charlie answered with a kiss.
And it was better than Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster’s kiss in From Here to Eternity because this was real. And she knew that even though in a few minutes she would be interrupted by Dotty and Owen, Zach would be right beside her and his kiss would always be available.
And maybe his money would go away. But as long as his heart kept beating, she would try to match his goodness and generosity and pledge to make the world a better place.
Wherever he happened to be, she vowed to be there, too.
EPILOGUE
Ten years later.
Shafts of sunlight shot through the trees and sparkled on the tall waving grass. Zach breathed in the summery air carrying scents of sea and salt and campfires. The Top of The World lookout lay just ahead of him. From there, he would be able to see the Channel Islands, but for now, he contented himself with the manzanitas’ twisted trunks, the cheerful poppies, and the scrub oaks that lined the rugged path.
He placed his hand on the small of Charlie’s back and guided her to the lookout, while their adopted twins, Freddie and Mallie, ran ahead. He smiled watching them. Mallie, despite her petite build compared to her sturdy brother, was the dominate one—braver, and less cautious.
“There’s wild animals here, right, Daddy?” Freddie asked. “Poisonous snakes?”
Zach nodded. “Coyotes, sometimes deer, an occasional rabbit.”
“But what about mountain lions?” Freddie asked.
“They’re here,” Charlie said. “But we probably won’t see them. Although they might see us.”
“We’re more likely to see owls, crows, hawks, and sometimes even buzzards,” Zach told him.
“Still, stay on the path, Mallie,” Freddie told his sister. “Or bad things can happen.”
“Daddy, is this where you first met Mommy?” Mallie asked. Small and wiry, she and her brother shared dark curly hair and large brown eyes.
Zach looked around. “Somewhere around here, yes.”
“And it was love at first sight, right?” Mallie persisted.
Zach took Charlie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Absolutely.”
“Mommy, did you feel the same way?” Mallie asked.
Freddie pretended to be more interested in throwing rocks, but Zach could tell the little boy was listening.
“No, it took me a little longer,” Charlie said. “Sometimes it’s hard to wake up to the fact that your life has changed, even when it’s for the best. Because sometimes the change is so much better than you could ever imagine.” She wrapped her arm around Zach’s waist.
He met her gaze. “Charlie Angel,” he murmured, right before he kissed her. “I’m so glad I woke up to you, because now I get to wake up to you every morning.”
THE END
Author’s Note:
Years ago, when my sister was about 17, as she was driving a dead rabbit crashed through her car's windshield and shattered it. (We lived in rural Washington.) My parents decided that a high-flying eagle must have been carrying the rabbit and for some reason dropped it and sent it crashing with enough terrific force to shatter the windshield. That's why I mention the dead rabbit lying beside him, but most readers won't put that together.
There's always the other, more probable, explanation. When you've had a serious head injury, it's not unusual to have sudden blackouts years and even decades later. Because of his football injuries, Zach could have easily blacked out, fallen, and struck his head.
Of course, neither Zach or Charlie would know either of these things, but now you, the reader, do. Happy reading! Kristy
I hope you enjoyed The Oblivious Billionaire, and if you did, that you’d consider leaving a review. Reviews are so important. They not only soothe a writer’s flagging ego, they also enable us to get the prime advertising slots, which helps us sell more books, which then funds the writing of even more books.
Want to keep in touch and receive updates on my new releases? Sign up for my newsletter at kristytate.com.
If you liked this story, you will probably also want to read:
Irish Wishes
CHAPTER 1
Gillian lacked faith in numbers. Of course, since she was a librarian and not a math teacher, this was to be expected. Words were to be trusted; numbers, especially when it came to predicting the future, were far less reliable.
Flora felt differently, and she slammed her hand on the table to emphasize her point. “It’s the power of three!” Some people called them twins from different mothers, because in looks—moderate height, fair skin and hair, green eyes—they were similar. Even their staunch Christian values were the same, but when it came to numerology, they differed dramatically.
Why three had any more power than five or ten, Gillian didn’t know, but rather than point this out to her friend, she sipped her tea and glanced around the crowded and noisy sidewalk café, willing someone to come and rescue her. Typically, she couldn’t go anywhere without someone she knew from the school or choir stopping her for a chat, but not today.
“The whole thing…it’s suspicious, isn’t it?” Gillian picked off a morsel of her donut and put it in her mouth. She and Flora were supposed to be celebrating the end of the school year, not arguing. She almost regretted ever telling Flora about the mysterious safety deposit box. “I mean, why did the attorney send the notification to the school and not the house? If it had gotten lost in the mail, there was a real chance I wouldn’t have even seen it until after the break.”
“It came at the perfect time,” Flora said.
“Well, it came on my twenty-fifth birthday, as my mom had arranged.”
“Probably because she didn’t want your gram to get ahold of it. Which is also why the letter was sent to the school instead of the house.”
Gillian frowned at her donut. It had turned her fingers sticky, and somehow she’d managed to eat half of it without even noticing. “But my mom couldn’t know I would be working at the school.” Her voice cracked as it often did when she talked about her mom. In just ten years, she’d be the same age as her mom had been when she’d died.
“But she might have known you’d end up with your grandmother.”
Gillian held up her hand and twisted it so the emerald-cut sapphire and surrounding diamonds caught the sun and sent rays of light across the table.
“Yes, but I really don’t see—”
“Things come in threes! It’s a proven fact.”
“Proven by whom? As far as I know, only triplets come in threes.”
But Flora was on a roll and didn’t want to listen. “First, you got the letter about the safety deposit box, which contained three things. Second, the offer from Traverse Magazine. And third, they both arrived right as school ended for the summer.”
Gillian scowled. “The summer was going to come no matter what, Flora. It always does.”
“But don’t you see? If the offer from Traverse Magazine had come at any other time of the year, you wouldn’t be able to go. And since you discovered all that money in the safety deposit box, you can afford to go.”
“Leslie Tremaine—that’s the editor in chief—offered to pay all my expenses.” Even she heard the touch of wonder in her voice. “Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”
“Why? You’re a gifted photographer and writer.”
“But there are thousands, maybe even millions, of blogs. How did she find mine? I mean, very few people actually do.”
“Did you ask her?”
“No. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I never understood what that even means,” Flora muttered.
“It means if someone gives you a horse, don’t inspect its teeth. It’s rude. But I don’t want to get to Ireland and find the whole thing is some sort of ruse.”
Flora shook her donut in Gillian’s face. “That is exactly something your gram would say. Along with that whole gift horse saying. Did you tell her about the safety deposit box?”
Gillian fought back a wave of guilt. “No. I’m not sure I’m going to.” She’d never been very good at keeping secrets, especially from Gram. Her grandmother had an eerie sixth sense that had always terrified Gillian.
“You shouldn’t,” Flora said, her disdain for Gram dripping in her voice. “Have you had the chance to read the diary yet?”
“Of course. I stayed up all night.” She smiled at the memory. “Reading Mom’s writing was like being introduced to someone I thought I knew, but didn’t. Someone witty and charming.”
“And probably beautiful.”
“I already knew that about her.” Memories of her Taylor Swift-beautiful mom flashed in Gillian’s head.
“Did the diary mention your father at all?”
Gillian shook her head. “But it does mention some of my mom’s friends.” She took a bite of her donut, chewed, and swallowed before adding, “I’d like to meet them.”
“Another reason to go to Ireland.”
“I know, but…”
“But what?” Flora asked.
Gillian made a face. “It’s all too neat and tidy. Contrived, even.”
“You like neat and tidy! You thrive on neat and tidy! You’re a librarian, for Pete’s sake.”
A sudden vision of her stepbrother, Pete, flashed in her mind. Witty, lanky, honey blond hair falling across his forehead, baby blue eyes framed by surprisingly dark lashes. She banished his memory to the back of her mind…where he belonged.
“What is it?” Flora asked, sitting up.
“What’s what?” Gillian asked, returning to the here and now—Rose Arbor, a tiny town near the Washington coast, where she lived with her grandmother.
“That look!”
“What look?”
“You had a wistful sort of look on your face.”
Gillian schooled her expression and gave a half-hearted I don’t know what you’re talking about sort of shrug. She had to be careful with Flora. They’d been friends since their senior year of high school. Both had been new to Rose Arbor, making them outsiders in the small, tight-knit community. Gillian and her gram had frequently moved, for no reason that Gillian could point to, during the first two years after Gillian’s mother’s death, while Flora had been a runaway taken in and nurtured by the pastor’s wife. They’d bonded in choir, and after graduation, they’d both worked hard to put themselves through college.
It had surprised both of them when they’d ended up back in Rose Arbor, working at the middle school, but they were practically sisters now. Flora could read Gillian like a book from Gillian’s library.
Flora sighed. “You’re hopeless. I’m telling you, if you don’t go, I will.”
Gillian cocked her head. “Would you come with me?”
“Serious?” Flora brightened.
“Sure. If you’ll come with me, I’ll go. I’ll even pay for your flight.”
“When would we go?”
Gillian shrugged. Now that she’d made the offer, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go through with it because there was still the matter of how in the world she’d explain it all to Gram.
As if bidden, Gillian’s phone buzzed with a text. She pulled it out of her cat-shaped backpack and frowned at the text. “It’s from Gram. She needs me to pick up her hemorrhoid cream from the pharmacy.”
“Your gram texts?” Surprise flickered across Flora’s face.
“No, she gets Harold to do it.” Gillian texted a yes before dropping the phone back into her bag. She zipped it up as if that could keep the gram-time to a minimum.
“Who’s Harold?”
“The man next door. He pretty much does everything Gram tells him to do. She pays him with baked goods.”
“Interesting,” Flora murmured. “Let’s get back to planning our trip! I can’t go until after Sicily’s wedding.”
“That works.” Gillian polished off her donut, and her mood lifted. “Are we really doing this?”
“Absolutely! Why wouldn’t we?”
“What if it’s a scam?”
Flora laughed. “It’s an all-expense-paid trip to Ireland! What could go wrong?”
#
Gillian walked the few blocks from Olympic Avenue, Rose Arbor’s main street, to her gram’s house on the corner of Elm and Maple. Steam rose from the sidewalk, sending the scent of warm and wet cement into the air. It was petrichor, the smell that lingers when rain falls after a prolonged dry spell, caused by a chemical reaction.
Where had she learned that word? From Pete. He had always liked science and as a kid had tinkered with a chemistry set and experiments. What was he doing now? Why would she care? He and her stepfather had abandoned her long ago. She didn’t need to spare either of them a thought.
Mrs. Grimes, a gray-haired woman dressed in a floral housecoat and fuzzy slippers, and her yappy Pekinese, Petunia, rounded the corner.
“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Grimes called in her cultured British accent that always made Gillian think of a Masterpiece Theatre production.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Grimes.” She stooped to tickle Petunia between the ears. Petunia received the attention as if it were her due.
“Headed home, are you?”
Gillian stood and nodded.
Mrs. Grimes leaned forward to whisper, “Well, I thought I’d give you a heads up. That Tod Bingham is parked in front of your grandmother’s house.” She winked conspiratorially. “Just in case you want to take another loop around the neighborhood.”
“Oh, thank you.” Gillian bit her lip. She didn’t mind Tod. They’d been friends in high school, but his overeagerness wore on her. She knew that if she’d agree to it, he’d marry her in a second, even though they’d never even been on a date.
“If you’d like,” Mrs. Grimes said, “I could give you Petunia’s lead and you could take her to the park.”
“Oh, no. Thank you, though.” She’d rather face Tod than walk the bad-tempered dog.
Mrs. Grimes wilted with disappointment. “Well, maybe some other time.”
“Sure thing. Have a good day.”
When Gillian caught sight of the patrol car parked in front of her gram’s bungalow, her steps faltered. What was Tod doing here? With her lips pressed into a straight line, a
nd feeling like she was walking before a firing squad, she passed through the front gate and climbed the steps up the porch. She listened to the murmured conversation inside for a moment, catching the words break-in and trespassers, before she pushed open the door.
The conversation halted as soon as she entered.
Her gram sat on the sofa, holding a pair of knitting needles in her hands and a ball of yarn in her lap. Gram ordered her clothes from a catalog company that sold cardigans, floral blouses, and coordinating polyester pants in bright colors. Her sunny clothing usually sharply contrasted with her mood and facial expressions that ranged from distaste to dissatisfaction.
Tod stood in the center of the room, looking, as he always did, like a St. Bernard. He not only had the same build and fuzzy hair—albeit close-clipped—but he also always had a Dudley Do-Right, hopeful expression that Gillian found sweet but also annoying.
Chester, the cat, jumped off the sofa and came to rub himself against Gillian’s ankles.
“What’s going on?” Gillian asked, scooping up Chester and hugging him to her chest.
But then she spotted her mom’s diary on the coffee table and a terrible dread swept through her. She moved to snatch it up, but Gram dropped the needles, grabbed the book, and shook it in Gillian’s face.
“Do you want to tell me about this?” Gram’s face flushed an angry red and the whites of her eyes took on a yellow hue.
“It’s my mother’s diary,” Gillian said in a strangled voice.
Gram’s tight gray curls shook with fury. “How did it get in the house?”
“I brought it here.” Gillian skated Tod a curious glance. “Why did you call the police?”
“When I found it in your room,” Gram straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, “I thought for sure someone had broken in.”
