36. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
M ICAH
After spending my day with the nudists, I head back to my hotel room to get ready for Carly’s return.
She texted me after she was done with her tests and said she thought she’d passed, which was cause for celebration in my book. She seemed like the kind of person who would like a nice home-cooked meal after something like that. Except I’ve never made a meal in my life before, but I’m determined to try anyway.
After all, how hard can it be?
Following a quick shower, I go to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients (still no organic kumquats despite my strongly worded email to the branch manager) and head home. And then I spend the next thirty minutes to an hour, squinting at a video on my iPad screen, while trying to slice a variety of vegetables in perfect shapes, while also manning a boiling cauldron of water and somehow missing the fact that I had to put the marinate and simmer throughout this whole process.
So, safe to say that the home-cooking thing is pretty much a botch.
So instead, I order Carly’s favorite food from the restaurant in Bayview and pray that it gets here before she does. I pay a small fortune for rush delivery and tidy up the space, laying the table in the center of the room nicely. And then I realize that I missed something. A card.
Shit.
I have someone from the hotel run to the pharmacy to get me two. And then once they arrive, I use my fountain pen to write on the first one: Congratulations on passing your test!
And on the second one: Sorry that test sucked. You’ll get the next one.
Just in case.
And then I wait.
It turns out that the food arrives way before Carly, and the servers even have time to set up some candelabras and flower vases for a romantic candlelit dinner. The rich umami scent of the meat flavors the air, complemented perfectly by the well-spiced buttered asparagus and the milder, gentle smell of the roses. My stomach grumbles already, but I still have a few more hours to wait after that. She’s taking her sweet-ass time.
Is everything alright? I can’t help but wonder as my worry begins to grow. I call her once and it goes through, but she doesn’t answer her phone.
I call Emma next and ask, “Hey, is Carly with you?”
“No,” she says. “Why?”
“Never mind.” I hang up because I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but my tension grows. Lakewood is reportedly safe, but just a few months ago there was a kidnapping in this town, which led to a shootout. I can’t forget the sound of gunshots as I grabbed Amelia and carried her out of that forest. They kept her in a shed in the woods. And for some reason, I can’t stop seeing Carly tied up somewhere crying for my help.
No. Calm down . She’s probably with Mrs. Peach right now and lost track of time. Damn it, why didn’t I get Mrs. Peach’s number?
I’m about to call Emma and ask for Mrs. Peach’s number when I hear the door unlock. Relief floods me as I hear the familiar footsteps. She’s okay. She’s here.
“Carly, why weren’t you answering your phone? You scared the crap out of–” I freeze when I catch sight of her face, taking in her reddened eyes and her flushed cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, but there’s no way I can accept that when it looks like she’s just been crying her eyes out. My mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario. The results came out on her way home and she failed the test, didn’t she?
My poor baby.
I don’t say anything. She probably isn’t ready to talk about it yet, so I simply go to her arms wide and wait to draw her close into a tight bear hug. She steps right in and hugs me back with her arms around my waist. I feel wetness spread across the front of my shirt, which tells me that she’s crying some more. My heart aches. I lift her into my arms and carry her to the couch wrapping her up in my arms as she cries. As we settle in, I stroke her hair, kissing her forehead, trying to give her as much comfort as I can while her cries wrench my heartstrings.
I’ve never seen her like this before. She sounds like she’s suffering so badly that it’s hard for me to even think much less talk. All I want to do is make it okay, to make her okay, so she isn’t sad anymore. And I’ll do anything, promise anything, to take it away.
But I remain silent as I think about the best way to handle this. I don’t want to say the wrong thing, make it worse.
I hold her for long enough for the sobs to subside. Then she just rests against my chest, hiccupping away while I rub her back.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask and she immediately shakes her head.
Her eyes instead travel to the spread on the dining table and her breath hitches again. “You made me dinner?”
“Yeah,” I say instantly and then when she glances at me, I sigh. “No. I was going to lie and say I did it but even I don’t think that’s believable.”
She snorts and says, “Well, it’s the thought that counts. Thank you.”
I nod, not knowing what else to say. I’ve never had to comfort a crying woman who wasn’t crying because of me before.
As I rub her back, my heart breaking for her and my ears hypersensitive to every gasp and sigh to immediately soothe it, it suddenly hits me.
Holy shit.
Is this what love feels like?
My mind runs through a list of scenarios, every cheesy movie I’ve ever been forced to watch, everything my friends in love have ever said and done, and it hits me that I must truly love Carly.
Because I’m feeling all the same things. The sexual attraction I could explain away. Even the affection I feel for her could be camaraderie because we both come from messed-up families and it only makes sense that that would bond us together.
But the fact that I’m pretty sure that I would slice my own wrist open if it meant that she didn’t have to cry again… well, that kind of psychotic thought can only be love.
I love Carly.
And even more damning, the thought of that doesn’t terrify me. I don’t feel trapped or angry at myself, or panicked.
I feel... free. Free to let myself feel all the things I’ve been trying not to feel for her. Free to let myself explore those emotions, voice them out and promise her the world like I’ve wanted to for a while now....
Except maybe now’s not the best time to tell her all this. She’s too broken up about the test, and I don’t want her to feel like I’m making it about me.
So I just keep holding her in silence.
Eventually, Carly stops crying, mostly because she falls asleep in my arms. I let her rest there for as long as I can and then carry her into bed, laying down with her cradled against my chest.
At a point, I think of maybe returning to pack up the food but, honestly, screw the food. I don’t want to leave her, not even for a second.
Yeah, buddy. You’re definitely in love.
Now the question is, what the hell am I going to do about it?
I think about my newfound feelings for Carly most of the day. Not that I have a choice, because it pushes itself into my mind when I least expect it. She pushes herself in. When I’m with Declan having a meeting about hotel tiles, I think about what tiles Carly would want for our potential future home. Or when I’m with Hal fixing pipes. Suddenly I think about how much I’d like to fix her pipe. Or when I’m laughing at lunch with Shoreton and Roger, I think of Carly laughing too.
Except she wasn’t laughing much this morning.
Carly was still melancholic but she seemed to be making an attempt to cheer herself up, even cracking a few jokes at breakfast. I let her know that she didn’t have to pretend to be happy on my behalf. And if she ever wanted to talk about it, I’m here to listen.
She nodded and gave me a watery smile.
In the meantime, I also think about what I can do to make her happy. Maybe an impromptu trip to Paris after her exams are over? Or something more low-key, like attending Fashion Week together?
What would she want?
I’m on the brink of asking Emma for help when, while advising Hal on how to install the pipes, my phone rings.
It’s my father.
I sigh. Of course, he would be calling at a time like this. I don’t have time for him to destroy my mood today, so I ignore the call, regarding Hal who seems sweatier than usual.
“You okay, buddy?” I ask.
He glances at me. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s just a little hot, isn’t it?”
I raise an eyebrow. It was pretty even temp. Declan already warned me that he never takes off his jacket, even when he’s hot, so I know not to ask.
Still, I can’t resist. “That’s maybe because you’re wearing all those layers. It’s not that cold.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Right.”
I shake my head and the phone rings again. I sigh and take it out of my pocket and then realize it’s my grandfather this time.
I also don’t want to talk to him, but I figure I should.
“Hey, Gramps.”
“Micah,” he said. “Where are you?”
“Laketown,” he said. “I’ve been exiled here, remember?”
Except it’s no longer feeling much like an exile. Maybe like a semi-weird vacation that had nudists and old ladies doing yoga in the church parking lot, one of whom was incredibly well-armed.
‘“I would like you to come to New York,” he says. “With your fiancée.”
“You mean Carly?” I frown. “Why?”
Grandpa sighs. “It occurs to me that maybe I was a bit harsh and hasty with her. And I didn’t give her a fair chance with that first impression. I mean it was clear that she defended you so vehemently because she loved you.”
I frown. “Right.” What’s going on? The old man is being far too reasonable right now.
“And it’s clear you care about her as well,” he says. “Which is why you’ve rejected every attempt for me to set you up with another. In any case, affection like that is rare, and seeing how your parents’ relationship ended up... maybe I was wrong. Maybe I want better for you.”
I’m stunned for a few seconds. I don’t know what to say genuinely because this is very unusual for my grandfather to, first of all admit that he was wrong, and then second to go back on his staunch belief.
What is going on today?
“I would like to invite the two of you to a formal dinner at my estate in New York,” he says. “To start afresh.”
I think about it. On one hand, something about this feels off and a tad suspicious. On the other hand, maybe that’s just my paranoia talking. I’ve had a bad feeling all week, but some of it is because I’m scared that I’ll mess something up with Carly unintentionally.
But I would like Carly and my grandpa to get along.
Apart from my mother who I cannot contact for legal reasons, he’s the most important person in my family.
“Alright,” I say. “We’ll go to your estate in New York then. Or are you still at Lennox Hill?”
“Yes, I’m at the townhouse. We can meet there,” he says. “I look forward to it.”
After he hangs up, I stand staring at the phone for a few seconds.
Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks after all.