Chapter Thirty-Five
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I’M NOT SORRY
ELOISE
I’m leaving Cherry Cove tomorrow. My bags are packed and stacked inside my trunk. I don’t know where I’m headed but I’m not afraid to not belong anywhere anymore.
But today, we’re celebrating Labor Day at the bookstore, with authors signing and poets reading. It’s busier in here than it’s been all summer, thanks to the event Sophie had been working on in secret. I stare at my sisters as they help customers excitedly; Sophie in charge and Kitty answering questions at the register.
They’ll be good for this place.
One of the signing authors enters the store and comes straight up to me, her hazel eyes smiling even though she’s running late.
“I’m so sorry. We got a little lost,” Denise says before pulling me in for a hug. I’ve followed her career for over a year now and I’m so glad Sophie kept her in mind for this event.
She’s fragility and femininity in my arms, and I envy her ability to wear the fire in her eyes that’s as bright as her red hair as she pulls away.
Soft words and wide, open eyes indicate an inquisitive nature and her lips form a smile before she’s even said a word.
She’s fire and I’m ice.
“This is such a beautiful shop,” she says, her voice too sing-songy for my taste.
I detect a deep Boston accent as I nod and glance around, proud of my work. “We’re honored to have you,” I tell her, and we are.
Her debut poetry book was one of the first I’d ever tried. And her social media presence is minimal, but she is still able to post here and there, beautiful pictures of her blended family, and have the adoration of the masses.
“As soon as I heard about this place, I had to see it for myself.” She smiles again, like she can’t help it. Then, she turns to ask the man struggling with boxes of books behind her, “Gavin, do you need a hand?”
And, as if to answer the question, he looks down at her pregnant belly that she rubs as if it’s a mindless habit. Like she’s reminding herself that her baby is in there. “No, my dear. I think I can manage.”
I help them get settled in and watch the bustle of the store, wondering what our parents would think if they could see us now.
Pride fills me as I stand in the center of the room, watching as it fills. And when Kitty walks up to me, I let her hug me, still reeling from the hug I’d given Denise. It’s hard to not be a hugger around so many affectionate people. But since I’m leaving tomorrow, I don’t fight it.
“I hope you’re feeling better,” she starts, and I notice her stare from my peripheral. One I don’t want to face. I don’t feel shame at my previous display of emotions, only that I’d worried my younger sister in the process.
“I’m great,” I tell her, still basking in the busyness of the store. I can’t remember the last time this place was so packed.
“I…have a confession to make,” Kitty starts, and I finally look at her. All three of us Bordeaux sisters have our mother’s eyes, and seeing them stare at me, so full of hope, I soften a little. When I glance past her, I lock eyes with Sophie who sends me a nod and a smile.
What are they hiding?
“What’d you do?” I ask, worry gnawing at me.
Before she can answer, I notice darkness looming just outside my line of vision in the form of the man I’ve been trying to forget.
I whisper his name before I can help myself.
“Ezra.”
And it’s like a call to him because he walks toward me, through the crowd like their bodies are less than solid.
“Eloise,” he says, and it takes me to a place I can’t be in.
To a temple bricked with lust and hope, cemented with desire and affection.
“Why are you here?” I ask, noticing my younger sister slipping from my hold with a small grin on her face.
“You had to know I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he tells me, his hand reaching up to touch my face but falling back down before making contact.
“Please,” I tell him. “Just let me go.”
I’m too messy, too bitchy, too terrified.
“I can’t.” He looks around before his gaze settles on me again with a shrug. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask, tilting my head to the right, waiting for a truth I may not deserve. A truth I’d likely fought all along.
He hadn’t taken the store from us, hadn’t enforced the contract, hadn’t even been in Cherry Cove for all I know.
He kept his word when he didn’t have to.
“You know why.”
“I don’t,” I prod, with a shake of my head. “You have to say it.”
He stays silent, and I rub at my back pockets, rocking on my heels.
“Truth or dare?” I whisper.
He looks up, his brows rising. “Pardon?”
“You heard me. Truth…or dare?” I smile. I can’t even fucking help the smile on my face.
He sets records with his ability to make me smile without even trying. No one else comes close.
“I love you,” he says. “I don’t need a game or a dare to tell you. I just needed to not be laughed at for saying it. Or have my feelings scoffed at like I’m some pubescent punk looking to get into your panties.”
“Do I scoff?” I ask, losing my balance a little when someone bumps into me.
He reaches out to steady me, and my laughter dies as I sigh into his touch.
“You do. And you laugh.” He gives me a piercing stare and I shrug, wanting to lick along the sharp edges of his jaw.
“I’m not sorry,” I confess. “This is me.”
“But I am. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like my whore,” he starts, his voice low as he glances around to make sure no one is listening.
I shake my head again and hold my hand up. “I let that guy get in my head. I let myself forget what we felt like.” I press my lips together before continuing. “I’m glad you punched him in the face. Violence is always the answer.”
He leans in, placing his hand on my lower back to press me closer to him. His warmth, his scent, it all envelopes me, welcoming me back to where I’ve longed to be.
“I will do whatever it takes to show you that I want more than just your body,” he tells me, his words quick as he stares down at my lips.
“Let me pay you back,” I offer, wondering how we somehow got so close, his white T-shirt nearly touching the front of my polka dot top.
“How—”
“Shut up and let me pay you back.” I’m looking up into those green eyes of his, terrified to commit.
I could stay here and suffocate.
I could leave tomorrow and wonder about him, my travels ruined by regret.
Or, I could close my eyes and fall.
“Only if you agree to travel the world with me,” he says, his lips against my ear now.
I want to utter words I’ve only shared with my family, with people bound by blood.
People who’ve left me.
I decide to save them for when I’m no longer afraid.
I wet my lower lip with my tongue and say instead, “Draw up the contr?—”
But he shuts me up with a kiss.