Chapter 28
Blake is leaving in three days.
I try my best not to think about it, to stuff away the negative emotions, but I can’t, no matter what I’m doing.
When I’m talking to Winona on the phone, showing off the new business plan and hearing that she loves it—I’m thinking about Blake.
When I’m helping Chloe with last-minute festival details because she’s got a lot on her plate and I’ve suddenly got lots of free time—I’m thinking about Blake.
Even now, when I’m playing poker with my family on July third, and everyone else is laughing and having a grand old time, and Uncle Burt and April and Scarlett are having a root beer chugging contest, and Aunt Bea is serving up a whole heap of spaghetti—I may be smiling on the outside, but on the inside, I’m miserable.
Because, you guessed it, I’m thinking about Blake.
The whole kitchen reverberates with noise, but I’m inspecting my Diet Coke, drawing my thumb through the condensation, trying to feel something other than this misery.
But I know it’s better this way. Might not feel that way in the moment, but better this brief cavernous ache in my chest now than the slow death of my hope over time.
It’s just like when Mama left. Said she’d be back in a few months, and look. Thirteen years later, where is she?
Not. Here.
The same thing would have happened with Blake. He might not think it’s the same, but the similarities line up pretty darn well. I’m just allowing the inevitable to happen—only much sooner than it would have otherwise.
As I glance around this room at some of the people I love best, those who have claimed me even though I didn’t have to be theirs to claim, the tears well up and I can’t hold them in any longer. Grabbing my phone, I dash from the room while everyone is occupied, heading up the stairs to what used to be my bedroom. Once upon a time, it was my cousin Jeff’s, but then it became mine. Now, it’s Scarlett’s, and I hope she won’t mind me being in here.
The furniture is all the same, but the decor has changed. No longer are the walls lined with posters of Tim McGraw and the Zac Brown Band, but rainbows and unicorns appropriate for a seven-year-old girl. My chest loosens a bit as I let my tears fall and roam the room, my fingers slipping over the edge of the white wooden dresser, the bookcase painted purple. April has, not surprisingly, stuffed the shelves fuller than they ever were when I lived in here, and my index finger skims the spines, stopping on a large book of fairytales.
I kind of want to hide it away so Scarlett doesn’t grow up believing that fairytales are real life.
Somehow, I forgot.
Because for a moment, I thought that I was a princess. That Blake was my prince. And that somehow, we’d found our happily ever after.
Instead, I’m just a small-town girl who fell in love with a guy she shouldn’t have.
“Why did I have to love him?” I whisper to no one in particular. At least I never was so foolish as to confess it out loud to Blake.
I step away from the bookcase and head for the window, where I find a fabulous view of the backyard. There’s a huge tree growing tall and strong there. It’s been here as long as I can remember, deep roots in the ground of Hallmark Beach, just like me. Wrapping my arms around myself, I press my forehead to the window, feel the waning warmth of the day seep into my skin.
In this moment, I just want my mama.
The realization startles me. I’ve tried really hard not to need her. Mama gets overwhelmed easily by life, so I never wanted to be a bother, for her to stay away because I’m too much.
But yeah. Right now, I do need her.
With trembling hands, I take my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and lower myself onto Scarlett’s bed, which is covered in a fairy princess comforter. Because of course it is.
I blink at the phone and finally swipe to unlock it. Then, before I can stop myself, I dial.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings.
And goes to voicemail.
“Hi there, darling, you’ve reached Patti Reynolds Kotula. I’m off gallivantin’, so you just leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can, all right? Hugs and kisses.” Before the message cuts off, there’s a low murmur—Kevin saying something in the background—and a giggle from Mama.
I click off, toss my phone to the end of the bed, and stare numbly at a picture of a green-haired fairy watering a flower with her red wand.
“Knock, knock.”
I glance up to find Aunt Bea standing in the doorway. Her gray hair is pulled back in a ponytail just like mine, and she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, just like me, along with a long-sleeved flannel shirt.
“Oh, hi,” I say. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here.”
“Stop it, honey.” She steps inside and closes the door behind her. “This will always be your room, no matter who’s livin’ in it.”
My lip trembles.
She sits beside me on the bed, pats my thigh. “You seemed distracted at dinner. Sad.”
Understatement of the year. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be.”
“Never apologize for feeling something, or for expressing it.” Aunt Bea clicks her tongue at me. “You know, you’ve always been such a light to us all, but that doesn’t mean you have to be sunny all the time. Embracing the negative emotions along with the good makes the good all the better.”
I guess I can see that. Using the tips of my fingers, I swipe tears from my lashes.
“So what’s making my Lucy so sad tonight?”
HerLucy. Oh, man. The tears start up again. Thanks a lot, Aunt Bea. I shrug and try for a grin. “What else? Boy troubles.”
“The same boy who made you sad all those years ago, I reckon.”
My gaze kicks up to her knowing one. I never talked to my aunt about Blake back then. “How did you…?”
“Please.” She taps the side of her temple. “I have eyes, child. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see you love him. That you’ve always loved him.” She tilts her chin down. “But that’s not the problem, is it?”
I shake my head and start to sob. She pulls me into her embrace and lets me cry into her shoulder, whispering, “Shh, shh, there, there” over and over again. Finally, I’m ready to tell her, and it all spills out. Every last detail, right up until the second before she walked in after I tried—and failed—to get a hold of Mama.
She sighs and wipes my tears with her shirt sleeves, which are softer than they look. “Lucy, I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.”
I shake my head, which is fuzzy in the way that only crying so many tears can make it. “I’m hardly the first person to experience heartbreak in the world.”
“I’m not talking about Blake—although I am sorry for that too. I’ll always be sorry when you’re hurting.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
She sighs. “Your uncle and I did our best to give you a home. But I know it’s never been enough. You needed your Mama, and she wasn’t here.”
“Oh, Aunt Bea, that’s not?—”
“Hush, child, I’m talking.” She smiles at me, so I know she’s not mad. Then continues. “Your mama, she wasn’t well. No mother who would leave such a sweet daughter behind could be well.” As if she knows I’m about to protest, Bea holds up her hand. “I’m not trying to speak ill of her. I know she suffered terribly when Bill died. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I ever lost Burt. Still, I’ll admit that I’ve had a harsh word or two with the good Lord about your mother and the way she left.”
“Really? You never said.”
“I didn’t want you to ever feel like you were a burden. Because you’re not, Lucy. You’re a blessing, and I’m sorry for your mama that she’s missed out on seeing up close and personal what a beautiful woman you’ve become.”
Oh, sweet macaroni. There she goes again. “Stop making me cry, Aunt Bea.” I laugh.
But her face is just as serious as the time she told my uncle in no uncertain terms would she ever give up quilting, no matter how bad the arthritis in her hands gets. “We wanted to give you a home, but I worry that in creating a haven for you, we also created a prison.”
“This home isn’t a prison.”
“Not just this home. This town too. It’s become your sanctuary, which is a wonderful thing. A good thing. But once you were here, you never left again. You used to love traveling when you were little, but when was the last time you went farther than Morro Bay?”
Hold on, now. “I was going to go away to college, but then Marilee’s parents died.”
“I know, darling, and you’re such a good friend to stay. But let’s be honest. You never really wanted to leave. You only felt like you should. You were relieved when you had an excuse to stay.”
Ouch. Guess the truth hurts. “So? What’s wrong with loving your home so much you always want to be there? That you can’t fathom leaving it?”
“There’s a difference between loving it and using it as a place to hide.”
I stand, head for the window again, holding fast to the image of that grand tree anchored there. But in studying it closer, I see signs that all is not well. Pieces of bark flecking off. It’s listing to one side. There are patches where no leaves grow.
No. No, no. “That tree…what’s wrong with it?”
“What?” My aunt joins me at the window. She taps the glass softly. “Ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to have it taken out. It’s not been getting enough nutrients, I guess. It’s just been existing there, looking all right, even though under the surface, the roots were dying. Took a while to see the problem, and by then, it was too late to treat it.” Her hand goes to my hair, stroking it like only a mom can. “Your uncle doesn’t want to take it out. It’s sentimental to him, you see. But sometimes you have to get rid of the dead things so you can plant new life.”
I turn to her, my eyes wet again—surprise, surprise. “But what if the soil’s just…ruined? What if the new tree never grows as tall?” My questions come quickly, but the understanding in her eyes tells me she knows we are no longer talking about a tree. “What if this tree, right here, right now, with all of its issues, is the best thing that’s ever going to exist? If you chop it down, expecting new life, and the new life doesn’t come, or it doesn’t look the way you think it will…then what? You’re just left with broken hope.”
“Or,” she grasps my hand and squeezes it tight, “the new tree will exceed your expectations. But if you don’t risk chopping down the old, you will never experience the life and growth that comes with the new. And, Lucy, what is a life of fear and hiding? Take the risk, my dear. Dream the dream. Just think of what a beautiful sight could be waiting for us this time next year if we do.”
She pats my hand, then glances at the tree once more. “I think I know what’s moved to the top of my to-do list.” Aunt Bea winks at me. “How about you?”
My heart is galloping in my chest, my palms sweaty as I lean in to kiss my aunt’s cheek. She smells like garlic and tomato sauce—and if a person can smell of wisdom, well, she smells like that too. “I guess maybe it’s time to chop down some trees.”
“That’s my girl.”
Her words warm my chest all the way out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door, where I start to hightail it home, praying that Blake is somewhere to be found.
Praying that I’m not too late.
* * *
I was, indeed, too late.
By the time I got home last night, Blake’s car was nowhere to be found. I waited up until three a.m., and he never came home. Mare was asleep, but I texted her to ask if she knew where he was. I never heard back from her, and when I went into her room this morning, found her phone charging on the bedside table but no Marilee. She must have left for the festival without it—not surprising, given how tired she’s been lately.
I’ve kept my eye open for her all day, but between every Hallmark Beach resident and the thousands of tourists who have flocked here for the Fourth of July Festival, I don’t have much hope of finding her. For hours, I’ve been rushing back and forth between the food booths down on the beach and the Robin, where we decided it would be easiest for Tiny and his small but mighty team to grill the burgers and place them into containers to keep them warm.
Blake was supposed to be helping out, but I haven’t seen him either. It’s possible that he ducks out every time he sees me coming, but it seems odd I wouldn’t have even caught a glimpse of him.
“Heads up!”
I see the shadow of a volleyball overhead and duck instinctively, dropping the box of hamburger buns on the boardwalk at my feet. Thankfully, the ball hits the sand instead of me, and April jogs up to retrieve it. “Sorry about that, cuz. You okay?”
“Yeah, of course. What are you doing?” I stare at her red, white, and blue tie-dyed shirt, where a white number badge is pinned. “You hate volleyball.”
“Ugh, I know, but Scarlett loves it. She begged me to do the parent-kid game.”
Aw, April. “You’re a good mama.”
“It’s just volleyball.”
I squeeze her elbow. “It’s more than that.” Because moms should sacrifice for their kids. They should stick it out, even if something isn’t their favorite.
And the next time I talk to mine, I’m going to have a very honest conversation with her about the fact that she didn’t do those things—and how it hurt. Not looking forward to that, honestly. But maybe it’ll mend something in our relationship. And even if it doesn’t make us closer, I think it’ll heal something inside of me. It’s a way to clear away the dead things, to make room for something new.
It’s a place to start chopping, anyway.
Sticking out her tongue like she doesn’t believe me, April leans in and whispers loudly. “We are not doing well. But at least Scar is having fun.”
Then she grabs the ball and runs off, leaving me shaking my head as I pick up the box and resume my trek to the massive food tent. There’s a line wrapped around it and clear down the beach toward The Purple Seashell, where a small musical stage has been constructed and currently a band of college students are rocking out to a fast-paced version of “God Bless America.” The sound carries across the whole beach, combining with the cacophony of other beach noises—gulls crying, waves churning, people laughing. Meanwhile, four different volleyball games are going on, stretching to the southern part of the beach.
Every square inch of sand seems to be taken up by people—those I know, and those I don’t. But not one of them is the guy I’m aching to see.
“Lucy, hey!” Someone calls to me from the open white tent, and I shift the box up with my knee and wind my way through the crowd until I find an empty spot on the table.
Thomas approaches me, disposable serving gloves on his hands, an apron around his waist. “Thanks for bringing those. I can go get the next round of supplies so you’re not having to hoof it back and forth.”
Behind him, there’s a string of older women that we recruited to help serve the burgers, chips, sodas, and other snacks, including the mountain of espresso brownies Thomas cooked up. In the end, we decided to make food easy on ourselves by creating a combo deal—ten bucks for the whole meal.
Despite the ocean breeze and the fact it’s not even eighty degrees in summer, it feels oppressive under the canvas tent. “Oh, I don’t mind.” I remove the rubber band from my hair and fluff the tangled strands out, combing my fingers through them. “It’s been good to move around a bit. Get my exercise in and all that.” And have a chance to look for Blake…
Thomas nods. “Gotcha. It’s just that I know Blake was supposed to be helping us, but with having to go back to Los Angeles yesterday?—”
“Wait, what?” My hand jerks, and the rubber band snaps, broken.
“Yeah, he called me and Tiny yesterday and asked if we’d be okay without him. We both found a few extra people to volunteer, so it wasn’t a big deal.” He squints at me. “I thought you knew. Aren’t you guys…”
I let my hair fall around my shoulders, and now it’s like I’m walking on fire coals in here. “Oh, right. Los Angeles. Yeah, I knew he was leaving.”
Just not yet.
And before he can say anything else, I turn on my heel and race out of there, my chest heaving with the exertion and the news I just heard.
Because he didn’t even say good-bye.
But can I blame him, after the way I walked out at the first sign of conflict? He wanted to make things work between us. Wanted to show me that he wasn’t like my mom. That he did want me.
And I doubted him. I doubted us.
What do I do now?
I have to go find him. Track him down in Los Angeles—even though I’ve never driven there, wouldn’t even know where to look. Tell him I’m sorry. That I want a new adventure, and it’s with him.
Wherever he is.
“Lucy, help!”
I turn this time to find Chloe racing toward me with a walkie talkie. The woman is in honest-to-goodness heeled sandals, white linen pants, and a red tank top that ties at the collarbone. Somehow she’s missing the same sheen of sweat I feel coating my brow. And she’s a woman on a mission. “Right now, I have to deal with the boatmen who were hired to launch our fireworks tonight, but there’s also an issue with the sound equipment on the stage, and I can’t seem to locate Dallas Loveland, who owns all of it.” Her voice miraculously remains calm. If I were her, I’d be screaming, but Chloe is a professional. Still, I’m guessing under that royal exterior, she’s stressed, so I raise my hand and salute her.
“I’m on it.”
“You’re an absolute gem, Lucy. Thank you.” Then she clips northward, presumably toward The Purple Seashell’s private beach, where the fireworks will be held in just a few hours.
Okay, no worries. I will just locate Dallas—or one of his many sisters or brothers—and solve this problem for Chloe before jumping in my car and heading for L.A. Though first I need to get Blake’s address from Marilee, because of course, I never got it from him. No problem. I’ll just look for her while I’m searching for Dallas.
Ha. Apparently, I really am an optimist, because it’s much harder to find someone in this crowd than I thought. I do manage a glimpse of Marilee while I’m searching for Dallas, but by the time I find him, she’s long gone. I huff out my frustration. At this rate, I’ll get to Blake by Christmas.
As I’m weaving and looking, I realize I can’t abandon my post anyway. The food line has gotten utterly ridiculous, so I sigh and head back to the tent, asking Thomas where I can pop in. He gives me brownie duty and sprints off to the kitchen for more chips, and I spend the next several hours greeting festival goers, handing out crumbling, delicious-smelling chocolate goodies, and pretending like my thoughts are right here in Hallmark Beach.
They’re not, though. They’re with him.
The sun sinks farther down the horizon line, and the sky’s now streaked with reds and yellows. People start to move toward the northern tip of the beach, and I can see them carrying blankets with them to set up and watch the fireworks display. We finally close the food tent at eight, and I trudge alone—along with a crowd of people—toward The Purple Seashell beach, rubbing the back of my stiff neck. My entire body drags, and I know already that it wouldn’t be smart to drive the four hours south to Los Angeles tonight.
But first thing in the morning? You bet your boots.
“Lucy!”
I want to duck my head and hide, because who needs something from me now? But then I see it’s Marilee waving at me from the spot where she’s sitting with Jordan and Ryder. Ryder is in Jordan’s lap rubbing his eyes and yawning in between bites of brownie.
Mare says something to Jordan, then hops up, brushes off her shorts, and walks toward where I stand, too tired to take another step. “I’ve been looking for you all day,” she says as she leans in for a hug. “Well, in between playing volleyball and eating and keeping Ryder entertained.”
First April, then Mare? “You played volleyball too?”
She smiled, something sad in it. “Ryder wanted to play in the parent-kid game, but Jordan was busy running the whole thing. He started to cry because his mom couldn’t be here”—her eyes fill with tears—“and so I offered, even though I’m obviously not his parent.”
If that isn’t the sweetest thing. “Wish I could have seen that.” My friend has such a heart of gold, especially where it concerns that little boy. “I’ve been looking for you too. I was wondering…do you have Blake’s address? The one in L.A.?”
Her nose scrunches. “I think so. Why?”
I kick at the ground with my sandaled foot, and some sand falls under my toes. “He left town already—and I have to get him back.”
Marilee’s eyes widen. “You want him back?”
“I know I said I couldn’t do this, but…Mare, I’m miserable. I made a mistake. And it might mean that I move away to L.A., and I hope you’ll forgive me for that but I lo?—”
She claps a hand over my mouth. “Don’t you dare tell me before you tell him.” Her eyes sparkle, even in the waning light of day. “And you’re such a goose, Lucy. He didn’t leave town. Well, he did. But just for the day. He’s back.” She points behind me. “And I think he’s looking for you too.”
“What?” I whip around so hard I almost fall over. And there, on the top of the cliffs, Blake’s standing in shorts and a button-up, short-sleeve casual shirt that’s whipping with the breeze. His hand is at his brow and he’s scanning the crowd.
My whole body lights up the second our gazes collide. He holds up a finger, as if telling me to wait right here. But I’m not waiting anymore. I shake my head…and start to run.
“Thanks, Mare,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Love you!” she calls back as I rush up the sand, rounding the rocky outlay and climb, climb, climbing until I reach the top.
Until I reach him.
When I’m only a few feet away, my steps slow, and my vision narrows until it’s filled only with Blake. The breeze sends his scent my way, and I’m enveloped, bathing in the citrusy notes of his cologne. The intensity of his blue gaze heats me slowly, and I find that I’m completely fine being scorched by him.
Is he a mirage? Is this a dream?
But no. He’s here and so am I, standing right on the edge of the cliff, together in the dark. The only light now is the stars above. Below us somewhere, thousands wait with bated breath for the firework show to begin.
Yet I only care about the fireworks sparking here, between us.
“I thought you left.”
“I did.” His eyes flit over my face, like he’s drinking me in. I know the feeling. “But not for the reasons you might think.” Then Blake’s wrapping his big hand around my waist, lowering his head to mine so our foreheads are touching. “I decided that I didn’t want to be like my dad, choosing to focus on regret and all the what ifs instead of embracing the gifts I’ve been given.”
My hands reach for his upper arms, lying flat on top while my thumbs press into his biceps, soaking up his strength.
He keeps talking. “I know you’ll be shocked, but I took some time to analyze my life.”
“No. You?” I tease.
“Hush, woman.” He kisses the tip of my nose, and I shudder at the contact. I want more of him, always more. “I thought about which parts of my plans were actually something I wanted—not just what was expected of me. And I realized that what I want is to be proud of the work I do. To love what I do. And…” He exhales. Inhales. “To come home to a good woman that I love. Someone who makes all of my hard work matter in the first place.”
I hear the hiss and whine of a firework as it careens from a boat out on the water up into the sky. There’s a red flash and a burst of something beautiful overhead.
But I’m more concerned with what’s happening here.
With how Blake tugs my hips against his, moves his mouth to my ear, and whispers, “And if you haven’t figured it out yet, Sunshine, that someone is you.” Then his lips are brushing against my ear before Blake pulls back to look at me. “I love you, Lucy. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not going anywhere. That I’m in this with you for the long haul.”
The next firework sparks, ignites, and the light it gives off allows me to see the pleading—the utter hope—in Blake’s gaze.
Oh, this man. How did he make me love him back when I was so determined not to?
“Say something, please.” His hand tightens around my waist.
“Something.” I finally let a smile flit across my lips.
“Sunshine,” he growls, and the sound of it sends a thrill up my spine. “Put me out of my misery. I’ve told you what I want. What do you want?”
The question of the hour—the last twelve years, really. “What do I want? It’s simple, really. You.” I lift up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his stubbly cheek. It’s so unlike Blake to not shave, but I kind of like this undone look of his. “Flake, I’ve spent almost half my life loving you. Why would I stop now?”
He breathes out a disbelieving laugh before grabbing my face and kissing me. Another firework, then two, bursts in the sky, and the explosion rocks my whole body. Or maybe that’s just Blake’s kiss. His hands are everywhere. My hair, my cheeks, my ears, arms, waist, back, like he can’t get enough. Our mouths move together, in sync as we bask in the glow of each other.
I don’t care where we go or what we do for a living. Blake is enough.
“What?” he says, freezing, his mouth hovering over mine.
Oops. Did I say that out loud? But I shake myself. What does it matter? I’m done hiding my feelings away. “You’re enough. I want an adventure with you. So…I’m moving to L.A. If that’s okay with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He softly tugs on a strand of my hair. “I’d miss you if you left.”
It’s my turn to freeze. “What do you mean?”
He grins at me. “I spent the day in Los Angeles yesterday and all this morning because I was selling my recipes to Dale. Well, selling him the use of my recipes for the restaurant in exchange for a small stake in the business. I’ll still be involved, but only from a distance and only as an investor. We’ll hire another chef. Another manager. Dale was disappointed but understood my decision and respected it.”
I blink. Sweet macaroni. Am I understanding what he’s saying? For real? “You’re giving up your recipes?”
“Not completely. Dale’s just licensing them, and we agreed I’ll not license them to anyone else—except I have the right to use them in my food truck here in Hallmark Beach.”
Whaaaaat? I bounce on my tiptoes. “You’re staying? Are you sure? What about your dream?” I sputter question after question, my brain working faster than my mouth.
He laughs. “Yes. Yes. And as for my dream”—Blake folds me up in his embrace—“it was waiting for me back here in Hallmark Beach the whole time.”
Then he kisses me with all the depth and love I feel right back for him. And as a slew of fireworks burst and flame in a raging, beautiful finale overhead, I know that my love story with Blake is just beginning.