Chapter 33 #2
“I am so sorry, Marisa. I was such a bloody fool thinking I had any right to step in and fix what you were more than capable of handling. I should have trusted you. Fuck, I do trust you. With all my goddamn heart, I trust you.” He pulled her closer against him, and this time, she was more than happy to slide her hands farther underneath his coat and wrap them around his broad chest.
“Phoebe told me everything. Surprise: neither of us got on Monica’s approved vendor list,” Marisa murmured, hating how the admission of her business’s failure was some of the first words spoken in the New Year already.
“She’s not as bad as I thought, though, honestly.
I think Phoebe’s more misunderstood than anything. ”
“Most people are, which is why there was one other thing I needed to do before I could allow myself to come back to you.”
Marisa looked up at him, confused.
“I wasn’t kidding about what I wrote in that letter.
I could stay like this, with you in my arms and be selfishly content for as long as you’ll have me, but if I don’t truly earn your forgiveness and give back what my callousness took from you, then what’s the bloody point?
” He pressed his warm lips to her nose and stepped back quickly, as if that small kiss was all he’d permit himself. “Check your email.”
“Why? It’s one in the morning on a holiday. Anything that’s in there can wait.”
“It’s technically one fifteen, and I need you to check it. Please, Marisa.”
It was the please that gave her pause. Never had she heard that type of desperation in his voice, as if the very ground would swallow them both up if she didn’t pull out her phone.
So she satisfied him and looked.
The latest email at the top was one he’d been copied on, but she didn’t recognize the sender’s name. “Who’s Veronica Baker?”
“Martin Penhaus’s wife. She was at the Ball with him. Keep reading.”
A burst of butterflies took flight behind her sternum, fluttering so fast she would likely be airborne in another few seconds unless she did something about it. Nervously, she clicked on the email.
Dear Ms. Silver,
I hope this email finds you well and that you are enjoying a wonderful holiday season.
I am Veronica Baker, and my family owns the Baker Arena and Sports Complex, home to the Bergen County Blue Devils Minor League Baseball Team.
Our facility also includes the largest indoor ice-skating rink in the county, as well as a field house for regional track and field and gymnastics competitions.
Additionally, I am the wife of Martin Penhaus, and the two of us are quite thrilled to be the newest admirers of Sweetest Heart’s Desire.
While in attendance at the Crystal Christmas Ball, I had the good fortune to sample your gingerbread fudge featuring a wonderful picture of the famed rugby player Alec Elms, who was gracious enough to share your contact information with me and who I have also copied on this email.
To be quite frank, I was completely enamored with your confections, specifically the sports-themed fudge, and would love the opportunity to speak with you about bringing your products into the concessions offerings at our facilities.
For some time, my family and I have been looking for a way to expand Baker Arena into other markets beyond facility rental space.
Whether you intended this or not, your idea of putting Mr. Elms as the face of your business was brilliant.
I should like to entertain more of this genius, perhaps in the form of exclusive team-branded candies for licensing and distribution in the arena.
Such items could feature seasonal offerings of your designs throughout the year or even designs for regional and high school teams, etc.
Please don’t hesitate to contact me at your earliest convenience. I very much hope such a partnership might interest you in the future.
I look forward to speaking with you and trying more of your offerings.
Sincerely,
Veronica Baker
Co-owner of Baker Arena and Sports Complex
Vice President of Operations and Licensing
Fat teardrops blurred out the rest of the email signature, along with the vague cartoony animal holding a baseball bat that appeared at the bottom. Before Alec would let her waterlog her electronics any further, he carefully took the device from her hand and slipped it into her coat pocket.
Ugh, she was a total mess and couldn’t seem to get a word out without sniffing through it.
A licensing opportunity for her business, one where she could test her creativity in the concessions realm?
Marisa knew next to nothing about the number of people who would normally come through an arena of that size, but crowds were crowds.
And steady crowds could be profitable. That much she knew.
Already, her mind was spinning with what this meant for the future of her business and the varieties of treats she could offer that would fit a sports-themed clientele.
“I can see the gears turning, and it makes me glad.” Alec rested his hands on her shoulders and rubbed them with a quick nod of subdued satisfaction, as though he’d checked the final box on a wish list before resigning himself to what awaited him on the other side.
And that would not do.
Marisa grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him.
She didn’t care that her face was a snowy streaky mess or that whatever wetness she was painting on his cheeks might have been of undesirable origins, given her sniffles.
All she cared about was having Alec in her arms and clinging to him like a spider monkey so he wouldn’t turn around and walk out of her life again.
“I’ve missed this,” he said against her lips, grabbing her tighter and hauling her up against his chest so her boots dangled. “I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That I’d destroyed any hope of getting you to trust me again. That I hadn’t done a good enough job of making you believe that I’d never ever say such awful things about you. That I had given you even the smallest reason to doubt how much I love you.”
She’d seen the word on paper, scrawled in his hasty hand before he deposited the note with Cal and ran off to the airport. But on paper, it seemed different, not entirely like any other word. After all, once written down, there were so many things a person could love.
She herself had drawn several Marisa loves so-and-so doodles on countless notebooks all through junior high.
And then there were the Sweethearts—heart-shaped candies with the word love printed all over them.
She was a candy maker. Hearts and love were her jam.
Seeing the word caused no more shock than an EMT encountering blood at a car accident. Par for the course.
But hearing it from his mouth, whispers away from her own? For some reason, his accent thickened the word, strengthening the emotion into the sincerest, most unbreakable declaration. When Alec said he’d loved her, there was no room for incredulity.
It was a pledge. A promise. A vow.
And not a damn hint of anything fake.
While Marisa took the time to sit with the realization, Alec kept going, listing off so many faults and worries that she was convinced he must have kept a spare supply of his shame in his duffel bag.
“Alec,” she said, touching her finger to his lips and putting an end to his self-deprecation. “I forgive you.”
His eyes widened as much as they could given the bags weighing them down. “Truly?”
“Truly. Because when you love someone, it’s easy to forgive them.”
Misty-eyed, she gave him a squeeze around his middle, and the largest, brightest smile broke out across his face. The twirling came next, along with more kissing and her laughing against his scruffy cheek as snowflakes gathered on their eyelashes and landed on her teeth.
It wasn’t until her elbows knocked against something hard that she asked him to put her down. “What’s in your pocket?”
He didn’t answer. Just moved his arms out to the sides and let her root around for the offending object that had stopped her fun. When her fingers brushed against something smooth and narrow, she pulled out her hand to reveal . . .
“Blueberry candy canes?”
Alec shrugged an Eh, what are you going to do? and plucked a choice one from the small bundle. “They’ve grown on me.”
“Okay, I take it back,” she said as she handed him her keys and forced him to open her front door while she began unwrapping her purloined treat. “You’re not so easy to forgive. These ones were mine, from my private stash. I can’t get these again until next year.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to make some of your own. Still love me?”
“I guess.”
He barked out a laugh and kissed her cheek. “My kind of miracle.”