Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
cole
It had taken monumental fortitude to let her walk past me, but I knew using physical strength to force her to remain there until I somehow found the right words to win her back was not a good plan.
After she’d gone, I stood there alone in the hallway, wondering how I’d managed to fuck up so colossally in five minutes.
I’d just fucking gotten here! I was still wearing my goddamn coat!
“Hey. You okay?”
I turned around to see Griffin standing there. “Hey. No.”
“I saw Cheyenne go flying for the door. What happened?”
“Fuck if I know, exactly. I walked in prepared to calmly ask her for another chance and promise to do better, then I saw her talking to that asshole from the Mavs. What the hell is he doing here anyway?” I asked angrily, like it was his fault I’d messed up with Cheyenne.
Griffin rolled his eyes. “Blair invited him. He’s a regular at the bakery. New in town.”
“Oh.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Anyway, when I saw them together, I fucking forgot everything I was supposed to say and got all territorial.”
Griffin shrugged. “It happens.”
“Did she leave?”
“I think so.”
“Fuck.” I leaned back against the wall. “I need to figure this out. What does she need to hear?”
Before Griffin could answer, the oven timer went off. “I need to get that,” he said. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He left me alone in the hallway again, and I stayed there for a minute, trying to decide if I wanted to stay or go. After making up my mind to take off, I went to say goodbye to Blair in the kitchen.
“Hey,” she said, glancing at my coat. “Are you leaving too?”
“Yeah. I’m not in the mood for a crowd. I’m really sorry if I ruined anything. I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“I know you didn’t.” She shook her head, her expression sympathetic. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Tell me what to do, Blair. Tell me what to say.”
“I can’t, Cole. I wish I could. But it has to come authentically from you or she’ll know it’s not real. Cheyenne can read you like a book, my friend.”
I nodded. “Right.”
“Hey. Come here.” She opened her arms and gave me a quick hug. “You’re going to figure this out.”
“Thanks. I just hope I figure it out before some other guy comes along and gets it right with her from the start.”
She shook her head. “Cole Mitchell, you know damn well you’ve been the only boy for her since she laid eyes on you. Now go convince her she’s the only girl for you.”
I went home and watched the ball drop with my mom and Mariah, but my mind was somewhere else. Something Blair said had stuck with me.
Cheyenne can read you like a book.
She was right. There was no use trying to hide things from Cheyenne.
She could tell when something was bothering me just from looking at my face or listening to my body language.
And I didn’t want to hide things from her.
Even if it wasn’t in my nature to show people my scars, I’d learn to do it for her.
I’d do anything for her.
The next day, I made two phone calls.
The first was to Bianca DeRossi. “Hey, Bianca. Sorry to call you on a holiday, but I was wondering if we might get moving on that window seat we talked about. If you’re not busy this weekend, I’m off the next three days, and I’ll be moving some things over to the house. Let me know, thanks.”
Next, I left a message for Jessalyn Wells, asking her for the name and number of the therapist she’d tried to recommend for me.
Bianca called me back later that day, thrilled to get moving on the project for Cheyenne as well as walk through the house with me now that I owned it.
“How’s tomorrow at ten a.m.?” she asked.
“That’s great for me. You sure it won’t disrupt your Saturday plans?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The following morning, I was waiting for her at the new house when Jessalyn returned my call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cole. This is Jessalyn Wells.”
“Hi, Jessalyn. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
“Of course. So you’ve decided to speak with a therapist?”
I took a breath. “Yes. I’m at least going to give it a try.”
“I think that’s great, Cole. Really great.
” She gave me the name and number of someone in her office that counseled adults and had done a lot of work with group grief therapy.
“Not that you have to do that,” she said quickly, as if she knew I’d been about to protest at the idea of talking in front of a group.
“I just wanted you to know she has experience working with people who have lost loved ones.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Well, I’ll let you go. Happy new year.”
“Happy new year,” I said.
We hung up, and I looked at the name and number I’d written down. Before I lost my nerve, I called it and left a message requesting an appointment. I wanted to have at least one session under my belt the next time I asked Cheyenne to give me another chance.
And by having the window seat built in the master bedroom, I wanted to show her that this would be our house—that her dreams and mine were intertwined now, that our future was here, together.
Bianca was one hundred percent on board. “You know what?” she said, eyeballing the space that morning. “We could knock this project out in a few days.”
“Really?”
“Sure. With some help.” She glanced at me. “You think you could get Enzo over here with some wood and a hammer?” Then she laughed and flashed her palms at me. “No pun intended.”
I laughed too. “I bet I could.”
“Excellent. Why don’t you give him a call? He’s much more likely to say yes to you than me.”
“Agreed,” I said, digging my cell from my pocket. “Calling him now.”
Moretti was in.
But he said if we were really going to do it right within only a few days, we’d need a couple more pairs of hands, so we enlisted Griffin and Beckett too.
We worked the entire weekend, and Moretti came back Monday to help me finish up.
Bianca was fantastic as well. While the guys yanked up the carpeting, refinished the wood floors, and constructed not only a window seat but built-in bookshelves on either side of it, she rolled up her sleeves and painted the walls a soft gray.
She also shopped like her life depended on it.
By Tuesday evening, I had a king-sized bed with an upholstered headboard, made up with brand new sheets Bianca insisted Cheyenne would appreciate for their high thread count, a fluffy white quilt, and more pillows than two adults could possibly need.
At the foot of the bed was a cozy throw blanket in a soft pink that reminded me of something Cheyenne would wear.
Next to the bed on either side were two matching antique tables for nightstands with twin lamps sitting on top of them.
Beneath the bed was a gray and white patterned rug.
Over by the fireplace, which Beckett helped me get in working order, were two easy chairs and a small table in between, upon which Bianca had set a little tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom after work, I could hardly believe it. “Wow,” I said to Bianca on the phone as I drove home. “I don’t know how to thank you. Everything is perfect. Please send me the bill for everything.”
She laughed. “We’ll get to that. When are you going to show it to her?”
“Soon, I hope. Maybe this weekend.”
“And you’re moving in for real the following week?”
“Yes.”
“Nice.” Then she paused. “This might be a personal question, but is Cheyenne going to live at the new house with you?”
“I hope so.”
She laughed. “Well, if anything can convince her, that master bedroom will do the trick. Let me know how she likes it—although I already know she’s going to love it.”
“I will. Thanks again, Bianca.”
Later that night, I went in to say goodnight to Mariah. She was speaking to me again, but our relationship had been strained since Christmas.
I sat on her bed. “A week from tonight, you’ll be sleeping in your new bunk beds in the new house.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not excited about it?”
“I am. I just wish Cheyenne was moving in with us too, like she was supposed to. I miss her.” She looked up at me. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” I said. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
She propped herself up on her elbows. “Are you going to try to get her back?”
I smiled. “I’m going to try to get her back.”
Mariah fell back on her pillow, a relieved smile on her face. “Yesss.” But then she frowned. “Wait, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to bring her over to the new house and show her something I’ve been working on.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a window seat, the kind she said she’d like to curl up on and read a book.”
Mariah nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
“I’m also going to apologize for lying to her about the bad dreams. And tell her that I’m going to talk to a therapist about them.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?”
“Yes. I have my first appointment on Thursday.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little,” I admitted with a smile. “But I’m still going to go.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not that bad.”
“That’s because you’re so brave.” I brushed the hair back from her forehead. “And I’m going to remember how brave you are if I get worried.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Any other ideas for when I talk to Cheyenne?”
“Hmmm.” Her brow furrowed. “Definitely tell her about the dog. She likes dogs.”
“I will definitely tell her.”
“And maybe sing her a song. That’s what Danny did for Sandy in Grease. And she wore tight shiny pants for him.”
“I will not be singing her a song or wearing any kind of shiny pants.”
She sighed. “How about candles? In movies when someone tries to be romantic, there are always candles.”
“Now you’re talking. I can do candles.”
“Okay. When are you going to talk to her?”
“Well, if she agrees, I’m hoping Friday evening.”
Mariah frowned again. “What if she doesn’t agree? She’s really mad at you, isn’t she? I mean, maybe I should ask her.”
I was about to argue with her, but I decided she might be right—and besides, Mariah deserved to play a role in bringing us back together. “You know what? I’d love your help winning her back.”
She grinned at me. “You got it.”