Chapter 20
“Ooh, that looks so good! Mine looks like a blob.”
We’ve finished the demo portion of the evening, and now I’m roaming quietly while the women work on painting the signs they’ll take home with them later. The Spice Girls’ If You Want to Be My Lover plays in the background along with the sound of happy chatter and bouts of laughter.
“You can easily fix that,” I say, moving in closer to the one I think is called Abby.
She’s sitting at the table nearest the desserts, working away under the warm glow of the string lights with a determined frown on her pixie-like face.
Her expression, paired with the heavy club-ready makeup, is almost laughable, but—like the others—she seems to be enjoying herself.
“Widen the other letters a smidge to match, and you’ll even that out. Easy.”
“Maybe for you, you’re like … really good at this.” Her blue eyes squint in concentration as she tries the technique I showed her. “Hey, it worked!”
I pat her on the shoulder. “Great work. I think you’re going to love how that turns out.” I check the time on my phone.
Only nine thirty. Shit. We got through the demo much faster than I’d planned.
In part thanks to the bolstered confidence of my drunken pupils, who kept yelling, Take the training wheels off!
I’m going around the room topping off champagne glasses as I chew my bottom lip, when there’s a knock at the door.
My heart skips when I see Parker stick his head through.
We haven’t spoken since the limo arrived.
As much as I’ve tried to push him out of my head, I’ve been replaying our fight in my head the whole time.
I wanted to trust my gut, to believe that I’d been right to call things off before we went any further.
If he can’t trust me to be real with him, then what hope is there that anything between us could be real?
But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt the sting of disappointment as the implications of that settled in over my heart.
“Is that the stripper?” someone shouts. Parker turns red before waving me over and disappearing out the door.
“Hey,” he says in a hushed voice when I follow him onto the landing, his eyes sliding over my face.
“Hey.” I’m not trying to be cold or distant, but I don’t want to send mixed signals, so I ignore the tailspin my stomach is in from his scent washing over me.
“Look, about earlier … I’m sorry. You were trying to help, which is something I’m not used to. Clearly. I’m used to being the one to help, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” He rubs the back of his neck.
I cross my arms over my chest. This isn’t a good time to have this conversation. I need to get back in there, but I can’t tamp down my curiosity. “Why did you?”
“Before tonight, Tabitha’s been the only person who’s ever really helped me without expecting something in return.
She’s uh … she’s told me that I’m not very good at being on the receiving end of it.
” He pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line.
His gaze drops briefly to his scuffed-up boots.
“Guys like the one who came here earlier? That’s my life, Sloan.
I’ve accepted that dealing with this shit is my reality, but it doesn’t have to be yours. ”
“It doesn’t have to be yours either,” I argue. “I don’t understand why you won’t take the money to get rid of him—"
“This has nothing to do with the money, Sloan.” His eyes bore into me as he speaks, holding me captive.
“Seeing you in the same room as that guy today made my blood run cold. My dad is really good at getting himself into trouble with the wrong people. Dangerous people. The idea of getting you involved any more than you already are … I’m a grown man and I don’t mind admitting that it scares the crap out of me, Sloan.
I can’t be responsible for you getting hurt. ”
I study the lines in his face, etched between his eyebrows and carved around the edges of his mouth, heavy with the weight of everything he carries for the people in his life who give him no choice but to bear it alone.
But there’s always a choice, even when it seems impossible, even when it’s not the easy one. Sometimes you have to choose you.
“Parker, you’re not stuck with it any more than I am.
” His eyes are deep, dark pools of emotion, and I want to plunge into them to extinguish the fire that’s lit inside my chest. “Bad things happen. Even to people with perfect families, perfect jobs, and perfect marriages. Accepting it is easy because most people won’t argue with you about it.
A week ago, I was ready to give up on everything I’ve worked for, and if I had, none of these women would be in here having a great time,” I say, jerking a thumb over my shoulder.
“The only reason I’m doing this right now is because you and Tabitha were beside me the whole time. ”
He frowns. “We hardly did anything.”
“But I wasn’t alone, Parker.”
We stand chest to chest, staring at each other as I wait, hoping that he’ll agree to my silent plea. Trust me. Let me go through this with you.
“Okay,” he says, his voice low, the word trembling in the air between us.
His shoulders relax in relief, and the vice grip around my heart finally loosens. He tilts his chin towards the door to the loft behind me.
“How’s it going in there?” His nose wrinkles. “And what is that noise?”
I laugh, trying not to let my head go any foggier as he leans into my space to get a peek.
“They brought their own playlist.” Luckily, because I hadn’t thought of music for tonight either.
The list of things I’ll do differently next time—if there is a next time—is growing.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. “I think it’s going kind of great.
Just … quicker than I expected. I need to fill their time so they get their money’s worth.
I don’t know, I could have them make a second sign, but I’m worried they’ll get bored.
I think I understand why parents host their kids’ birthdays at Chuck E. Cheese.”
He grins, and I get lost for a second in his eyes. In my heeled boots, they’re much closer to my level, and I take advantage of the guise that we’re conspiring to stare directly into them.
“I was hoping you would say that. I have a surprise.”
I perk up. “What is it?”
He winks. Like, actually winks. Who is this man, and what has he done with Parker?
“You’ll see. Bring them down whenever you’re ready.”
“Parker, come on. What is it?” I demand, grabbing his arm.
He looks at me, all traces of teasing erased. The intensity of his stare sets my insides fluttering in a whole new way, and I can hear my heartbeat thrum in my ears.
“Trust me?” he asks, eyes still locked on mine.
I swallow, knowing this is crazy. Knowing if he asked me the same thing three days ago, I would have said no. But I’m choosing to take myself down a different path to see what’s there.
So, with his warm hand on my arm, I nod.
***
Trust me.
As of recently, ‘trust’ is no longer a word I take lightly.
Though he certainly hasn’t steered me wrong yet.
There’s no reason I shouldn’t—none except for the logical side of my brain that reminds me I barely know him.
I don’t even trust the people I’ve known my whole life, at this point.
But here’s the thing, I want to trust him. I want him to be in this with me.
With one final deep breath—I’ve now crossed over into expert territory in meditative breathing from today alone—I put myself in his hands. Again.
I freeze when we reach the bottom of the stairs and see Parker—
Wearing a freaking cowboy hat.
At least three different conversations screech to a halt. My first instinct is to burst out laughing. But damn if he doesn’t somehow look incredibly sexy. I kind of wish he wore it all the time.
“Ladies,” he greets us with a slight tip of his hat.
Hello, Sundance Kid.
“Stop it, there’s a sexy farmhand and everything?” the bride, Lucy, says excitedly, clapping her hands together.
“Lucy! This isn’t dinner theater; he can hear you,” one of her friends says.
I watch the discomfort try to squirm its way out of Parker’s body, one muscle at a time. But even with pink cheeks, he fumbles only slightly before he manages to keep the charade going.
“Uh, yeah so … I understand this is a special occasion, and your host,” he gestures at me, but I could probably strip naked and they wouldn’t take their eyes off him, “has organized something extra special for you all. If you’ll follow me?”
We trail after him like eager ducklings, and when we emerge from the barn, my gasp gets lost in the chorus of them that collectively rise up from the group.
The outdoor riding ring is illuminated with a soft, yellow glow.
String lights, similar to the ones we put up in the loft, are draped around the wooden fence that surrounds the perimeter of the rectangular pen.
Beside it, a campfire crackles in a low barrel, with logs surrounding it for seating.
Once they finish taking pictures enthusiastically, everyone settles in, grabbing blankets from a wicker basket to drape over their laps.
There’s even a basket going around with all the makings for s'mores, and a bundle of roasting sticks propped next to the fire.
I drift over to Parker’s side, taking it all in. “When did you do all this?”
But when I turn to face him, he’s already slipped away. The women make themselves comfortable, smiling and laughing.
“This is just like that summer at camp!” Lucy squeals. “That was the best summer ever.”
“Yeah, remember they had that spooky old barn, but it was empty and haunted? I heard a ghost in there once.”
“You did not, Abby. You heard the camp counselors going at it.”
“Oh my god, nooo! Do you think so?”
They all erupt in laughter.
Abby looks scandalized. “People did it at camp?!”
“People definitely did stuff at camp,” Veronica says slyly. “Or so I heard.”