Chapter 10 #4
“While we’re on the topic of confessions, I want you to know that I’m a fraud.
” It would be nice if I could stop humiliating myself further, but the words just keep on coming.
“I plan people’s weddings, and I love that.
I love it so freaking much. I went to school for it, and I had to fight my parents to let me do that, so that’s not fraudulent, but I’ve never been in love myself.
I make people feel like everything is going to be handled by a professional who knows all about handling such things, and I do handle it. I handle it like a freaking lady boss.”
I’ve cried so many more tears that my face is tight and hot. My contacts might be saline-washed, but they’re total shards of glass. Getting them out would be the relief of a lifetime. On top of it all, I hiccup. Loudly.
I snatch up the water bottle and beat a fast path outside. I’m not running away. I just need to get my contacts out before they detonate.
My glasses are in my car. I chug the rest of the water, wipe my face on my sleeve, though it probably just smears more grime around than it takes off, and get out the plastic bag with the soapy water I packed, thinking there might not be a place to wash my hands in a pinch.
It’s a road trip thing that I learned from my mom.
And by road trip, I mean going to the park or the grocery store.
She’s always prepared, and she hates wet wipes.
This probably isn’t much better, but at least I feel okay about sticking my fingers in my eyes to drag the contacts out.
They’re disposables, and I set them in my little garbage bag in the passenger footwell.
Sliding my wire-rim glasses on has never felt more like heaven.
I get them on just in time to see Rowleigh walking from the barn with purposeful strides. His body is a moving work of art, a living statue. He’s so freaking beautiful that it takes my breath away.
And he has my evil bear in his hand.
He doesn’t say anything. He just thrusts it out to me.
“Oh. I…I wasn’t leaving. I just had to get those contacts out before they ate me alive. I’m sorry.” I bite my lip, though I know it’s a bad habit, and it’s such an obvious thing to do, drawing attention to my awkwardness and anxiety.
He’s quiet. Stoic. But not closed off or angry.
Rowleigh isn’t like other rich men. He’s not like other men, period.
He doesn’t have a huge ego that gets in the way of everything.
He’s not quiet because he’s trying to make me uncomfortable or because he’s seething with rage.
He’s just silent as he searches for the right words.
I think.
I hope.
He holds my gaze. My eyes are sore, probably red rimmed, aching from the contacts. I probably look like I have double pink eye, with my glasses magnifying the horror.
I take the bear without our hands brushing. I hold it in my arms, cradling it like it’s a baby that wouldn’t eat my nose off if it had a chance. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” I know I already said that. But it bears saying again.
I am. I am sorry. So fucking sorry.
He either doesn’t want to say anything, or he can’t.
I don’t want to beg for it, but I don’t know what to do.
I lean against my car, clutching the bear.
“Please say something. If you want. If you can. I’d appreciate it.
” His lips part, but no sound comes out.
“Please tell me I haven’t broken you all over again.
That I haven’t entirely deconstructed your faith in humanity. ”
“What other dark confessions do you have?”
A tiny little spark of humor dances in his eyes. He gives nothing else away, but it’s enough to prick the massive balloon of worry that’s in my insides, letting some of the air out.
“That’s pretty much it. Unless you count the fact that I like to time my laundry just right so I can put the wash into the dryer right around the time I go to bed because I like the sound of the dyer balls beating around in there.
I have many, many dryer balls. And I like this song that drives everyone crazy. The banana song.”
He frowns. “Explain it?”
“I can’t,” I say with a shake of my head.
“Please.”
I take a deep breath and set the bear on the top of my car, relenting.
“It goes like banana, banana, ban-anna-anna-anna. Just over and over again.” I repeat it, wriggling my hips this time.
On the third time, I jump from side to side, my hands in the air overhead and pointing upwards, imitating a long banana.
Or a deranged rocket ship.
His lips twitch. They fall flat but then twitch again. He finally loses the battle and grins so hard that a dimple pops out. “I see.”
I see too. That dimple. His lips. It’s impossible not to laugh a little and smile, too, just because looking at him is like looking into the sun, and the sun is vital for all things that are living. My stomach bottoms out, my nipples bottom out, my bottom bottoms out.
“Can you forgive me for this?” I ask quietly.
His smile drops but doesn’t fade away. Well, a ghost of a smile is better than no smile.
His eyes aren’t angry either, and they’re not burning with the desire for retribution.
“I’m floored that my daughter loves me enough to go to these lengths for me.
” Of course he’d say that. Think it. Feel it.
He can find meaning in what other people would only see as betrayal and be wounded by.
“And how you love her so much that you agreed to help. I’m so glad she has someone there for her, someone who loves her for her and who sees her and cherishes her. ”
“I do. I do very much.” My hand flies to my lips, which I swear have become a hornet’s nest of buzzing activity. They’re still electrified after that kiss. My whole body is a clap of thunder after bursts of lightning. I don’t want to comment on what’s clapping. “I…I kissed you.”
“Yes.” That’s neither certain nor uncertain, but I’m certain of one thing.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I did mean it. I don’t know what to do with that. We should probably just…take some time and decompress. And go for cookies and tea because I promised we would. I have to talk shop if I’m bringing my nightmare bear home with me.”
“In all my years picking, that is the most haunted being I have ever encountered.”
“Real talk? That’s shocking.”
He laughs, taking a step toward the house. He waits for me to catch up with him as I bring the bear and fall in beside him. He naturally slows his long strides so I can keep up. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
At the porch, he pauses. “Thank you for being honest with me.” He’s facing the front door, but my heart trips over itself, and I become breathless all the same.
“Thank you for not finding another more haunted item to one-up me and also hex me.”
“Never.” He turns, his face dead serious but kind too.
“Also, I don’t think you’re a fraud. You don’t have to be in love to be a great wedding planner.
Part of being a good person is knowing your faults and flaws and growing from there.
That doesn’t have much to do with weddings, at least ones that aren’t your own.
You’re probably a great wedding planner because you pay attention to detail.
You’re organized, you’re compassionate, you listen, and you care.
You believe in love, and you believe in celebrating someone else’s happiness instead of being jealous of it. That’s huge.”
I want to take that and let it soak in, but I’m so used to finding one more thing to fix about myself that it’s hard.
“I think you’re doing just fine,” he encourages, not letting me spiral.
“Didn’t you just tell me there’s always room for good things on top of good things?
If you stop growing and searching and learning about the world and about yourself, then that’s an ego problem, and it’s a bad spot to be. You’re so far from there.”
I’m going to cry again. And this time, it’s going to be ugly crying tears. “How do you know exactly what to say?”
“I guess because I’m banana, banana, ban-anna-anna-anna.” He wriggles his hips just like I did, which makes me burst out laughing. “Let’s go barter for your haunted bear.”
We walk up the porch together, but before he knocks on the door, I blurt out the neediest, most pathetic thing ever. “Please tell me this isn’t the last time I’ll see you.”
He doesn’t touch me. He’s not close enough that any of our body parts are even in danger of brushing against each other, but his face softens, and it’s his freaking aura that reaches out to me. I swear, it’s a real thing.
“It won’t be. I promise,” he says.
There’s a huge but in there. But I can’t press. Like the poisonous snake’s anal scales, it’s not a good idea to dig underneath and examine it. Is that even real? I’m starting to doubt myself. Don’t believe everything you read online.
“I have to go to Europe and settle things there with Geneiva and her dad. If the deal falls through, it falls through, but now I see that an arranged marriage was an insane ask. We’re not things to be bartered with.
I also want to make sure Geneiva is okay.
She doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken or her family ripped apart because of me.
I need to put it all on myself because it is on me.
I should never have agreed in the first place.
I’ll talk to Mika before I leave, and as soon as I get back, maybe we can have another one of those coffee dates. Or even dinner.”
“You could always drop by her shop once in a while and buy some awesome goth clothing.”
I’m trying to make him laugh, but he nods like he’s actually considering it. Holy shit, Rowleigh in a long black trench with eyeliner, tight leather pants, suspenders only, no shirt, and painted black nails…
Hooo boy.
There aren’t enough breezes in the world to fan away the heat that’s emanating from my body.
To be fair, Rowleigh in anything is such a hot image that no matter what, I’d be a burning red hot cherry over here.
“Tea,” I mutter, reaching past Rowleigh to knock on the door. “Tea is a great thing.”
“Tea and cookies are even better.”
“With good company,” I add.
“Yeah,” Rowleigh agrees.
My hand falls away, and I wait side by side with Rowleigh, the bear in my arms. Looks like he’s going for tea too. Death tea.
This day didn’t go as planned, just like the failed tacos and the rainstorm, but it was a good day. It was more than a good day. It was all the good, the sad, the scary, the painful, the brave, the hard, and then the soft.
“This can’t be the last time I see you because I have to pay back that loan,” I blurt as we hear footsteps coming from inside.
Rowleigh’s smile is small and secret, a little bit wry and a whole lot amused. “Yeah,” he says again, that one word meaning everything and anything. And the one thing it does mean?
This isn’t it. This isn’t the end.
Even if he’s canceling his wedding, and he knows the truth, we’re not nearly done with each other.