CHAPTER 52
Summer
“You own this?”
“I’m really rich.”
My eyes scan the open space surrounded by windows. It’s all chrome and creamy white furniture and fancy artwork on the white walls. Compared to my little cabin in the mountains, this is a palace.
“You must really like spending money,” I say.
We’re standing in Declan’s penthouse apartment about a million miles above Central Park.
A few moments ago, from my vantage point on the front sidewalk, this long and skinny skyscraper reminded me of a giant toothpick.
But the apartment interior is bigger than Cal’s house, which is saying something, and it’s more modern than a spaceship.
Declan is clearly pumped to show it to me.
“Yeah,” he says. “When we first started making money, I had a little too much fun throwing cash around. Our planes and choppers are company property, but I wanted a few things just for Declan.”
I grab a seat at the marble dining table and slide my palms over the cool, smooth surface. “I’m sitting down for this,” I tell him. “You just referred to yourself in third person, which means whatever you’re gonna tell me next will be gross. Go ahead.”
He sits across from me. “Oh, yeah. We’re talking way gross. For example, I bought a pair of red velvet Gucci slippers, like the ones the Pope wears.”
“That is gross.”
“I made a few other luxury-brand fashion mistakes, but I’ll spare you those details.”
“Thank you.”
“And I bought some property!” He gestures to the blinged-out, cavernous apartment.
“Declan, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you talk about staying in New York. Have you ever even slept here?”
“We’re here now, aren’t we?” He starts to explain, but I stop him.
“No, I get it. The penthouse is just a huge Pope’s slipper. Totally ridiculous and something you’ll never use.”
“But the farm in Lanai, now that you’re going to love,” he says. “I’ll take you there on our honeymoon, if you want.”
I feel my face heat up under his gaze. He wants to impress me, and more than that, he wants to please me.
Attention. Care. Love. Pleasure. Patience. Laughter.
Declan has spoiled me rotten. And I can’t help it—sometimes I wonder if I deserve all this from him. Especially now that I’m a dead girl walking.
“Is there any food in the joint?” I ask. At that same moment, the doorbell rings.
Declan arches an eyebrow and smiles from ear to ear. “How’s that for timing?”
He jumps up and runs to the door like a kid on the first day of summer break. “Come in!” he says, opening the door to a small army. Immediately, I see that they’ve come to set up for a candlelight dinner.
There’s linen and silver, china and crystal, fresh flowers, and tapered candles. But when they’ve finished setting the table, three more people stroll in, and I get a whiff of what’s on the menu.
They place three foil-covered pans on the table, along with four paper bags. Then everyone files out as quickly as they appeared.
“Is this really—?”
“Why, yes. Yes, it is. It’s Interstellar BBQ from Austin.”
“Declan! How—?”
He holds up his cellphone. “I’m a badass on a motorcycle. I’m a genius with anything that flies. But, baby, I can perform miracles with a Wi-Fi connection.”
I blink, staring at the food. Everything smells delicious. It’s an over-the-top sweet gesture. And this is the exact wrong time to do what I’m about to do, but I can’t stop it from happening.
I look up at him. I feel my chin trembling. I feel the tears coming.
Declan drops to the floor at my feet and cradles both my hands in his. “What’s wrong, Summer? Should I have gone with Tex-Mex?”
I close my eyes and start laughing, which means I’m now laughing and crying at the same time, and I don’t even know how that’s physically possible. I drop my head, embarrassed.
“What’s going on?” Declan’s voice has gone calm. “You can tell me.”
I raise my glance and pull one hand away so that I can swipe at the tears. “It’s too much, Declan. You’re too much sometimes. Because I… I’m not sure…” I trail off. I don’t want to sound like a drama queen, which is the last thing I ever thought I’d become.
“It’s just that I haven’t earned any of this,” I say, my eyes locked on his. “I don’t deserve all the extra stuff, like the private planes and the best doctors and the nurse concierge or whatever Wendy called herself. I’m just a plain, average person.”
He starts to say something, but I stop him. “Declan, I’m not worth all this trouble. You’re bending over backwards for me, and it just doesn’t feel right. It feels like all this should go to someone else.”
He falls back on his heels, frowning. “What exactly haven’t you earned?”
“Everything. Your love.”
“Oh, Summer.”
“No. Listen, dammit. I’m telling you that I don’t understand this, Declan!”
“All right,” he says. “What don’t you understand?”
“I’m a hard worker, right? I came to Yosemite to bust my hump and build some security for myself. You know how I never had that before the ranch.”
“I know.”
“So that’s how I’ve always seen life. I work my ass off, and in exchange I get a paycheck, benefits, money to buy a little place and a truck and be independent. It’s pretty simple. But this?” I gesture to him and then to myself. “I can’t wrap my head around it. Why would you do this for me?”
I see pain in Declan’s expression, and I absolutely hate myself for being the cause. This was stupid.
“You know what?” I say. “I’m being ridiculous. I’m just feeling nervous and wonky because of the MRI and the hospital and everything. You can just forget—”
He leans in and kisses me. It’s an unbearably sweet and tender touch of his mouth on mine, and it soothes me.
Then without a word, he stands, picks me up, and then sits where I’ve just been.
Declan pulls me into his lap and gathers me in his arms. He gently presses my head into the crook of his neck.
And he just holds me like that in silence for a minute or two.
I breathe him in. Feel his warmth. Come back to earth.
“Love isn’t a job, Summer,” he says. I feel his deep voice rumble in his throat. “You don’t have to work for my love. Nothing about the two of us is transactional. I love you for the incredible woman you are, and you love my dumb ass in return.”
I smile into the side of his neck. “I’m trying to accept that this is real. Like I said, I’m struggling to understand.”
“Take your time.”
He holds me like this for what must be fifteen minutes, until I can’t stand it anymore.
“I’m starving,” I say.
“Thank you! I was just about ready to gnaw off my own hand.”
We dig into the feast he had flown in from Austin. There’s melt-in-your-mouth brisket, juicy spareribs, baked beans, mac and cheese, and scalloped potatoes. At one point, Declan looks over at me and grins.
“What?” I ask.
“You remember the bacon barbecue burgers in Las Vegas? When I reached over the table and wiped sauce from your cheek?”
“Of course, I remember. I guess you’re going to tell me that I’ve got some on me again.”
“Absolutely you do. But things are different now between us. I bet you’d let me kiss it off. Maybe you’d even let me smear it all over your body and lick you from head to toe and dip a French fry in your belly button.”
I stare at him. “I worry about you sometimes, Declan.”
He knows I’d let him, though. And then I’d do the same for him.
We eat and chat and laugh, and the whole time I’m doing my absolute best to not think about how, at this very moment and only a short drive away, a big-shot doctor is reviewing my MRI results and deciding my fate.
This might be the last dinner I eat with a sliver of hope in my heart. Up until now, I could comfort myself with the thought that there’s no diagnosis yet, that nothing’s definitive, that I’m in a kind of wait-and-see limbo.
But that’s about to be over.
“My last supper,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?”
I reach over and wipe a smear of barbecue sauce from Declan’s chin. “Nothing,” I tell him.