CHAPTER 59
Declan
Tonight’s the night. The two-week dry spell is officially over. And I’ll be doing everything in my power to remind Summer that she’s all mine.
And I’m all hers.
Since I didn’t find Summer at my place, I check with Special K, who said he saw her drive her truck up the mountain toward her cabin early this morning. He added that he thought she was headed out to the east pastures today to check on a section of fencing that needed repair.
I know she’s been itching to get back to her cabin. So that’s where I go.
I smile when I see her truck parked outside. The porch light is on, but I don’t see any interior lights or smoke coming from the chimney, which is concerning. But I take the first of what I know will be several trips inside.
“Summer?” I drop the box on the couch and check her bedroom. Then her bathroom. She’s not here.
I go back out to the Jeep, telling myself that if her truck is here, that means Joe picked her up and they’re still finishing up for the day. This is a lucky break—it gives me just enough time to set up and make everything perfect for her.
I bring in the food. I stopped in Austin on the way back from Dallas to pick up some more Interstellar BBQ. I remember hearing that there’s this thing in the self-help world about knowing your partner’s “love language”—and I’m pretty sure that Summer’s is Texas brisket and macaroni and cheese.
I head back out to the Jeep and grab the flowers—six dozen red roses. I know her favorite flowers are Yosemite Ranch wild daisies, but those are impossible to come by in early February, so the roses will have to do.
I inhale them as I walk inside. Their scent is so intense that I figure my plane will probably smell like a florist for the foreseeable future. I fill the sink with cool water and set all the stems inside to soak.
Then I turn on the oven to low and place the Interstellar foil pans inside to warm. Next, I light a fire and then sit on the couch to Google how exactly I’m supposed to set a romantic table.
Well, I fuckered this all up, didn’t I? I should have checked while I was still down in the compound, because what I’m reading tells me I need salad forks and glassware and cloth napkins, all stuff I’m well aware I won’t find up here.
“How am I supposed to do romantic with two spoons and a spatula?” I ask the empty cabin.
But I don’t have time to do anything about it. She’ll be marching in here any moment, and I still have to sprinkle rose petals on the bed.
I chuckle to myself thinking about her reaction. I’m sure she’ll say something about how she’s never had plants in her bedsheets before.
The kitchen table is a mess, but in the box I have a pretty yellow tablecloth. So I start to clear off the table.
That’s when I see it.
It’s a regular business-sized envelope with my name written in large, block letters.
Something about it makes my breath hitch in my throat, and I stumble back until I hit my calves on the coffee table, and nearly do a header into the fireplace. But I right myself and quickly lunge for the envelope. I pull out the papers inside, the envelope fluttering to the floor.
I read the note on top. Then, I read it again to make sure I’ve read correctly. With shaking hands, I grab the second sheet. It’s a fucking annulment agreement she’s already signed.
And that's all. A short goodbye note and an annulment agreement.
I can’t breathe.
My knees buckle, and I find myself on the floor, my back against the side of the couch and my legs spread out in front of me. I fumble for my phone that’s shoved in my front pocket.
“Cal.”
“What’s up? We’re just sitting down to dinner and—”
“Get everyone in the conference room. All hands on deck.”
“What’s happened?”
“Summer’s gone. We absolutely have to find her. Evander may need to grease some palms. No time to waste. We gotta do it now. I don’t know how much of a head start she has.”
“On it,” Cal says. “Meet you in the conference room.”