Chapter 21 Sierra #2
I spend the evening dismantling the shop and packing everything into my van. Mason comes over to help, along with Bill and Chloe. So at least the work goes fairly fast. Chloe helps me clean up, then I go back to the cottage to shower and start packing up my things.
While we were tearing down the shop, Mason brushed against me, asked me if we’d see each other tonight. I told him I wasn’t sure. That I had packing to do.
I know I’ve been avoiding him because I’m fearing the rejection. Fearing the end. Fearing goodbye.
All the worst things in life, really.
Things haven’t been the same without Sophie here, and it’s a painful reminder of the life I’m going back to.
No Sophie. No solid future plans for my business.
I haven’t even been able to secure my next location yet.
Places I’ve leased in the past are all booked a year out.
I’ll have to do some serious searching and financial gymnastics when I get back to the city to make things work.
Maybe find some farmers’ markets or festivals I can crash.
Meanwhile, it feels like summer is just kicking off in Orchard Cove. It feels wrong to be leaving.
Especially when I have so little to go back to.
Kyle calls while I’m walking back to the Cozy Cottage from the beach, where I just took a few minutes to sit and listen to music and think. I’m in one of those random, rare spots where I get cell service, right on Honeymoon Lane, between the Grants’ property and the Spencers’.
I stop in the road to talk to him. I don’t even know why.
What more is there to say?
“You said you’d call me back,” he says, “but you never did.”
“Yeah. Sorry. It’s been so busy here.”
I don’t know why I’m apologizing to him for anything. I owe him nothing. And yet in some way, I feel like I still do.
“How has it been there? It always looks like you’re having fun.”
“It’s social media, Kyle. For the business. It’s supposed to look that way.”
“I really wish you’d called me back,” he says, putting pressure on me in that way he does. Passive-aggressive. Implying that I should’ve done better.
Pressuring me for communication, when he didn’t put enough effort into communicating when we were together. As if we still have something to work out.
Do we?
“Let’s talk when you get back. Okay? When are you coming?”
I gaze along Honeymoon Lane toward the sea, where the water ripples, darkening in the fading dusk light. How many more times will I get to look out at that view I’ve come to love? To crave, even.
“I don’t know, Kyle. The end of the month. Tuesday. I haven’t booked the ferry yet.”
“Let me know which one you’ll be on? I’ll meet you. I think we should talk, face-to-face.”
“Yeah,” I say, but mostly just to get off the phone. “I’m about to lose the signal.”
I go back to the cottage and finish packing up my bags, for the most part. I leave out a few clothes and toiletries. Then I sit on the bed in Sophie’s room, wondering if it would be best if I just left tonight. I might be able to catch the last ferry, if I left right now.
What’s the point in dragging this out for two more days? Cutie Fruitie is closed. June made it clear I’m welcome to stay until the thirtieth. And I thought I might.
But why?
Goodbyes are hard enough.
Maybe I should just leave.
But I find myself stepping out onto the back porch of the cottage. Wandering beneath the twisted tree, and pushing through the secret gate.
I follow the path through the Grant family’s orchard. Then I make my way up the lawn to the house, tap on Mason’s back door.
When he doesn’t answer, I go around to the front and ring the bell.
Finally, Mason comes to the door. Skin damp, hair wet, towel slung around his waist.
I think he looks happy to see me. But I don’t really know. The little pinch between his eyebrows, the weariness in the slight circles beneath his eyes, like he’s become chronically under-slept lately.
“Sierra. I was just getting cleaned up. Then I was gonna come see you.”
“Oh. I was . . .” I glance away, then say it right to his face. That’s why I came, right? “Thinking about leaving.”
He stares at me.
Then he takes my hand and draws me into the house, shutting the door.
“Leaving. Now?”
“Yeah. Tonight. Cutie Fruitie is done, so . . .”
“I thought we had two more days.” He searches my eyes. “You aren’t leaving until Tuesday . . .”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “Why haven’t you come to talk to me?”
He runs a hand through his wet hair. “I tried. I barely saw you all week. Every time I get a glimpse of you, you’re running in the other direction. Kind of feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Kind of feels like you don’t want to tell me the truth.”
“What truth?”
“I’m not in business with you, I know. But I did make a proposal that I thought you might actually take seriously. If nothing else, you could’ve given me a response after giving it some thought.”
“I was going to. Shit.” He struggles, like maybe he’s trying to find the gentlest way of letting me down.
“It’s not going to work, Sierra. I gave it some thought.
I really did. And you’re right, I never really looked at it quite that way before.
Working with June never seemed like an option.
And maybe it would be, if she’d actually consider it. ”
“She won’t?”
“I spoke to her yesterday. There’s no way.
She won’t work with Tommy, no matter how I present it to her.
And working with me means working with him.
My grandpa and I own all our businesses together, with Layne.
And even if the restaurant is a separate venture, even if I sell off the bar to invest in Pier Seven, the money still comes from the same place.
The way June sees it, that money is tainted. ”
“Because of your grandpa?” I consider this. “And you’re sure there’s no old feelings still brewing between them or something? Because it sure sounds like it. Who holds a grudge that long over nothing?”
“It’s definitely not nothing.” He sighs, looking weary as hell. “But I don’t think it’s what you think it is. Land, property, money . . . it makes people do crazy shit. Wage wars that last . . . well, generations.”
“Yeah.” My gaze drifts down his naked chest. “So . . . you were just gonna wait until the last possible moment to tell me this? Shout it at me as I drove away down the highway?”
He groans.
I allow a small smile to play at my lips.
“Maybe,” he admits. “Probably, yeah. Fuck.” He rubs his face. “I’m sorry. I’m shit at this.” His eyes lock on mine, blue, endless. “I don’t really know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
“How to say goodbye,” he says, then swallows.
“Me, neither,” I say softly.
Then I reach for him. His solid shoulders, his neck, the thick, silken hair at his nape. I don’t have to pull him to me. He’s here, his mouth claiming mine, his tongue delving inside, his hands in my hair.
I kiss him like it might be the last time, and I don’t want him to forget.
He picks me up and carries me up to his bedroom. There, he strips off my clothes. His touch is reverent, his eyes relishing every glimpse in the near-dark.
I peel off his towel, and we fall together on the bed.
When he fills me, the high I feel is like nothing else.
The way he rocks into me with hunger and need. The way his hands move over my body. The way he inhales my scent and tastes my skin.
The way he fucks me like he can’t get enough . . . so attuned to my every response, like there’s nothing else that matters.
I’ve never had pleasure like this.
Never been so taken care of . . . so savored, and so desired.
And as we move together, he murmurs in my ear, “Promise me. Promise me this isn’t all. Promise me that I’ll get to see you again . . .”
I meet his eyes. “I promise,” I whisper.
When we climax, we cling together, kissing, clutching, desperate to hold on.
I have no idea how I’ll keep that promise.
I just know that he needs to hear it. And I do, too.
Deep in the night, I wake up in Mason’s bed. He lies on his back, his head tipped away on the pillow, his chest rising and falling in sleep. The sheet is draped over our hips as the ceiling fan loops above.
His hand rests on my thigh.
I lie there for a long while, listening to him breathe, memories of all the moments we’ve shared playing in my head on a torturous loop.
Then I slide out from under his hand, gather my clothes, and slip out.
I walk the secret path back to my cottage, trying to savor every moment. Drawing the fresh night air into my lungs. Memorizing the curves of the trees, the flutter of the leaves, the pretty, haunting shapes they make against the night sky.
I collect my bags from the cottage, get into my van, and leave Orchard Cove.
I can barely breathe, my chest is so tight. I’m aching to spill all my feelings to Mason. But I know it’s way too little, too late.
Because that old fear of mine has come back to haunt me.
He didn’t choose me.
He didn’t put me first.
Mason never once asked me to stay, to be his.
He never even wanted to try.
He was a bachelor when I met him, a playboy, and nothing has changed.
I hear Sophie telling me, You deserve to be happy.
And a lot of things June said are loud in my head.
So, I’m making my own choice. To not repeat the mistake I’ve made in the past by chasing him, trying to fix him. And contorting myself to try to fit somewhere I’m not even wanted. Not really.
Promise me that I get to see you again just isn’t enough.
So I’ve made my choice.
It’s a choice I never would’ve made in the past.
But this is long overdue.
It’s time I put myself first.