Chapter Twenty-Two

Garrett

Thirty days since he’d seen his sunshine, and he was ready to face her.

He hadn’t left.

He couldn’t, and he had solved that with a call to his buddy. Apologizing for taking so long with his final answer, but he had to turn down the offer. Then he’d spent a week talking to dear ole Doc on a daily basis. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his grandmother had been right. He needed to work on himself because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be any good for Stefanie, and any kind of future they could have wouldn’t be able to happen.

That didn’t mean he called or texted her.

He was taking a risk by staying radio silent, but he wrote to her. Every day and every night, he wrote a letter he kept in a yellow journal he’d picked up when Valeria had dragged his ass to a craft store with baby Henry.

In those letters he was honest. Raw. Vulnerable. There was no filter. He hoped she could one day forgive him.

He missed her.

She was never far from his thoughts. Not when he went to New York to do the scenes he’d ended up agreeing to for a movie Donnie’s friend was directing. Not when his family celebrated the Fourth of July.

He had kept Nicola’s blank canvas metaphor and ran with it. But work wasn’t what gave him purpose. Stefanie did. He was clear-headed and done keeping a distance.

Anticipation and nerves rolled and crashed into one another as he drove to her. But beneath it all, he was calm. It would all be okay. He’d figure out a way to make it okay. To make her forgive him for being an asshole.

When he arrived at Stef’s apartment, a stranger opened the door. Garrett found out she’d moved. His sunshine had left. Anxiety started to seep in. Concern about why she would leave her place hit. With only one or two options off the top of his head, he found himself walking into the dive bar that had seen better days in the middle of the afternoon.

The moment the grouchy old man’s eyes met his, Garrett knew to brace and stood at his full length.

“Do you have a death wish, boy?”

“Kip—”

“Man, I don’t know what you want, and honest to God, kid, my hand on a bible, I don’t give a shit. The best thing you could do is turn and walk the fuck out of here,” Kip tersely told him as he approached the bar.

“Kip…”

“I don’t know what you did to that girl. But I warned you! I told you she was special, and I know you did something, you fucking asshole! Something fucking stupid, so you better get the fuck—”

“I love her, Kip.” Everyone was watching his conversation with the old man, but Garrett couldn’t give a shit. If anyone could help him find Stefanie, it would be Kip. Stef loved the old guy too much to disappear from his life. “I love her. I came back for her.” The old man watched him, straightening his body.

“What are you planning on doing?” Kip asked, scrutinizing Garrett’s every move.

“I’m going to start by telling her that I love her—”

“You just did, Rocky,” the feminine voice that haunted his dreams spoke right behind him, and his heart went into beating at triple its speed. He turned and was shocked at what he saw.

Her hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail, dark circles were under her eyes, and she looked too damn thin, almost drowning in the ugly blue oversized polo shirt that was part of a big chain pizza delivery chain.

“Now, you can go.” Her dim eyes met his for a split second before she simply walked around him, cautious not to let her body brush up against his, and walked toward the back of the bar.

“What?”

“I told you, kid. You fucked up,” Kip muttered and turned, doing whatever the hell he needed to do as Garrett sat his ass back down wondering what the hell was going on. Why wasn’t she living at her place anymore?

“Why is she dressed like that?”

“Because she just got off work,” Stefanie answered coolly as she popped her head back out, wearing a black tank top and leggings. “You ordering something or just trying to make the bar look busy?”

“Can we talk?”

“No. I’m on the clock.”

“What?”

“Look, Garrett, I don’t have time for this. Not today.” She wiggled her feet and suddenly, she was four inches taller. He looked over the bar as she stepped back to grab a bottle for another client. She was wearing ankle boots that made her legs even more spectacular. Ankle boots he had helped take off her feet the last time he had seen her.

“So, you have something to say, say it, or, I don’t know, email me. Text me. Call me. But right now, at this moment, I’m working,” she huffed, taking her hair down. He watched, speechless, as it cascaded down, and had to bite back a growl. “Unless you’re going to order something, can I ask you to clear the stool, so someone who’s going to drink and hopefully leave more than a quarter for a tip can sit down?”

“Fine. Sam Adams.”

“Great choice.” She rolled her eyes before turning, giving him a moment to study her. He didn’t miss her thinner frame. What the hell is going on? She moved and was placing the ice-cold bottle in front of him. She was exhausted.

“Here you go. Ten bucks.”

“A Sam Adams is ten bucks now?” he questioned. His lips twitched beneath his closely trimmed beard.

“For you. Unless you want to make it twenty?” she threatened sassily, and he couldn’t help but lean closer, not missing how her eyes widened for a moment before she pulled the attitude back in place.

“That’s fine. Open a tab for me, sunshine. I’m not going anywhere for a while.” He smirked, playing it a lot cooler than he felt. Her eyes flared, and he liked to see the fight in them.

He watched her through the night.

She smiled at everyone who walked in, but it never reached her eyes, not even close. You did that, asshole, a voice in his head chimed, and he clenched his hand around the bottle.

He didn’t know how, but he would make it up to her. He would spend the rest of his life making everything up to her. He’d work to the bone to help her light back up.

Stefanie

I was exhausted.

Working three jobs wasn’t easy.

Especially when all three were minimum paying gigs that had you on your feet the entire time. Thankfully, or unfortunately, I hadn’t really decided yet which one it would be. I didn’t have the third one to go to today after the bar.

“We’re closing,” I announced.

“I can see that. Pass me that rag and spray bottle. I’ll take care of the tables in the back.” I wanted to protest, but my feet hurt too much.

“Fine,” I bit, handing him the cleaning supplies. “Suit yourself. But it better be clean, Garrett, and not half assed,” I warned before turning around to do the other things I had to take care of before I could head home.

“He’s cleaning the tables,” Kip said behind me in the stock room, and I lifted and dropped a shoulder.

“Let him. It’s free labor.”

“You talk to him?”

“Nope.”

“Girl.”

“Don’t, Kip. I’m done.”

“Sure you are, kid,” he mumbled, shaking his head. I frowned.

“What’s that mean?”

“We both know you miss him.”

I did, but it didn’t mean I’d go back.

Liar.