OUR FLIGHT ARRIVED almost an hour early, and I was secretly happy that it did because it meant I could part ways with Owen before my mother and father came to pick me up from the airport. We hadn’t said much to each other on the way there, and I didn’t know if it was because we were still playing avoidance or if it had anything to do with Owen’s fear of flying. I settled on the conception that it was a little bit of both.
As we stood outside of the pickup terminal, Owen reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. “I’m going to text you the number and address of the hotel I’ll be at and—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
His brows lifted in question, and I proceeded to tell him the small town of Rock Bay, Maine was home to only one hotel in the entire area. He would have known this if he’d placed a room reservation, but I figured like most things he had left Millie to the task.
He nodded and then sat down on the bench beside me, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. Cars and taxis swooshed by as they rolled to a stop along the sidewalk to pick up their passengers, and I tried to focus on anything other than the way my heart beat with him being so close. Three weeks I had managed to keep my distance, and somehow, it seemed like all that hard work to forget about what had happened between us had completely dissipated into nothing. The memory of his kiss and the gentle caress of his hands still lit me up on the inside, and I often found myself asking why.
Why did he regret it?
I turned to look at him, and he must have felt the same magnetic pull because his head lifted, and our gazes met right in the middle. A light breeze blew through the air, sending strands of my hair flying across my face, and Owen reached up to sweep them away, tucking them behind my ear. His hand lingered, his thumb brushing over the line of my jaw. My stomach knotted. I closed my eyes at the feel of him once again on my skin and swallowed everything I wanted to say but didn’t have the courage to put into words.
It was a moment filled with silent “I’m sorrys” and unspoken “whys.”
“Elle…” There was a pregnant pause as if he, too, were struggling to get his thoughts in their right order. A frustrated sigh floated from his chest and he continued. “Look, I know you don’t want me here, and I don’t blame you, but I need you to know something. I need you to know that I didn’t walk away from you three weeks ago because I regretted what we did. I have a lot of regrets in my life, but what happened between us…it will never be one of them.” He moved in a little closer, this time taking my face in both of his hands. Our eyes held. “I could never regret you.”
“Then why?” My voice was a whisper, and it broke in places, my insecurities determined to be seen. “Why did you walk away? Why did you leave me there alone?”
His lips parted and then closed. He was searching for an explanation, and if it was taking him this long to come out with it, I wasn’t convinced it would be entirely genuine. Why couldn’t he be honest with me?
“There is something that you—”
A loud series of honks blared in our ears, and the taxi they belonged to appeared out of nowhere. Stopping at the curb, the driver lowered the window and leaned forward against the steering wheel. “Are you Owen Caldwell?”
Owen looked at me one more time before his hands dropped from my face. He ran them down his jean-clad thighs and pushed to his feet. “Yeah. That’s me.” He grabbed the handle of his suitcase, and right before he turned to walk toward the taxi, he cupped my chin, a sad smile tugging at his lips as he brushed his thumb along the corner of my mouth. “We’ll speak later, okay?”
Nodding, I watched as he loaded his luggage into the trunk of the taxi and when it pulled away moments later, an ache carved its way through my chest.
The idea of him spending this week alone suddenly didn’t sit right with me, but having him near was a risk. A huge risk. My family still didn’t know the truth about my job or my living situation, and I was sure with him around the lie would quickly come to bite me in the ass, but it was about more than protecting my lies. I was afraid of falling deeper into whatever it was I was feeling for him.
Now more than ever, I was afraid of losing my heart to Owen Caldwell.
Forty minutes passed and the familiar white pickup truck that my father refused to get rid of pulled to a stop in front of me. His voice floated out the open window.
“Hey, stranger. Need a ride?”
“I don’t know.” I crossed my arms over my chest and squinted at him, my lips twisting to the side. “Stranger danger is a real thing these days.”
He lifted a plate stacked full of cheddar biscuits—a favorite of mine—and smiled. “I’ve got biscuits.”
The smell floated to my nose on a whirl of wind, and I pushed to my feet, grinning. “Well then, why didn’t you say so.” I grabbed my suitcase, and by the time I’d rolled it over to the curb, Dad was already out of the truck and by my side, placing it into the bed.
His brows pinched together in a teasing scowl. “If biscuits are all it takes for you to hop in a truck with a stranger, then I think your mother and I need to reconsider our parenting methods.”
I leaned against the aging rust bucket and watched as he strapped my bag in place so it wouldn’t fly around. “Oh no. You see, they can’t be any ordinary biscuits. They have to be Mom’s secret homemade recipe cheddar biscuits.”
“Is that right?” Dad chuckled, pulling me into his arms in a firm hug. “I’ve missed you, kiddo. It’s good to finally have you home.”
“It’s good to be home.” I held him tightly, not realizing how much I missed him. “Speaking of Mom. Where is she?” We both pulled apart and as I opened the passenger side door, he rounded the front of the truck and hopped in behind the steering wheel.
“She’s at home helping your sister add the finishing touches to the bouquets. I’m forewarning you it looks like a flower garden exploded in our living room. Can’t sit down without a stem finding its way to your ass.”
I shook my head, laughing. “You have no filter, do you?”
Winking, he nudged my shoulder. “Meh. Life would be pretty damn boring if we all walked around with built-in filters, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Yeah it would.”
Not much had changed in the small town of Rock Bay since I’d last visited. The roads were still in dire need of repaving and Martha and Sue still sat on the old wooden bench at the corner of Feel Better Pharmacy, gossiping about everyone and everything. They were nearing their late eighties and harmless, and it would be a sad day for the entire community when the time came that they no longer made everyone’s business their own.
By the time we drove through the center square and made our way around the winding paths that led to the small Cape Cod-style home tucked a mile off the main road, I was anxious to get out of the truck. It was the same anxious feeling that had once consumed me right before I moved to New York, but now that I was here, I was eager to return to the home I’d been once desperate to leave.
As we pulled up to the gray house with the large patio and two-car garage, I practically flung my door open, bolting across the stone driveway and up the set of wooden steps with the paint-chipped railings. The front door—adorned with a handcrafted twig wreath and large green bow—sat partially open, and I pushed my way inside, my eyes surveying the space. Dad was right: the living room did look like an exploded flower garden. Flowers of every type imaginable lay scattered around, and their strong, fresh fragrance overwhelmed the air.
I placed my purse down on the coffee table and started for the kitchen. “Mom!”
“Elle. Is that you, sweetheart?” Her voice echoed off the walls, and as she appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on the apron tied around her waist, a smile lit up her face.
I ran toward her, throwing my arms around her thin frame as her hands came up to stroke the back of my head and the strands of my hair.
“Oh, honey.” She hugged me tightly. “I’ve missed you so much. It’s so good to have you home.” Pulling back, she rested her hands on my shoulders, her blue eyes gleaming with happiness as her lips tugged down at the corners. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there with your father to pick you up from the airport. Your sister has been running us ragged the last few days trying to get everything ready. And don’t say anything, but she’s turned into a right Bridezilla, she has.”
“Hey! I can hear you, you know!” A crate full of tulle and ribbon in her hands, Kimmi stepped out of the spare room, and I stared at my sister who was in every way my equal. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, petite frame, ivory skin. We were both exact replicas of our mother, and I chalked that up to a good thing, seeing as she was in her mid-fifties and didn’t look a day past forty.
“Jesus almighty.” Dad’s gravelly voice boomed through the house at that same moment, grabbing all our attention.
Mom lifted a brow. “What in God’s name are you—”
“Where in the world is that future son-in-law of mine?” He stomped through the house, swinging open doors, and we all stared in wonderment at his unusual behavior.
“I sent him to the restaurant to grab a few things for lunch,” our mother interjected. “Why?”
Stopping in front of Mom, he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her to his lips. “No reason other than I need to balance out all the estrogen that has once again decided to invade my house.” He grinned.
“Oh, shush it.” She smacked him against his chest as they broke apart. “Don’t let him fool you, girls. Your father was up at the crack of dawn dancing and singing with the larks this morning in excitement of you both being here.”
Dad chuckled, wrapping his arms around Kimmi and me and tugging us into a big group hug before dropping brief kisses to our foreheads. “Damn right. It feels good to have all my girls under one roof again.”
Kimmi raised the crate in the air and smirked. “Good enough to arrange flowers?”
Dad made a face. “Not that good.”
We all laughed.
It was great to be home.
Lying on the small twin-sized bed in my old room, I stared up at the ceiling, remembering the girl I once was and the woman I had dreamed I’d one day be. By now I should’ve been married, a full-time writing career supplying a roof over my head—one much larger than the small apartment I currently called home. I’d have a husband who adored me, a dog who shared our bed, and possibly a baby on the way.
It all sounded ridiculous.
I shook my head, the tightness constricting my chest remaining even after letting out a heavy sigh.
How naïve the younger version of me had been.
I almost wished I had the ability to travel back in time, find her, and tell her to never make plans because plans were meant to be broken, altered, go astray. I wanted to warn her that life was full of disappointments, especially when it came to the opposite sex.
What dream are you chasing, Elle?
Owen’s words played across my mind like a song stuck on repeat. He had been right, and that was why I’d been so angry. Sometime over the last ten years of my life, I’d stopped believing in everything that little girl once hoped to achieve. He knew that, and I hated that he saw through me like no one else could. I hated that he used me against me. And I hated that I was now lying here, thinking of nothing else but him.
Day turned to night, and not before long, the moon was casting its glow over the house and shining its pale stream of light through my window. I glanced at the small pink clock perched on the nightstand beside the head of my bed and reached for my cell.
It was just after midnight.
Was he awake?
Unlocking my phone, I squinted against the brightness illuminating from its screen and dragged my thumb across the glass, flipping to my messages app. I hadn’t deleted our text thread from the last time we messaged, and I opened it up, tapping my fingers along the keys.
What do you do when you can’t fall asleep?
Those three little dots appeared, and I waited, my breath held in my lungs.
Owen: Channel 3
Channel three?
Rolling onto my side, I grabbed the remote from my nightstand and pointed it toward the old box TV sitting on top of my purple dresser, immediately flipping to channel three.
I smiled.
Seriously? The home shopping network?
I imagined those lips of his stretching across his face and the deep rumble of a chuckle rocking his entire chest as he read my message.
Owen: Hey. Don't mock it until you try it. They sell some pretty interesting shit at 3 in the morning. You'd be surprised.
I didn't have time to reply before his next message came through.
Owen: What are you doing awake anyway?
What was I doing awake? Thinking of him. Wondering what he was doing and what he had been getting ready to tell me before his taxi arrived that afternoon. But I didn't tell him any of that. Instead, I typed out everything else weighing on my mind.
You were right. I don't believe in myself. I thought I did, but somewhere along the way, the girl with the dream turned into a woman with an excuse. And I don't want to be that woman, but the cost of following my dream is unfortunately one I can't afford. Doing so would mean letting down others, and I can't do that.
My heart pounded with my confession. I had never been so open with anyone. I didn’t like the feeling that came along with it, the vulnerability that exposed me from the mask I constantly wore. And here I was, giving him more of me when I should have been piling on the layers, shielding myself.
Owen: I don’t know what the cost of following your dream is, but I do know that the cost of not following your heart is spending the rest of your life wishing you had.
Owen: Don't do that, Elle. Don't live with regrets.
There was a minute or two of nothing. I didn’t know what to say to him or how to respond. The only thing I kept thinking was he was doing it again: seducing me with his words. He was unwrapping me—my mind, my heart, my soul—and he was doing it all without even being near.
Owen: I stare at the ceiling.
Owen: When I can’t sleep, I stare at the ceiling and I think about all the things I’ve fucked up in my life, and I don’t want that for you.
Owen: You deserve to live the life you’ve always dreamed.
Owen: You deserve everything.
I froze, gasping from his admission and the beautiful words that continued to slay me. I couldn’t take it any longer. Pressing his name, I hit the call button. The phone rang twice before he answered, his slow, shallow breathing filling the line.
Closing my eyes, I swallowed down my trepidation. “Owen?”
Silence.
More silence.
“Yeah, Elle?”
I sighed at the relief his voice seemed to bring. “Can you… do you mind staying on the phone with me? You don't have to say anything. I just—I like knowing that you're there.”
I didn’t need to elaborate. I didn’t need a reason or an explanation why. He simply agreed. And I sensed it was because he knew. Without me having to say it, he knew I needed him.
And perhaps he needed me, too.
The hand on the clock continued to tick, around and around. Seconds, minutes, hours passed, and eventually I succumbed to the darkness, lulled by the comforting sound of Owen’s breathing.
He did as I asked. He remained on the line. And my last thought before I fell asleep was that maybe I was wrong.
Maybe it was too late.
Maybe I had already lost my heart to Owen Caldwell.