CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“May I come in?”
Callie turned to see a petite, elderly woman in high-waisted khakis and a pale blue Polo shirt standing in the entryway. “Of course, but we don’t open to the public until tomorrow.” She climbed down the ladder and headed over, reaching for a postcard on her way. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Her wrinkled hands tightened on her purse, as if she didn’t want Callie to see inside. “I read in the paper there’s a wall.” She took a slow scan of the room, her gaze lingering on particular objects.
She seemed an odd mix of confused and determined, so Callie figured she should explain the exhibition. “This is the Exhibition of Broken Hearts. It—”
“Yes, I know what is. I read there’s a wall where we can connect with people.”
“Hm. I don’t know what you mean by connecting with people, but we do have one called ‘Show Me Your Heart.’ It’s a curated selection of stories people sent in, along with a symbol of the broken relationship.” She reached for the empty branch above her head. “This tree is for visitors to hang their own stories. Is that what you meant?”
The woman barely spared it a glance, so Callie kept talking. “The wall back there is where people can post a question to the ex who hurt them.”
The woman lifted her purse. “A question? Okay, I’d like to do that.” She looked at once hopeful and anxious.
“Good. I’m Calliope Bell, by the way.”
The woman tore her gaze away from the back wall. “Helen.”
“Let’s head back there, Helen.” She started off. “You see that basket?” She’d set up a long console table in front of the wall. On one end she had a basket full of numbered papers. “You write your question and pin it to the wall. That basket”—she pointed to the opposite end of the table—“has papers with correlating numbers. If the person who broke your heart happens to show up here, he can pin his answer next to yours.”
“Oh?” Helen perked up.
“We don’t expect to get answers, of course. It’s more about voicing that one question we keep asking ourselves since the break-up. We all want to know why they did what they did, but most of the time we never get the chance. And I think if we ever want to heal, we need to finally say it out loud, you know? Even if the person never hears it, it helps to just say it in this public forum, this…community we’re creating.”
But she wondered if anyone could really answer such a complex question. Why did you fall out of love? When? Why did you open the door to someone else—instead of ending our relationship first? Thankfully, that hadn’t been her issue with Fin.
Fin. The thought of him hit like a shock of ice cold lake water. In a million years, she’d never imagined doing the walk of shame away from his house. She’d crept out the door before anyone had awakened, and then, instead of dealing with the fact that they’d slept together, she’d kept him busy all morning with a list of errands.
Coward.
“I don’t have a question.” Helen’s firm tone drew her back to the moment. “I just want to leave a note for someone. Can I do that?”
Well, this woman had certainly aroused her curiosity. “A note?”
“Yes. I’d like to leave a note in case he stops by.”
“We don’t have a place like that.”
The woman looked crestfallen.
“Maybe if I understood a little better. What kind of message are we talking about?”
“I want to explain why I didn’t choose him.” Anguish seemed to live in this woman’s joints. She dug into the purse and pulled out an envelope. It shook with the force of her determination. “I want him to read this.”
“Oh.” Callie had designed everything for the people who’d been wronged. She’d never considered hearing an apology or explanation from the person who’d done the hurting. “That’s…that would be incredibly powerful. I like that idea a lot.” She looked around the room. “I don’t know where we’d put it.” They’d taken such care in arranging the exhibition to leave empty spaces. She took a moment to scan the room, and a rush of pride hit her. It looked good. Really good. She could never repay the Cooters, Mr. Martin, the donors, and Fin for all their help in putting this amazing show together in just two weeks.
She turned back to the woman. “What if we set up an easel with a corkboard on it? You could tack your note to it. We’ll call it Connections. Does that sound good?”
Helen’s chest rose as she drew in a breath. “Regret. Can we call it that?”
“Yes.” God, this woman. “That’s even better.” This petite woman packed so much raw emotion, such determination, that Callie knew she’d do anything to help her find the person she’d hurt.
“Will it be up by the time you open tomorrow morning?”
“Actually, the preview for donors and press is tonight, so you can leave it with me. At lunchtime, I’ll stop by the store and pick up an easel. It’ll be all set for tonight.” She reached for the letter.
But Helen quickly stuffed it back into her bag. “No, thank you. He wouldn’t come for that.” Busy with snapping her purse closed, she said, “He might not come at all.” She started for the door but hesitated. “His wife passed a few years back, and I hear he’s retiring. I think he’ll leave town. There’s nothing for him here anymore.” She looked up at Callie. “I want him to know that I’m here. That I made a foolish, stupid choice.”
Every hair on Callie’s body shot upright, as she waited for more. Tell me.
“He had to stay here. His mother, his siblings, they needed him. And I had to go.” She took in a sharp breath, the fingertips on her purse yellow with the pressure of her grip. “I should’ve stayed.” Her shoulders pushed back, as she cleared her face of regret. “Will it be crowded on Saturday?”
“I believe so.” Beyond the announcements in newspapers and social media, she knew word-of-mouth from Marla and her art-loving friends would have an enormous impact.
“I’ll be here when you first open.” Helen finally met her eyes, hers drenched with sadness, and she said a quiet, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She watched the woman pull open the door and leave the building. She couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand that woman’s pain and regret. Wanting to do something—anything—to ease it in some way, Callie grabbed her phone off the library table. Forget lunch hour, she’d ask Fin to pick up an easel right now.
Really? You’re giving him one more errand?
But as soon as she swiped the screen, she noticed a pile of messages. She hadn’t checked in a while. When she saw Julian’s name, she got a surprising zing of fear. Because what did they have left to talk about? If he’d forgotten to send her something, he could just mail it. Or, better yet, hold onto it until she got back in a few weeks.
Just read it. She touched the screen with the tip of her finger to open the text.
Please return my grandmother’s bracelet at your earliest convenience.
Her hand went immediately to her wrist, but of course she’d taken it off that morning before her shower. She’d been in such a rush to get to work—after sleeping with Fin last night—that she’d forgotten to put it back on.
At your earliest convenience?
Talk about a stick up your ass. Is that what I sound like? Yeah, she guessed she did.
But…wow. Return the bracelet he’d given her as a gift. Who did that?
Honestly, she’d never seen this side of him. He’d always been charming. Of course, he’d been wooing her. But even when he was angry…Oh, please. Like she’d ever made him angry. She’d always been her best around him. Placid, tame.
Because you didn’t want to be wild and passionate anymore, remember? Like you are around Fin.
She never got furious with Julian. She got frustrated or impatient, but nothing that would cause the kind of shouting matches she and Fin used to have. She could just imagine seventeen-year-old Callie reaming out Julian. With her platinum hair and leather bracelets, arms gesticulating like a windsock in a strong breeze, and Julian just standing there, all sealed up like someone had squirted lemon juice in his eyes.
And that’s why Fin says you’re lost. Because you’re not that girl anymore, but you’re not placid and tame, either. Frankly, it was exhausting trying to be on her best behavior all the time.
She didn’t blame Julian—that was all on her. But she sure as hell blamed him for leaving her homeless. She tapped out a response.
How small is your dick if you can cut me out of your life just because I didn’t share my past with you? Yeah, maybe not the best way to stay on good terms with him and his family. And not just for the interview, but for any hope of a job in the arts in New York City. She drew in a deep breath, calling up her composure, and tried again.
You want me to return your gift?
No, that was stupid. Obviously, he wanted her to return it.
Do you hate me that much?
Delete, delete, delete. She had no idea what to say when he’d just asked for his gift back. She’d just channel his mom.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my past, but why are acting like an asshole? I’m the woman you’re supposedly in love with. It’s not like I’m living some secret life. It’s my past.
“Dammit.” Her finger stabbed the backspace button.
You know what? You’re giving him all the control. That’s why you’re freaking out right how.
Well, step one in taking it back was to not conduct her relationship via text. She dialed his number. It rang four times before going to voicemail. Seconds later, her phone chimed with a text message from him.
Can’t talk. At the Met with my parents. Symposium on Peder Balke.
She reeled back, as shocked as if he’d just dropped out of the sky and landed in front of her. She’d reserved tickets for that event on the landscape and marine painter. In fact, she was the one who’d mentioned it to his parents.
She typed out a text. I’m pretty bummed to be missing it.
There. That was nice and would give him a reason to soften towards her.
But he didn’t respond. And it was freaking her out. What did it mean that he would throw that symposium in her face? He hadn’t had to mention it, so he’d done it to send a message.
And he certainly hadn’t needed to text her about the bracelet while at the symposium.
Except…he’s with his parents. Which meant his mother had told him to get it back.
Does she hate me?
That’s not fair. Mrs. Reyes didn’t know her side of the story.
She tapped out a response. Don’t want to trust the mail with a family heirloom. I’ll just wait until I see you at the interview.
That was good. If she remained calm and elegant, maybe he’d stop being such a dick. Her phone pinged with his response.
Best send it now. Thx.
Thx? They’d always made fun of people who couldn’t spell out words in texts, and he’d Thx’d her?
She tossed the phone on the table and turned away, anxiety plucking at her nerves.
This is bad. This is so bad. She’d never seen him so cold. Not to anyone.
It made her sick to think he’d badmouthed her to his parents.
A spike of fear lanced through her. What if he’d asked them to remove her from the list of applicants for the fellowship? His parents held two of the eight board seats.
Did they have the power to cut her?
Slow down. You’re totally overreacting.
But she wasn’t, because they did have that kind of power.
For two years, Julian had been nothing but charming and devoted to her. He’d been the best boyfriend, planning extravagant dates and bringing her flowers. He’d showered her in gifts and always asked about her feelings. He wasn’t the deepest guy, but he took the time to listen and offer a solution before steering the subject in a new direction.
So this complete switch to cold and businesslike signaled something huge. He hated her.
You’re doing it again. Giving him all the power.
Take it back. His parents only got to hear his side, so once she explained hers, they’d understand. She had a good relationship with his mom, so she could call her up— No, actually, that wouldn’t work. A mother wouldn’t believe an ex over her own son. And it’s not like I know what he told her.
She’d send a card. Yes. Energy started pouring in. She’d tell her—no, she’d thank her for all she’d done to introduce Callie to her friends, loan her clutches and gowns for big events. She’d end with how excited she was about the fellowship. Mrs. Reyes had pretty much groomed her for it. She’d remind her of that in a subtle way.
She thought of the notes she’d received from Mrs. Reyes, always on personalized stationery. Callie could easily get some made. She’d establish a relationship with his mom outside of the one she had with Julian.
Maybe she should invite her to the exhibition? Or mention her in one of the interviews Poplar Media had arranged. Oh, this is good. She’d actually thank her for all her help. Mrs. Reyes would love that kind of attention associated with an art event as hip and happening as the Exhibition of Broken Hearts.
Yes. Julian could tell his parents whatever he wanted, but the exhibition would show them why she deserved that damn fellowship.
Her dad’s truck rumbled up the long driveway toward the Bowie house. Callie shifted the vent away from her face so the air conditioning wouldn’t ruin the hair she’d spent an hour blowing out to glossy perfection. She could hardly believe the opening was tonight.
Prairie grass and wildflowers rippled in the meadows on either side, and in front of her the Tetons stood stark and imposing. As she approached the house, she checked for Fin’s truck or Harley. If he’d come home for lunch he’d be parked there.
And if you hadn’t snuck out of his bed in the middle of the night, you wouldn’t be so anxious about showing up at his house right now. And, really, she didn’t know what she’d do if he answered the door—throw herself into his arms or scurry past him and hide in the kitchen with Marcella.
How ’bout we don’t deal with Fin right this minute? She’d talk to him later. First, she had to get through the opening.
The early July heat slammed her, as she got out of the truck and headed up the walkway. She didn’t know why she’d let Fin talk her into letting Marcella take care of the hors d’oeuvres when Callie could have easily prepared them herself. Of course, he’d sworn that Marcella wanted to do it. With the guys constantly in training, their housekeeper rarely got to make desserts and carb-rich food. Still, the woman shouldn’t have to do it by herself.
As she started up the porch steps, she heard male laughter. The garage door rumbled up, revealing three incredibly hot, brawny men in the shadowed interior. When they wheeled dirt bikes into the sunlight, she imagined playing out the scene in slow motion, maybe firing a hose at them so their T-shirts and athletic shorts clung to their muscular physiques. Maybe Fin could shake the hair out of his eyes, winging water droplets—
“Wild thing?” Fin toed the kickstand and headed over to her. “What’re you doing here?”
It took everything she had not to walk right into his arms. All the feelings last night had stirred up pulsed right beneath the surface. And the way he looked at her? His eyes, filled with relief, said, You’re here.
I missed you.
God, she was happy to see him. I missed you, too. She’d fought thinking about him all day. If she closed her eyes she could smell the wildflowers in the jar next to his bed and the mix of his sage and fresh soap scent in his sheets. Every time she remembered the hard grip of his fingers on her ass, it sent a lightning strike through her body.
“You need a minute, Fin?” Will asked.
“Yeah.” When he reached her, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, and all her senses narrowed to him.
“Let’s grab some water bottles,” Brodie said, and the brothers headed into the house through the garage.
She brought her fingertips to her cheek, still tingling at the point of contact. “I thought I’d see if Marcella needs some help. She shouldn’t have to do my work for me.”
“This is the happiest I’ve seen her since…” His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed. “Since my dad died, and her dinner party days ended.”
She touched his biceps, warm and hard, and gave it a gentle caress. They held each other’s gaze, so many unspoken words passing between them. She never should have snuck out last night; she’d hurt him.
But she’d have that conversation later, when his brothers weren’t around. “Did you get the easel?” He couldn’t have gone to Irving and back already.
“Yup. Got everything on your list.”
“You took the chopper to Irving?”
He grinned at her sarcasm. “Got one out of your basement.”
Electricity arced between them, and she couldn’t deny the force of that charge. In the deepest part of her soul she knew she’d never feel this way for another man. The intensity, their connection…it was unique. It was them.
She just didn’t know what that meant.
And now was not the time to try and figure it out. “That was clever.”
“Seemed the simplest solution.”
It was. And if she hadn’t been so intent on keeping him away, she probably would have thought of it herself.
“Things all set at the museum?”
She gave him her best scowl. One day she’d get him to use the right word. “Things are perfect with the exhibition. This lady came in, though. She asked me to start a new section where people could leave messages for each other.”
“What kind of messages? ‘Single male seeking double-jointed swimsuit model who drinks beer and grows her own pot?’”
She smiled. “No, weirdo. She actually understands what I’m doing.”
“I get what you’re doing, wild thing.”
Holding his gaze, her body filled with heat and desire. Nope, not going there.
“So that’s what the easel’s for? The messages?”
“Yes. This lady, she’s the one who hurt someone, and you can see how much she regrets it. I’ve been so focused on people with broken hearts that I hadn’t thought of showing the other side. And I can’t imagine anything more healing than hearing from someone who’s done it. It means so much to her, you know? She said…” Her heart squeezed at the memory. “She said she made the wrong choice. That her boyfriend needed to stay in town because of his family, and she needed to leave. But she wishes she’d stayed with him, and it’s killing her.”
“Fifty years is a long time to go without your heart.”
She knew that, because she’d lived without hers for six years.
And I’m going back to New York without it all over again.
Fear ripped down her spine. I don’t want to be Helen. “She, um, she wants to get a message to her ex.”
“So that means the guy’s local. Why doesn’t she just go and talk to him?”
“I don’t know, but I hope he stops by. I really, really want him to read that letter.” She needed them to find their way back to each other.
I’m ridiculously invested in this story.
Yeah, because I’m so close to making the same mistake. Now that she knew what it was like to be with him as an adult, why would she keep fighting these feelings?
“Fin.” She reached for his hand, when all she wanted to do was hug him. Just tell him the truth. “Last night…it scared the crap out of me.”
“Yeah, I know.” He cupped her cheek. “You don’t want to get back together. I get that. And if you don’t want us to get nekkid, then we won’t. But you’re in my life no matter what, and we’re gonna figure out a new way to be together.”
She clasped his fingers. “You know I wanted last night as much as you did.” Needed. “But I’m leaving, Fin.”
“You carry that excuse around like a security blanket. Makes me think there’s something more going on.”
“My life isn’t here.”
“Yeah, sorry, but that one’s made of the same cloth.” He scraped his fingers through her hair. “What’s got you running scared, wild thing? Tell me.”
“I just did.”
“Listen, if we’ve got any chance at all, it’s got to start with talking to each other. So let’s do this. Let’s pull it out by the roots. Because I’m telling you right now I’m not going back to a world where you’re not in it. It’s not gonna happen. I get that you’re not there with me yet, but we are going to find our way back to each other. And to do that you gotta talk to me. Come on. What’s got you so scared?”
“I just…” Her heart raced, and her skin went clammy. “I don’t want to be that girl again, okay?” She hadn’t even known her fear until he’d pushed it out of her. “The one who lives for you. I have a life now, and I can’t get lost in you all over again.”
“So don’t. You’re not seventeen anymore.”
“You don’t understand how…susceptible I am to you. Your voice, your touch…just talking to you makes me happier than anything else. I like you so much.”
“I like you, too, wild thing.”
“And I don’t want to be…obsessed with you again.”
“What if I stop wearing deodorant? Maybe fart under the covers every now and then? Would that help?”
Laughter bubbled out of her, breaking the tension. “There’s nothing you could do to make me not attracted to you. That’s the problem.”
“That’s a damn good problem to have, Callie-bell. And we’re not gonna settle for less, right? Not when we’ve got this. That would be dumb. So, I’ve got a feeling you’re stuck with me.”
She threw her arms around his neck. He was right. Of course he was. She didn’t know how it could work—they lived in different worlds—but she let it all go when he gripped a handful of hair at the back of her head and tugged so he could take her mouth in a deliciously sexy kiss.
She had no answers, but she had right now. And this man…she couldn’t deny what her mind, body, and soul recognized as hers.
His hands swooped down her back, cupping her ass, and hauled her up hard against him. He kissed her, the wet heat of his mouth so soft and sensuous.
“Whoa, dude.” Will’s deep voice tore them apart.
Dazed, she turned to find the brothers heading toward them.
“Give me a minute,” Fin said.
“Already did that.” Will tipped his head back and squirted water into his mouth. “And look how that turned out. How ’bout we hit the trails?” He tilted the bottle toward Callie. “And you come with us.”
After all the time she’d spent on her hair? “I can’t. Not today.”
Fin stroked a hand across Callie’s cheek. “Everything’s all set for the opening, right?”
“Other than the hors d’oeuvres, yes.”
“Come on, Callie, we haven’t hung out with you in years.” Brodie sounded earnest.
“And the preview’s not till six,” Will said. “It’s only noon.”
She appreciated that he knew the timing, but she wasn’t about to tell them that she’d spent forty minutes blowing her hair out and applying make-up in a way that would only need a slight touch-up. She’d made sure all she needed to do was slip on her dress and heels. “Thanks for asking, but you guys go. Have fun.” She headed toward the house to check in with Marcella.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be? You’re just gonna walk away from us?” Brodie shot her his winning smile. “Come on, Callie. It’ll be fun.”
Damn, these men were gorgeous, sexy beasts. But between the heat and the exercise, she’d get all sweaty. “Sorry.”
She made it to the front door, when Brodie said, “Since you’ve been home, how many times have you hiked?” He gestured to the Tetons in their backyard. “Jumped in the lake? You’re in Wyoming.” Reverence saturated his tone.
Her skin started to tingle—her body’s memory of how much fun she’d had growing up here. How she’d taken advantage of everything Calamity had to offer. The mountains, lakes, ghost towns. The elk preserve she and Fin had broken into in an attempt to set the elks free.
She thought about Helen, and a fierce energy surged through her. “Yeah, sure. I’m in.”
Fin gave her a wickedly irresistible smile. “No regrets. Right, wild thing?”
“No regrets.”