Read Coming Home to You Online
Authors: Liesel Schmidt
Coming Home to You
When one door closes…
Zoë and her fiancé Paul had everything ahead of them. So when Paul dies suddenly, Zoë doesn’t recognise the life she’s left with. Helping a friend by housesitting for a stranger is the last thing she wants to do – but she can’t deny that she needs time away from the memories which crowd her flat. So, collecting the keys, Zoë lets herself into her temporary home.
…another one opens.
Surrounded by a stranger’s belongings – his toothbrush, his favourite records, the pictures on his walls – Zoë begins to build a picture of the flat’s owner, Neil, who is away in the military. Driven by a need to know more, Zoë begins writing to Neil and finds herself feeling an unlikely connection with him. But while some people are destined to share our lives forever, others are sent simply to help us on the way. And for Zoë, a new life is just beginning…
Proof that life can change in the most unexpected of ways,
Coming Home to You
is the superbly moving debut from Liesel Schmidt, perfect for fans of Cecilia Ahern and Jojo Moyes.
Coming Home to You
Liesel Schmidt
LIESEL SCHMIDT
Liesel Schmidt lives in Pensacola, Florida, where she spends her time writing, drawing, and reading everything she can get her hands on. She is currently working on her next novel and spends most of her days busily writing freelance for a list of local magazines that sometimes keeps her head spinning in a dizzy attempt to keep all the deadlines straight! When she has a few free moments, Liesel plunks away at her blog, Finding Words (
http://fyoword.blogspot.com/
), where she posts product reviews and offers her readers a peek at the inner musings of a writer slogging her way through the challenges of living a creative career and early-widowhood.
Having harbored a passionate dread of writing assignments when she was in school, Liesel never imagined that she would ever make a living at putting words on paper, but life sometimes has a funny way of working out… When she’s not writing, reading, or drawing, Liesel likes to indulge her guilty pleasure of watching competition television shows like Top Chef, Chopped, and Project Runway. Follow her on Twitter at
@laswrites
To Jim – Thank you for believing in me enough to give my dreams wings. I hope I’ve made you proud.
To my family – Thank you for encouraging me all along the journey and giving me the confidence to never give up. You have all blessed me in more ways than you can ever imagine.
And thank you, most of all, to my faithful, loving God – who kept me going when nothing
and no one else could.
Contents
I have a camera I rarely use, simply for the fact that pictures seem too permanent. Some pictures are catalogues of happy times, but too many become reminders of things that have been lost – people and relationships and chances at happiness that seemed to have slipped through our fingers.
I sat on my bed that morning, checking for signs of life in my neglected camera, when there it was. A picture of him. Smiling without knowledge of the camera focused on his luminous grin and sparkling blue eyes. His fist proudly pumped the air, holding up the running medal he’d just been presented with. Frozen in time, in that moment of happiness, in that moment when everything in the world still seemed right.
And now nothing was.
Pictures like that become ghosts to haunt us, a sharp and jagged-edged pain that turns random moments in time into torture.
Torture because he was alive in my camera—bright and beaming and hopeful. In real life, though, in real-time, he would never smile like that again.
***
“You ready?” Paul asked, shielding his eyes and squinting into the blindingly bright Florida sunshine.
“Are you?” I returned, sounding slightly edgy in my nervousness.
As many times as I had done this, I never, ever got over the anxiousness I felt as I waited for the send-off. It always wreaked havoc on my bladder, which only seemed to back up my theory that God had a special place in heaven reserved for the makers of port-a-potties and antibacterial hand gel.
Paul leveled his gaze at me, confident. He nodded and grinned.
“Yup. All set.”
He shook out a kink in his neck, loosening up one last time.
“What kind of time are you gonna do it in?” he shouted at me, fighting to be heard above the din around us, all the other people chattering while we waited for this race to start.
“Why does it matter?” I shot back, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the question.
I always did my best, but I was never sure exactly what my best was going to be. I hated to be pigeon-holed, just in case it was a bad morning. Just in case my feet weren’t as swift as I’d like.
“Why? Because I don’t want to marry a slow woman, that’s why!” An impish grin broke out on his flushed face, his blue eyes glowing with excitement.
“What?”
“I said I won’t marry a slow woman!” he shouted again, catching the attention of everyone within earshot.
“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to run a pretty damn good race!” I shrieked, jumping into his arms.
“We’re going to have a ten-second delay for the walkers,” a voice announced loudly through a megaphone, completely unaware of the way my future had just been changed.
“Am I hearing things, or did you just propose?” I stopped gazing into Paul’s eyes long enough to find the source of the question. His friend Sam was staring at us, wide-eyed with mock surprise.
“Seriously, man, it’s about time and all, but I hate to tell you…you just handed me this race!” Sam grinned wickedly as the air horn went off, releasing all the runners from their frenzied state of suspended animation.
“I sincerely doubt that, Fleming!” Paul tossed back, breaking into a run that would have robbed most people of every ounce of energy after only a short sprint.
Sometimes the man truly amazed me.
Actually, the man always truly amazed me.
And for reasons totally eluding me, Paul Benson was truly, deeply, I’ll-be-yours-forever in love with me.
I broke into my own run, trying like hell to concentrate on my breathing, to get my heart rate under control and wipe my mind of everything except this moment and this race. I was so happy, though, it was hard not to have a cloudy head.
I ran hard and strong, my competitive streak taking possession of my brain and my body, erasing every other thought beyond this race. I barely saw the turns and hills, only vaguely noticed the faces of the other people I passed as I sailed through the course and toward the finish line. The familiar landscape and buildings of downtown Pensacola blurred together in a rush, so focused was all my energy on this last sprint.
Victory was going to be mine.
I could taste it, I could smell it, and I could hear it. I neared the chute and the crowds of waiting watchers, people cheering and the announcer calling out names and race numbers as runners crossed the line.
“Go, Zoë, go! Come on, you can do it!” I heard from somewhere to my left.
I knew so many people at these things that identifying the source was nearly impossible.
There was an excited chaos—clapping, cheering, all the normal sounds of a race. And rising from somewhere above the indistinguishable soup of sounds, a group of voices unified and solidified into one.
“Say yes! Say yes!” Over and over it came, thunderous like a battle cry; and soon the small group of voices became innumerable.
I ran through the chute, past the announcer and the overhead electronic clock that seemed to spill each second. The chanting grew louder and louder, and I finally realized what they were saying and who they were saying it to.
It was for me.
I bent forward, leaning on my thighs as I tried to catch my breath. I closed my eyes against the sweat making a hasty trail down my face and breathed deeply, my heart still racing from the exertion and the excitement. When I straightened and opened my eyes, they were filled by the sight of Paul—down on one knee in front of me.
Sweaty, shirtless, and wind-blown, he looked up at me with eyes that seemed to sparkle brighter than I’d ever seen them. He reached into the tiny front key pocket of his running shorts and pulled out a ring, smiling. Expectantly, nervously, unabashedly smiling—like a little boy at Christmas.
My heart was melting and overflowing and exploding all at the same time.
“Zoë Evangeline Trent,” he said, his voice barely audible above all the noise around us. “Will you marry me?”
Maybe I was still trying to catch my breath.
Maybe it was shock that this was truly happening.
But at that moment, I couldn’t even find words. The salt of the sweat I had tried so hard to keep out of my eyes ran together with the salt of tears, and all I could do was reach out and fall into Paul’s waiting arms.
He rose up and held me long and tight—tight enough to leave me breathless.
Finally, I found my breath and my words, and I pulled back to look at him. Everything else melted into a foggy haze as I looked into those cool blue eyes.
“Yes,” I said, nodding as fresh tears pooled and blinded me. “Yes, yes, yes,” I whispered again. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” The words came louder and stronger, and a raucous whoop rose up from the crowd that had gathered around us.
“Now give the woman a kiss, you idiot!” Sam bellowed, pushing his way to the front of the fray.
I smiled at Paul, and he smiled back—his crinkled eyes and crooked grin the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. The kiss that followed was full-bodied and passionate, heady and electric and consuming. One that set my heart on fire and seemed to blaze a trail all the way down to my toes. I could taste the salt on his lips, a remnant of race sweat, as he pulled me tighter and tighter to his chest and lifted me off the ground. The rest of the world washed away, the noise around us muted to a barely audible whisper. It was our moment, our feeling—and the fact that other people were around became an insignificant detail.
I could have stayed like that forever, locked in that embrace and in that kiss.
This time was ours to claim.
Our beginning.
Our end.
The
swish swish swish
of my windshield wipers against the rain was almost hypnotizing. All of the colors and figures outside the car were softened into an impressionistic painting that moved as I stared at everything, seeing nothing. The traffic light flicked from red to green, but I didn’t register the change, didn’t notice the cars in the lane next to me start to inch forward.