New Point (28 page)

“When I was a dumb kid I thought that. Come on, Stella, you’re the closest friend I’ve ever had outside my brother. Don’t you know nothing would make me happier than to see him with someone like you?”

She shrugs, a woeful expression covering her face. “Thanks for saying that, but I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway. He doesn’t love me back.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I hedge.

Her eyes rise to mine curiously. “Why?”

“Whenever I mention your name he gets that same look you have now. The
what the fuck is happening to me
look. The
I’m drowning in a sea of emotion I don’t understand
look. The
hopelessly devoted
look.”

My teasing makes her smile a little, then she’s melancholy again. “Whatever feelings he has for me, he refuses to admit them.”

“Blake spent a big chunk of his life taking care of me. You know, I don’t need to tell you how he became a father without impregnating anyone. I’m just saying he needs someone to take care of
him.
And you are the exactly right, nurturing, loving woman to do that.”

“Tell him that,” she murmurs.

I let it go. She has given me an inch back into her life, and I don’t plan on overstepping her boundaries by wedging myself into her relationship with Blake. Ultimately I have a strong premonition the powers that be wanted Blake and Stella together. And who am I to fight the powers that be?

I fish an envelope out from the depths of my purse. “There’s something I want to give you.” She eyes the eggshell-colored paper curiously. “Read it whenever you want. That is, if you want to read it at all.” I shrug helplessly. “When I told my therapist how much I wanted your forgiveness she suggested I write you a letter. It’s yours to do with whatever you wish.”

Stella accepts it, her eyes full of compassion. “Thank you,” she mutters sincerely.

Okay, it’s time to change the subject. Enough of the heavy stuff.

“Do you want to meet Miles?” I ask her almost shyly.

She eyes me cautiously. “Will Blake be there?”

“He’s leaving tomorrow for a business trip.” I pretend not to see the mix of anguish and relief cross over her features.

“Oh. Okay, then let’s make plans.”

Miles

MOVE IN WITH ME

S
miling to myself, I stroll past the message I drew in the sand before Zoe got home from work. I know she loves finding them. One morning I caught her reading a message I left after my run. When she spotted me, she looked at me like I hung the moon – said my messages make her heart melty and soft. Then she curled up against my chest, placed a kiss over my heart, and told me she loved me.

I’ll keep leaving her notes.

Fall’s rolling in, the leaves are changing, and there’s a distinguishable chill in the air. The new season hasn’t lessened her hold on me. I’m still that lovesick guy leaving messages in the sand for his girl. I don’t think that will change anytime soon, if ever.

Zoe Baker’s got my heart on lockdown, and I gladly surrender to her.

It’s not the first time I’ve asked her to forgo her house for mine (or vice versa, doesn’t matter to me). In fact, it’s not the second or third time. After we returned to New Point from the trip to Chicago earlier in the summer I began asking on a weekly basis. It’s a daily recurrence now, and I won’t relent until she does.

That’s fine by me, because in the meantime we spend every night together. I know she’s close to giving me the answer I want. I can tell by the way her eyes linger on mine when I leave her place to pick up clothes or the longing when I whisper in her ear that I want to move in with her.

Whipped? Pretty much. Worries? None.

My girl’s the toughest person I’ve ever met. Sure, she’s still been seeing Etta every week, but just yesterday she grabbed my hand and pinned me with those searching green eyes and said, “I’m stronger.”

I wanted to tell her she’s always been strong, but she doesn’t need my reassurance. Sometimes she needs to get the weight off her chest, and I’m more than happy to listen.

She kept talking. “Thunderstorms don’t send me into a tailspin. And when my anxiety builds up instead of letting it control me, I tell you. You pull me into your arms if I need to be held or listen when I want to talk out my feelings. I’m so lucky.”

Then we ended up kissing and… I’m too much of a gentleman to rehash all the details. You do the math.

I pause, reflecting on all that’s happened since Clinton Smith visited New Point – also known as the day that my heart stopped beating until I knew she was okay.

Blake reluctantly forgave me, and we’re back to friends. My family, as always, was supportive. They welcomed Zoe into our fold without question. Actually, it was more like they forgave me after hurting Zoe. From the second they met Zoe, they all fell for her, and they were all rightfully ticked at me until I made things right with her.

Eventually the library opened again with a lush park in the backyard. Zoe suggested to Sharon that the library open itself up to community groups who wanted to use the space. She agreed and now a grief support group meets once a week at the New Point Library. Zoe was sad to see her summer program end in August, but with the end of the season came a new opportunity for my brilliant girl. It’s a year-long reading challenge for students of all ages. She’s still finalizing the details, but there will be rewards along the way donated by local businesses – like a holiday party at Blue in Green, of course.

Screw the contemplation crap. I need to see her. Taking the stairs two at a time, I run up the deck and find her leaning against the rail, staring at my message. A smile plays at her lips. I want to kiss those sweet lips until she can’t help but agree to live with me. Forever.

Zoe’s probably not ready for all that. I can be patient.

“Where’s my dinner woman?” I tease. Her eyes flash in delight when she catches me at the mouth of the staircase. I may not be able to get everything I want, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take my girl in my arms. I stride across the deck toward her, eyes narrowed on the smiling blonde, the wind teasing the silky strands of her hair.

“Making demands, are we?” she goads right back.

“If she won’t give me what I want, I’ll have to take other things,” I say intently. Then I bend down to capture her around her waist and carry her toward the house.

“Miles!” she gasps through her laughter. “Put me down.”

I swing her into my arms and take us into the kitchen. Then carefully, I lower Zoe to the kitchen countertop. My hands rest on either side of her thighs, and I grin at her. “What’s for dinner, baby?”

“Baking some ziti in the oven and it’s about done. You’ll need to let me up if you don’t want it to burn.”

“I don’t care if it burns.” I inch closer, hovering over her lush lips. “Tell me what I want to hear,” I demand, even though I don’t believe she’s ready yet.

“Miles,” she whispers, her lips grazing mine as she speaks.

“Zoe.”

“Which house are we going to move into?” My heart swells, yes,
swells,
in approval. I don’t bother answering, instead covering her lips with mine. I savor the kiss, her taste, the feeling of her slender waist under my grip as I tug her closer. She tangles her fingers into my hair, tilts her head to the side when I deepen the kiss.

I’ll never get used to this. Perfect. Every. Damn. Time.

We’re both gasping for breath when the kiss ends, though we remain wrapped up in each other’s embrace.

“Wherever you want to sleep, wherever you want to eat, wherever you want to shower, I don’t care, as long as I’m there with you.” I squeeze her waist to punctuate my words.

“This house belongs to more than me; it’s part of my family history and my individual history. The best memories of this place are all tied to you.” I wait patiently for her to continue, reaching up to tuck an errant piece of hair behind her ear. Inwardly, I’m throwing my arms into the air victoriously.
Finally.

I don’t let her go, cupping the column of her neck with one hand as she continues talking. “For me, this house is tied to the little girl losing her innocence with the death of her parents. It’s the place where I came to battle through my demons. This house was the setting to my healing, just like my mom predicted, but I’m ready for the next phase in my life.”

“What phase is that?” My thumb strokes against her pulse point, knowing full and well my eyes are soft with affection.

“Our future. I’m ready for our future, whatever that may be.”

“Me too, baby, me too.” Swiftly I pluck her off the counter, and her legs naturally curl around my waist. Exactly where I want them to be. “I love you.” My voice is deep with reverence.

My lips all but devour hers. Will I ever get enough? Not likely. It’s one of those can’t stop, won’t stop, this is forever kind of kisses. Nothing can stop me from being with her.

The beep of the oven timer causes me to reluctantly end our embrace. I release Zoe, and she uses mitts to pull out our dinner. She places the glass baker on top of the cow trivet she bought at a craft market I took her to a few weekends ago. Her back is still to me when I settle my hands on her hips from behind. When I’m close enough, her body softens back into mine.

It’s time for my confession.

“The image I had of my dream woman pales in comparison to you.”

Zoe’s breath hitches, and her hands freeze on the handles of the dish.

“Strength that surpasses the toughest people I know, boundless kindness, compassion for all, beauty that steals my damn breath every time I see you. And this,”–I places a hand flat on her chest, covering her thumping heart–“I have never known anyone with a bigger heart than you, Zoe. You want to live in a tent outside Lake Michigan? I’m there. I mean it when I say wherever you are, baby. My life isn’t complete without you in it. Wherever you are, I am.”

Whirling around, she flings her arms around my neck. It catches me off guard, and I fall a few steps back but pull her body directly against mine.

“Where did you learn to be such a sweet talker?” she asks seriously.

“Zoe, it’s you,” I tell her honestly. “No one but you.”

Her cheeks heat with a sweet blush. She presses her lips to both my cheeks then scurries around the kitchen to finish preparing our dinner. She’s plating our dinner when I drop a kiss on her shoulder. Even though it’s chilly outside, she’s wearing one of those tempting tank tops because she says she doesn’t want to fall prey to sweaters yet.

“What’s that for?” she murmurs.

“Lost count,” I say dropping another kiss on her shoulder. “That’s two.”

A cheek splitting smile stretches across her face. I know I can forget as many times as I wish. She’ll never tire of my habit, and I’ll never grow weary of counting.

Stella and Blake’s story in Pressure Point

I
know what you’re thinking. It’s unconventional to want a man nine years older than you. It’s inconvenient to crush on your dearest friend’s older brother. It’s silly to pine after a man for six years. It’s cliché to lust after a celebrity. It’s pathetic to fall in love with a man who barely knows you exist.

I know what you’re thinking because I’ve thought it all, too. And yet that hasn’t stopped me from wanting Blake Campbell. Charming, gorgeous, brilliant, kind, selfless – Blake is everything I’ve ever wanted, but he doesn’t see me that way. In fact, he hardly noticed me until one night.

Traumatic events brought us together for the first time, but then he tossed me aside. I know it’s irrational, but I wanted him up until the moment he left me lying there alone.

When his eyes finally open and he finds out I’ve left, will it be too late?