“I met someone.” The words tumble out. “And I think I ruined it by running away to meet my deadline.”
“Oh, mi querida. Tell me.”
So I do. She listens carefully.
“Do you love him?”
“After three days? That's crazy, right?”
“Your father and I did. Sometimes you just know.”
“But my career?—”
“Will still be there in some form or another. But Clara, you soundalive. Joyful.”
She's right. Every promotion, every achievement, none of it made me feel the way Beau's smile did.
“What if he doesn't want me back?”
“Only one way to find out.”
After we hang up, I look at the photos again. Then I open my laptop and start writing an email to Blair. I attach the candids, the real story of my holiday in Snowflake Falls. Then I add:
This is my vision. If you don't want it, that's fine. But I'm not manufacturing fake Christmas anymore. I'm done missing my own life for perfect shots of someone else's. I don’t want the Creative Director position, but I’m happy to freelance if you’re open to discussing it.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
Then I grab my keys. The roads are clear, but more snow is forecast. If I'm going to do this, it has to be now.
He’s sitting in his truck with the dog when I pull up. Comet starts barking before I even get out of the car, and then the door opens, and there he is. Flannel shirt, worn jeans, looking like everything I've ever wanted.
“Hello.” His voice is careful.
“I've spent twenty-five years trying to prove I'm enough by chasing promotions and working through holidays. And none of it, not one single achievement, made me feel as complete as waking up in your arms.”
He's quiet, just staring at me.
I move closer. “I know you think you're not enough, that you're protecting me. But Beau, you're not the one who decides what I need. I do. And I needyou.”
“Your career?”
“Will figure itself out. Maybe I'll freelance. Maybe I'll fail completely. But I'd rather fail at something real with you than succeed at something emptywithoutyou in my life."
“Clara…” His voice breaks on my name.
“I love you.”
For a moment, he just stares at me. Then he's moving, crossing the space between us in two strides, pulling me against him. He kisses me then, deep and desperate. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
“I love you too,” he says. “I was about to drive into town to tell you myself.”
“Is that a yes to trying this?”
“That's a yes to everything. Especially to keeping you right here in my bed where you belong.”
My phone buzzes. Blair.
“These candids are extraordinary. Exactly what we wanted. The client loves them. They want more… a whole series. Big budget. Freelance. Your choice of locations. Can you deliver?”
