“I’m going to tell Ernst and Young to give away my spot. I want to stay here and help you run the convenience stores,” I say in one hurried breath.
She stops mid-step, then looks at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“I’ll live in this cottage and work on my romance novel in my free time. And plus, Declan and I might be something again and I want to see that through,” I add. If there’s anything I know about my mom, it’s that she doesn’t want people to make a big fuss over her. I need to make her think this is about more than just her. And maybe it really is.
“Huh,” is all she says at first, and my heart starts pounding. But after a few seconds of contemplation, she walks up to me. “Con, I want you to answer me as honestly as possible, and I know your tells so don’t even try to lie.” She points a not-so-intimidating finger in my face. “Are you sure you want to do this? I need to know you’re not making a rash decision because you’re worried about me. You know I’m always going to be okay.”
I exhale a ragged breath, laughing a little. “Yes, Mom.”I grab her shoulders and look her in the eye. “Promise. Most of this decision is entirely selfish. I want to write my book more than I want to breathe air sometimes. And I didn’t think it’d be possible,” I say, my voice cracking. “But Lottie made it possible.”
I blink back full-on tears, and my mom’s eyes well up too.
“She gave us everything. And even in her absence, she’s giving us everything again,” I barely get out.
My mom nods and wipes at her tears, then reaches her hand out to wipe mine.
“I knew I raised you right, con,” she says with a broken smile. She throws her arms around my middle. Her gardenia scent fills me with warmth. But after a second of thinking in her embrace, I laugh into her hair and pull back.
“Hey, wait! What is that supposed to mean? What would you have thought of me if I went to New York?”
She shakes her head with a sweet smile. “I mean, I raised you right because you know what’s important. And sometimes”—she looks back at the cottage Lottie gave me—“circumstances can shift what’s most important.”
A swell of emotion tightens my throat, and I throw my arms back around her. Lottie’s unexpected passing changed things for us. And it felt validating to realize that was okay. Maybe I would have pursued a prestigious job in New York City and lived a more “glamorous life” if she hadn’t passed this year. But then I wouldn’t have reconciled with Declan, and I wouldn’t have spent all this time with my mom, and the mere thought of completing my first novel never would have crossed my mind.
So much had changed this summer. But as I hugged my mother’s tiny frame, I finally felt the first nudge toward accepting that change. How was it possible that so much good had been born from something so bad? It didn’t feel plausible. Or even acceptable. But maybe it was the truth.
Chapter 23
Can I pick you up from your place @6?
Nope! Pick me up from the cottage.
Getting a head start on renovations?
Something like that.
Yesterday, after calling Ernst & Young to tell them I wouldn’t be taking my position, my mom helped me move my things into the cottage. It was disconcerting: the fact that I was capable of demolishing everything I spent the past four years working toward in a five-minute phone call. But I felt nothing but relief when I hung up. I typed four thousand words of my romance novel with a comical amount of fervor and then passed out in my new bed.
Today, I took over some administrative tasks for my mom, typed another two thousand words into my Word document, and got ready for tonight’s gala.
I’ve been spending the past ten minutes peeking out the living room window, waiting for Declan to cross the street to my door. It feels like a lifetime has passed when he finally exits his house.
He’s in a dapper, midnight blue suit, hair the closest to tamed I’ve ever seen it. Something about the rare put-togetherness of his appearance makes me feel overly aware of my existence. He put in effort forme.
My heart starts drumming in my chest, and I stand from the couch to smooth out my wine-red floor-length dress. Lottie gifted it to me two summers ago, and I picture how she would smile if she saw me in it now.
A knock at my door startles me out of the thought. I exhale fast. Why do I feel like a middle schooler who’s about to go on her first date? I swing the door open. Declan and my eyes meet, and it feels more invasive than the Spanx digging into my thighs. His mouth parts like he’s about to speak, but he closes it as his eyes skim my body.
“Blair, you look”—he raises a hand to the back of his neck—“jaw-dropping.”
“Thank you,” I say. He studies me for another moment,and the blatant indulgence in his eyes causes me to speak again, like a knee-jerk-need to kill earnest moments. “Mm-hmm. That’s weird.”
“What?”
“Your jaw is still firmly in place.” I furrow my brow, searching the bottom half of his face.
A boyish laugh rushes out of him, so fast it changes the landscape of his entire face in an instant. And I think, those tiny lines that crinkle by his eyes when he smiles will never not make my heart clench with painful adoration.
Declan helps me into his car and then drives us to the banquet hall. The stunning venue sits at the top of a cliff, with a breathtaking ocean view, black rocks jutting out melodramatically. The type of place that costs thirty thousand dollars to rent for a single night.
