“Well, no. But why should that matter?”
“Because if this was who you are and you were meant to carry this forever, you would have kept doing it. I don’t see that man. I see a man who, yes, injured someone gravely, but carries all that guilt with him. I see a man who somehow rebuilt himself after all he’s been through, which is extraordinary. I see a man who made a mistake and doesn’t deserve to be defined by that one moment where he snapped after a lifetime of moments that could have permanently broken him.”
No words come to me. My eyebrows draw together and I shake my head. Addie takes my face between the palms of her handsand leans in. I feel her breath on my lips, smell the lavender of her shampoo.
“I see you, Zander Browning,” she breathes. “You did something bad, but that is not who you are.” Her eyes dart down to my lips. “Can I kiss you?”
I bring my hand up to the back of her neck and draw her in. I am a mess of swirling, conflicting emotions, but she somehow makes it all okay. In her kiss, I find myself slowly unravelling the raw hatred and anger I’ve felt toward myself over the last thirteen years. I run my tongue along her bottom lip, taste the bitter coffee, and chuckle.
We pull back at the same moment, our foreheads resting together. There’s a lazy smile on her lips.
“You’re sure?” I ask. “I know it’s a lot and that’s only scratching the surface. I come with a storage locker full of baggage and—”
“I’m sure. You can’t scare me away that easily.”
Chapter Eleven
Adelaide
“You know how I think you make a lot of dumb decisions?” Willow says as I’m shoving a pair of overalls into a bag at the front door.
I glance up at her. A smug smile is on her face and her left eye twitches. I straighten.
“Okay, sure.”
“Well, you’re making a really dumb decision here now.”
“By going to the embroidery club?”
Willow sighs dramatically and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, Addie, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I don’t have time to entertain her sarcasm. I’m already running late for the Monday evening meeting, and seeing as it’s only an hour, it’s almost not worth going if I wait any longer. I throw the bag over my shoulder and grab my keys from the hook.
“I won’t be gone long,” I say. “But text me if you’re going out.”
I open the door and she salutes me. God, I miss the days when her hatred for me was more subtle.
“Be safe!” Willow calls. “Don’t trip and fall into another criminal!”
I want to antagonize and yell back that there’s onlyonecriminal whose arms I plan on falling into, but I don’t. She’s not worth the time. And I would also never refer to Zander that way.
I climb into my car and throw my embroidery bag onto the passenger seat. The dusky last bits of sunlight stream through the fractals on the stained-glass film I applied to my sunroof. It’s an extra boost of serotonin every time I drive somewhere. And frankly, I need it today, because Willow has made it her mission to convince me Zander is awful. I need the quiet, the space away from my manuscript, and an hour of working with my hands to clear my thoughts.
I’ve made the most informed decision I can. I listened to everything Zander had to say and saw the story work its way through his body like a crippling pain. It wasn’t an easy telling. It isn’t a part of himself he likes. I heard him out, then went home and read the articles he sent to me about that night and the fallout. I stayed up half the night and binge-read his memoir. And I cried. A lot. When I woke up, I made sure to send him a text that I cared about him.
So I won’t write him off. Not now. Not when everything in me is convinced he’s a good man fallen victim to his circumstance, which he has made every effort to overcome.
I don’t rush on my way to the library. I may be running the slightest bit late, but, honestly, when am I not? I’ll get my embroidery time in. But I’ll also get the relaxing drive through Beaver Creek’s most scenic areas. The colourful houses and old school brick storefronts are hallmarks of my hometown. We’ve always prioritized nature, which is why the park is such a huge fixture in town, but it’s also why we have so many trees and flower beds in the downtown core. It’s iced over in winter, blossoming throughout spring, vibrant and bright for summer,and sepia toned with fallen leaves come autumn. It’s a marvel in all seasons.
The library is once again busy, and I find myself parking in the exact same spot where I met Zander. Maybe that’s destiny. Maybe I’m pushing it a little because I didn’t even try the parking lot.
Embroidery club is held in a program room at the back of the library. It’s small, lined with comfortable chairs that sit in a circle, and has a view of the garden in the courtyard at the back. It’s a cozy reprieve from life that I’m glad I’ve had since the beginning of the year. I’ve liked playing around with yarn and string since I was a teenager, but it always feels a little different when you have a community enjoying the same thing.
I sit back in the leather armchair that has becomemychair and pull out my supplies. I’ve been embroidering a pair of overalls with mushrooms, flowers, and insects for the better part of a week. Eventually, these will be my gardening overalls.
A half-finished bumblebee stares at me from the pocket on the chest. I find my yellow thread and settle in to work, when an older woman, with wide-set hips and a puff of wavy hair that ends by her cheeks, eases herself down into the chair next to me. I look up from my lap and smile. She sends one back my way, a dimple imprinting itself in her cheek rings a familiar bell in my brain.
