Page 45 of Make Me Yours

And a foundation can’t get much more unsteady than mine and Sully’s…

I dated her mother, destroyed her father, and permanently altered the course of her childhood and life. Her people hate me, with good reason, and my “people,” such that they are, considerher beneath them. I don’t care what the other Tripps think, but she would.

With both of our families against us, we’d never last. We’d end up isolated on my yacht, turning on each other. She’d resent me for making her a pariah in her own hometown, and I’d resent her for forcing me to stay in a place I loathe.

The reminders of how pointless this longing is helps ease the feeling. By the time I check in with the host, get our seat assignment—the far end of the communal table, as requested—and start back across the room to rejoin my date, I’m feeling more grounded than I was before.

Then I see her, Sully, crouched in front of a striking older woman with a bountiful collection of smile lines and silver-white hair, taking her picture.

Instantly, my stomach starts to churn all over again. And it isn’t even because Sully’s skirt has ridden up, revealing one toned, sexy thigh, nearly to the hip.

It’s the reverence on her face, the awed smile on her lips, the way she sees the beauty in this woman I know so many would have dismissed as unworthy of a second glance.

In an instant, I’m falling for her all over again, all my logical reasons for dismissing the emotion evaporating in the wave of warmth that fills my chest.

Looks like love isn’t something that can be managed by logic.

I’m in uncharted territory, guided only by the burning certainty that this woman is worth striking out into a scary new world.

She’s worth just about anything…

chapter 15

GERTIE

I’m sobusy snapping Effie’s portrait—capturing her incredible face, crystal ball, and the blurred tent behind her from different angles, and wishing I had my camera with me, instead of just my phone—that I don’t realize Weaver is behind me.

It isn’t until Effie grins, showcasing her missing tooth on the upper right side, and says—“Well hello there, you must be Gertrude’s fellow. What a lucky man.”—that I emerge from my shot-hunting haze.

I glance over my shoulder as I stand, an apology on my lips for going into full feral photographer mode in the middle of a classy ballroom, but Weaver doesn’t look annoyed.

He looks…moved, the same way I felt when I saw Effie sitting here with her peaceful smile and dark brown eyes full of all the secrets of the universe.

The realization makes me ridiculously happy, even though I’ve been around the man enough by now to know that he isn’t nearly as cold as he pretends to be. But I just love that he sees the beauty other people miss. I love that he sees it in Effie.

And I love that he sees it in me.

Heart thumping a little harder, I reach out, squeezing his hand as I smile. “No, he’s not my fellow. We’re just friends,” I tell Effie.

It’s true, heismy friend, and I hope he will be for a long time. A part of me would desperately love for this to be more, but that isn’t in the cards for us. And maybe that’s for the best. If Weaver were really my “fellow,” I’d lose him eventually.

He’d get tired of being with a small-town girl who’s never done anything or been anywhere. The charm of teaching me things I don’t know would turn into annoyance that I’m so clueless, and then I’d be left alone with nothing but my regrets and several pissed off and betrayed relatives.

As friends, I can call him in New York whenever I want. I might even be able to go visit before Christmas, the way he said I should. I’d love to walk around the holiday markets and ice skate at Rockefeller Center with him. But then, I think I’d have fun doing just about anything with this man. He just makes me feel so alive, like I’m fully awake for the first time in years.

I’ll always be grateful for that, no matter how long our connection lasts.

Effie hums beneath her breath, her wise eyes flicking back and forth between us. “Oh, I see. Well, that’s a special thing, too.” She smiles in a way that makes me think she isn’t buying the “just friends” thing as she motions to the chair in front of her. “If Gertrude doesn’t mind, you’re welcome to sit with us while I do her reading.”

I shake my head. “Oh no, I don’t need a reading.”

“You paid for one,” she says, casting a pointed glance toward the blue bowl on the corner of the table, where I placed my twenty-dollar bill.

“That was for the chance to take your picture,” I say, lifting my cell. “And I did, and I think I got some beautiful shots. Thank you so much.”

“May I see?” Weaver asks, extending his hand toward my phone as Effie insists, “Nonsense, you’ll have a reading. I don’t charge for my picture. I have a firm grip on my soul. I’m not worried about someone stealing it with a photo.” She smiles again, shooing me into the chair with sweeps of her wrinkled hands.

Torn, I pass my phone reluctantly into Weaver’s palm, warning him, “I haven’t had the time to process them, so don’t judge. They’ll look much better once I take them into the editing software on my computer and adjust things.”

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