Page 9 of Story Of My Heart

Not bloody likely.

“And I can’t wait to see how they’re running my resort into the ground.” Cramming the last few bites of my sandwich into my mouth, I dust the crumbs off of my pants and reach for my coffee, heading off toward the elevator to grab my things. “I’ll leave you to pack. Meet me in the lobby in exactly one hour.”

Piper starts to protest at the lack of time, but I slam my palm onto the door button, shutting it before she can get a complete sentence out. As I round up my last few toiletries, I find myself wondering why I’m not relieved. I got exactly what I wanted. I get to make Oscar happy by seeing the resort in person. I get to make Fallon and Ledger happy by alleviating some of the pressure they’ve been under. And, I’ll have Piper by my side for the entire weekend, which will keep me happy and keep her away from Elijah. Piper deserves the best, and while I’m sure Elijah is a nice enough guy, he is not the best. I’d hate to see her fall for someone not worthy of her time when it comes to her end game. I know she wants to be married and have a family someday.

And while I can’t really understand that, I can respect it.

When I get down to the lobby, I find that Piper is already waiting for me. Her rolling suitcase stands at attention next to her calf, alongside the leather messenger bag I insisted on buying her last Christmas. I hated the idea of her carrying my documents around in a regular old canvas tote. It also looks really nice on her, bringing out the warm tones in her hair, or whatever the salesperson told me. Our front desk concierge, Bill, who has worked the day shift here since the building was built twenty years ago, flags me over with a wave of his hand. He lets me know that the rental agency dropped the car off a few minutes ago and left a key here for me. Piper snickers, and I shoot her daggers.

It’s not that I’m a bad driver. I just don’t like doing it. I have a lot going on at any given point in time. I need to be able to answer calls, send emails, and write down my ideas. None of that meshes with having to keep my eyes on the road and my hands at ten and two while I’m forced to stare at my cheapest watch. And yes, I may have had a lot of tickets and fender benders in the last decade. There’s a good chance I’m one rear ending away from a suspended license. All of this means that Piper insists on being behind the wheel everywhere we go, and I’ve never fought her on it. It just makes sense.

She lets me maintain my dignity in front of Bill by waiting until after we walk away from the desk to swipe the keys from my hand. As I hand them over, our fingers brush—a fleeting contact that sends a jolt up my arm. The surprise in her eyes mirrors my own. A small, uncertain smile flickers between us, a silent acknowledgment of something neither of us is ready to voice.

There’s a nondescript green SUV waiting for us outside, and we pile our suitcases into the back before climbing in and starting the car.

“I’m really excited to see the resort.” Buckling her seatbelt, she turns in her seat, taking a moment to look me in the eyes. “I’ve heard so much about it, and the town, and your whole family. It’ll be really interesting to see where Tate Story, notoriously secretive billionaire entrepreneur, got his start. And even more exciting, what makes him tick.”

My family or, God forbid, my childhood, are the last things I want to talk about on this car ride. I change the subject as I fiddle with the AC vent alignment in the passenger seat. “I noticed your suitcase seemed a little heavy for a three-day weekend. Are you making plans I should know about?”

“Please. This was never going to be just a long weekend. You’re going to want to make improvements. It’s what you do. I can promise you that we’re going to end up staying longer than three days,” she shrugs, as if staying there is something I want to do at all, let alone for any longer than I absolutely have to. Checking her side view mirror, she starts to pull away from the loading zone in front of the building and out onto the street.

“Not a chance. After seventy-two hours out there, I’ll be dying to get back into the city. By the way,” I trail off, toying with the vinyl of my seatbelt and looking anywhere but at Piper’s face. This is the hard part that I didn’t tell her about. This is the really big favor. “No one knows that I own the place, so make sure you keep it under wraps.”

She rolls her eyes. “What else don’t they know?”

I make a sweeping gesture toward my tennis shoe clad feet. Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead out of Italian loafers. “That I’m rich.”

Pumping the brakes a little too hard at a stop sign, the car comes to a halt. Piper turns to stare at me in equal parts anger and amusement. “So basically, your family has no idea who you are?”

“Right, but I mean…” The force of her stare is too much, and I feel my confidence starting to waver. “Aren’t all families like that?”

“No,” Piper sighs, shaking her head as she pulls out into traffic, starting the journey toward my childhood home. “No, they aren’t.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re probably right. I guess it’s just what I know.”

“And that’s okay.” Her voice softer now, as if she’s suddenly aware she might have hit a nerve. The freeway stretches ahead, miles and miles of gray asphalt.

Silence settles between us, thick and introspective. It’s a silence filled with the hum of the SUV and my own scattered thoughts ricocheting like pinballs. I watch the landscape morph from urban sprawl to pastoral tranquility, each mile bringing me closer to a past I’ve compartmentalized and neatly stored away.

The idea of returning, of seeing the resort again—it’s like standing on the edge of two realities. The businessman in me sees assets and potential revenue; the prodigal son sees shadows of laughter, scraped knees, and the uncomplicated joy of summers spent lakeside.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” Piper’s voice cuts through my reverie, gentle yet firm. “Going back to a place filled with so many memories, good and bad... it’s a lot. But maybe, just maybe, this could be good, Tate. Healing, even.”

I glance at her, struck by her empathy and the earnestness in her eyes. “You think so?” I manage, the skepticism in my voice belying a hope I’m not comfortable admitting.

“I do,” she affirms with a nod, turning her attention back to the road. “Sometimes confronting the past is the only way to truly move forward. And who knows? They might surprise you. Families have a way of doing that.”

The closer we get, the tighter the coil in my stomach winds. Each mile marker is a countdown to confrontation, not just with my family but with a past I’ve compartmentalized neatly into boxes—boxes I’m now forced to unpack. The hum of the tires on the pavement, a sound I once found soothing, now feels like an alarm bell going off in my head.

Piper’s voice cuts through the growing tension inside me. “What was your favorite part about summers here?” It’s a simple question, laden with traps. I stiffen, the words catching like barbs.

“Survival,” I reply tersely, then immediately regret the harshness in my voice. She’s only trying to understand, and to offer support, not knowing she’s treading on a minefield of memories best left undisturbed.

Instead of elaborating, I turn my head and offer a warm smile that she returns.

Whatever lies ahead, I’m not facing it alone. And as we drive under the archway, marking the boundary between my past and my present, I realize that maybe, just maybe, coming back isn’t about revisiting old ghosts, but about forging new paths from old stones.

Chapter Six

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