Page 15 of Rewrite Our Story

He shrugs. “I guess we do now.”

My eyes take in the vibrant yellow and orange colors of the petals. They’re so bright. The colors remind me of the flame of his lighter. “It’s beautiful,” I marvel, twirling the flower between my fingers.

“That’s the thing about marigolds. They’re all beautiful.”

My eyes immediately find his. He just called me beautiful. Right?

“Cade.”

He softly takes the flower from between my fingers. I don’t protest. I can’t. Not after what he just said. Not with the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

His rough fingertips brush the tender skin of my cheek. He pushes all my hair behind my ear before he tucks the flower right behind it. He must feel the thump of my racing pulse against his fingertips as he cups my cheek. There’s the rough scratch of a callus from his thumb when he lets it brush over my cheekbone.

“Thank you for spending your birthday with me, Goldie.”

Cade Jennings may not have kissed me tonight, but even without the press of his lips to mine, I feel like he’s said so much without really saying anything at all.

I don’t think I’m the only one who has felt the shift between us, but I just might be the only person who wants to act on it.

8

MARE - PRESENT

I stareat my reflection in the mirror, trying not to grimace at the absence of color on my face. The bags under my eyes are dark and pronounced from staying up until the early morning hours. I’d spent all night obsessing over the eulogy I’d written for Linda. Pippa had approved my first version of it, but it hadn’t felt perfect. So I’d stayed up all night making sure I made it as flawless as I possibly could.

Her visitation was brutal. Everyone wanted to stop and talk. Some people even used the time to tell me they enjoyed my book and they’re anxiously awaiting the next one, which was wildly inappropriate. My father made sure to tell them so. He and his wife had three delayed flights, but they showed up to the visitation just in time. I’d been comforted by his presence next to me. We’d grown closer in the years since he moved away from Sutten. I think he needed to heal a bit more from Momma to be able to be a father again. I’ll never get back the time he was absent during my childhood and teenage years, but if Linda’s death has taught me anything, it’s to not dwell on the past. Dad and I have an unspoken agreement, we just don’t really talk about Sutten.

Speaking of the past, mine appears in the doorway of the guest room. I hadn’t tried to think too much into it when Cade had put my bags in the room farthest from his. His distance from the moment I arrived has told me enough. He’s mad at me. He has a right to be upset, but deep down, I’m still mad at him, too.

Cade holds a black tie in his hand, a sheepish look on his face. “Pippa told me I had to wear a tie to this thing but I keep fucking it up and I can’t find her to help me. I didn’t want to have to ask you, but you’re my only option.”

I swallow and ignore his jab. “I’ll help.”

“You will?”

“Always,” I whisper, taking a step away from the mirror. The two of us meet in the middle, stopping in front of the four-poster bed of the guest room.

He smells like the same body wash he used years ago. It smells like clove and pine. He usually smells like fresh air and leather from being outside most of the day, but not today. He’s all cleaned up for Linda’s funeral.

Even the facial hair he’d been sporting when he picked me up at the airport isn’t as grown out as it was. There’s still a hint of it, but it’s trimmed and neater than it was a few days ago.

The biggest physical difference about the Cade I grew up with and the Cade standing in front of me is his hair. It used to be overgrown and shaggy. Now it’s buzzed on the sides and only slightly longer at the top. I fight the urge to run my fingers through the dark tendrils. I wonder if they’re long enough for me to hold on to or if my fingers would just slip through the locks.

Cade hands me the tie, pinning his stare above my head. I try not to focus on the veins on the tops of his hands. I want to trace them, feel them, and remember what it felt like to feel the rough skin of his fingertips against my skin.

Any other day I might be offended at his reluctance to meet my eyes, but I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now. Funerals aren’t for the dead, and they aren’t for the people closest to the dead. They’re for the people on the fringe, the ones who feel the need to give their condolences even though they mean nothing. They’ll never bring the person back.

The skirt of my long, black dress brushes over the tips of his shoes as I take a step closer to him. They aren’t the pointed tips of his typical cowboy boots. They’re nice dress shoes. Something I didn’t even think he owned.

I loop the tie around his neck, pulling one side longer than the other. Neither of us say a word as I begin a Windsor knot at his neck. I’m finishing it up when he looks down at my work.

“Look at that.” He scoffs. “You’re even more city than I thought. You’ve got that down to a science.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a tie, Cade. It doesn’t define anything about me.”

He sighs his disapproval. I should step away, but I’m not going to back down from him. He’s upset because it’s his mother’s funeral today. If he needs someone to take his hurt out on, then I’ll be that person for him. “Have you been tying a lot of ties? Let me guess. You were with a lawyer. Or no—an investor? That seems like your type.”

My teeth grind against each other as I try to keep my mouth shut. I’d been casually seeing a doctor, but we’d ended things before I left for my writing retreat. I was supposed to be locked away finishing a book, I didn’t need a distraction. Matt took it well because we’d only been casual. Cade doesn’t need to know any of this. I know he’s hurting. He has the right to hurt. I just wasn’t expecting for him to come in and declare war with me before I’ve even had time to finish getting ready.

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