Page 3 of Worth the Wait

“I really like the kitchen you made for her,” Clara added.

I pushed back out of my seat, wishing I could bolt for the outdoors and hop off the balcony.

“Who told you I made the kitchen for Addison?” I gripped the back of my chair with both hands.

Clara shrugged and pressed her lips together like she might be in trouble. “No one.”

“No one, huh?”

Addi and I had talked about our dream home so many times that when I showed her a sketch of what I’d planned on building for us, she’d cried and said it was perfect. Said she couldn’t wait to live there and start a family together. I’d laminated the drawings so they wouldn’t get ruined, and then Addi packed her shit and moved to New York instead.

My older brother cleared his throat. “She might have overheard me talking to Brooklyn about it once,” he admitted.

Honestly, it didn’t matter where my niece had picked up the information because she wasn’t wrong. I’d absolutely built this chef’s kitchen for Addi. Lord knew I didn’t even need half the shit that was in here. I couldn’t even figure out how to work half of the high-end appliances I’d bought.

“It’s a really pretty kitchen, Uncle Patrick. I bet Miss Addison could cook real good in here.” She blinked up at me with those big doe eyes, and I sucked in a calming breath.

“I bet she could too,” I said mostly to myself. That had been the whole point.

“Sit down,” my dad instructed, and I did as he’d asked without arguing. “No more talk about Addison,” he added.

“You’re the one who brought her up in the first place,” Matthew snarked at our old man, and he grumbled something under his breath as I heard a few chuckles.

This was going to be what the rest of my life looked like. I was going to be surrounded by this group forever. As I looked around at everyone who sat at my dining room table, I realized it could be worse. And that I was pretty damn lucky.

Even if I didn’t always feel that way.

I HATE THIS CITY

ADDISON

Iwalked the streets of Manhattan on my way back to my mother’s condo. I’d been here for over three years now, and even though I’d loved everything about this place when I first got here, New York City was wearing on me. It was loud. Bustling. Smelly. And always dramatic. Most people loved it. But not me. At least not anymore. I was kind of growing to hate it.

Except for the food. That was truly spectacular. It made being here worth it, even if I had to remind myself of that fact multiple times a day lately.

A horn honked, and I jumped as I walked, almost tripping off the curb. I swore I’d never get used to that.

New Yorkers were constantly in a rush to get somewhere else, not caring who they ran into or knocked off-balance. It was kind of rude. And it made me miss my home, where we knew our neighbors and actually cared about how they were doing. I’d come to realize that the slower pace of life suited me. In Sugar Mountain, we’d actually stop and apologize if we even so much as accidentally bumped someone’s shoulder in the general store.

But not here. Here they kept on moving like it had never even happened in the first place.

Even the colorful lights on all of the trees didn’t catch my eye the way they used too. Instead of feeling joy at all of the gorgeous Christmas decorations that filled this crazy city, I felt sad instead. People from all over the world seemed to descend on New York to check out the seasonal decor and stay for the city’s infamous New Year’s Eve festivities. They took pictures, booked fancy hotels, and oohed and aahed their way through Rockefeller Center and Fifth Avenue.

They all seemed so impressed with every single thing that caught their eye. I remembered feeling that way too. But now, all I could think about was how this city didn’t hold a candle to the way Sugar Mountain dressed itself up for the holidays. Especially the resort. They always had the best holiday themes, going all out each and every year. This Christmas would make the fourth one I’d missed. Yes, I was apparently counting.

“Good evening, Miss Addison,” Gary said as soon as he spotted me on the street.

I reached my mother’s building, and as he held open the door, I slipped inside, the heat instantly warming me.

“Hi, Gary.”

He rushed past me toward the elevator, pressing the call button before I could reach it myself.

No matter how many times I told him he didn’t need to do that, he still did, insisting that it was part of his job.

“Have a good night,” I said as soon as I pressed the button for floor eighteen and the doors started to close.

I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and glanced at the screen. It still had my favorite picture of me and Patrick on it. We were lying in the back of his truck, looking up at the sky. His arm was wrapped around me, and my head was on his chest. Whenever my world felt like it was spinning just a little too fast, this picture calmed me. Reminded me of what was important.

---