Page 58 of Worth the Wait

“Because this idea is built around you. If you’re not a part of it, then it doesn’t happen.”

“You wouldn’t open anyway with someone else?” I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that this venture was built around my participation in it. There were so many talented chefs in and around the city that I knew I was absolutely replaceable.

“No.” His response was short, direct, and to the point.

And made me feel like complete shit.

“Okay. I’ll let you know as soon as I get back to the city,” I said, hoping to placate him, but also buying myself a few more days to figure out just what the heck I was going to do.

I drove toward the old Aimsley farm with my heart in my throat. I had no idea what I’d find when I got there. When I reached the entrance, I remembered the old house that used to sit on the edge of the road. There was no home there anymore. It was like it had never been there at all; no old scraps of wood or even a roof shingle remained.

Pulling onto the drive, I followed it for what felt like miles. Maybe it was. It definitely wasn’t. But when I glanced in the rearview mirror, the main road was no longer visible, and the trees blocked any view one might have. It was privacy at its finest and fit Patrick to a T.

I continued following the road until what looked like landscaping and the outline of a house started to come into view. There were wildflowers growing everywhere. And then I saw it. The most beautiful home I’d ever laid eyes on. The wood ranged from planks to old-fashioned circular logs, with stone accents, just like Patrick had drawn up all those years ago. The garage, railings, balcony, and roof trim were all a deep, dark brown. But the windows were framed in a pretty pale yellow that I’d picked out. Just seeing it in real life had my eyes pricking with unshed tears.

I shut off the engine and wiped the tears from my eyes as Patrick suddenly appeared on the balcony, his head cocked to the side as he looked down at me with surprise. Jasper started bounding down the stairs and headed in my direction as I quickly got out of my dad’s truck to greet him.

“Hi, buddy,” I said as I patted his head, his tail wagging.

Glancing back up, I noticed that Patrick was making his way toward us as well. I took the few moments until he reached me to look around some more. I couldn’t get over what I was looking at.

“Patrick…” I could barely get his name out of my throat. I swallowed. Or at least I attempted to.

The house was so incredibly beautiful. It was everything we’d ever dreamed about, and he’d made it a reality.

“You really built it,” I choked out, my emotions getting the best of me.

“I did.”

“But you built it after I left,” I said, not sure why those particular words were the ones that had decided to come out.

“I always hoped you’d come back,” he said before closing the space between us.

His hands were on my face, and my eyes closed in response to being touched by him. Before I could even think of anything else, his lips crushed against mine, claiming me in ways he never had before. I’d always belonged to Patrick in the past, but in this version, he was taking what was his, leaving no room for doubt.

His tongue pressed against my mouth, and I opened to let him in. He was soft, gentle, but punishing, all at the same time. I leaned into his kiss, wanted it, craved it, missed it. Patrick kissed me for all the years we’d been apart, and my body felt like it might melt right into his if it could. I felt him everywhere, one hand on my lower back, the other on my neck, gripping me tight and holding me still. My breasts pressed against his chest, and the big guy in his pants was hard against my thigh. I had to stop my hips from grinding against it.

“Uncle Patrick?” The tiny voice hit my ears, breaking me and Patrick apart instantly, like we’d been caught doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing.

I was still reeling from that kiss when I saw her running.

Clarabel.

“Clarbear?” I asked through my shock as she sprinted toward me, arms wide open.

She’d grown so much since the last time I’d seen her.

“Starfish?” she shouted.

I laughed as I dropped to my knees and braced for her impact.

She hit me and held on so tight before she pulled away slightly to stare at me, like I might be a figment of her imagination.

“Miss Addi, is it really you?” she asked as she pushed my cheeks together with her hands, like she was making sure I was real and not a ghost.

“It’s me. But is it really you? You’re so big. And tall,” I said as I shook my head.

She stepped out of my arms. “I’m eight now. You missed my birthday. And the one before that. And the one before,” she started to say, but Patrick grabbed her.

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