Page 3 of Falling for You Again

Mom gives me a fleeting smile. “The Savant House is creating a position for you. They want you to oversee a team of artisans and design an exclusive furniture line for them.”

“You didn’t think to include me in these conversations?” Not only are they selling off my future but they’re also negotiating a new one for me—without my consent.

Uncle Bear sucks in his bottom lip, his brows disappearing into his thinning hairline. “They’ll pay you well, Meli. Benefits too. Things I haven’t been able to provide you here. You’ll have a solid career path with them.”

“If I wanted to work for a large corporation, I wouldn’t have been working here since I was ten.” This is where my family is.

Uncle Bear averts his face, which makes me think he’s trying to hide his guilt.

“Whyareyou selling?” I want real reasons, not lame excuses about unreliable suppliers and faulty equipment.

“We’re tired.” Dad answers too quickly.

I fix him with a skeptical stare. If it were that simple, Uncle Bear would gradually transition the business to me like we discussed, allowing me time to grow accustomed to running the shop on my own. This sale is sudden.

Kidder wipes his palms over his hips. “Does this mean my internship is over?”

“Not yet,” Uncle Bear says.

“How long, then?” I demand.

“I’m not going back on this, Meli,” Uncle Bear says, knowing how my mind works.

I want to know how long I have to changehismind. And if I can’t do that, how long do I have to apply for a business loan and make an alternative offer? Though if it’s money Uncle Bear wants, I doubt I can match what the Savant House can pay. There must be a way I can stop the sale.

I return the letter to the desk and pick up a card with fancy, gold-embossed lettering. It’s an invitation to the Savant House’s annual fundraising gala, scheduled for tomorrow night at the Park Plaza. We’ve received their invites for years, but Uncle Bear and my parents always decline attending. They aren’t ones for fancy soirees. I, on the other hand, have had my own reasons for avoiding their functions. Reasons my parents and uncle don’t know about. But as a memory comes to mind an idea coalesces. I pocket the invitation and grab my backpack from the locker.

“Where are you going?” Uncle Bear asks as I head for the exit.

“Out.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas, Meli. We’ve already started negotiating.”

That might be so, but it isn’t going to stop me from shopping for a dress. He doesn’t know it yet, but I have a date with my ex-husband.

Chapter 2

Runaway Bride

After my parents, I’m the second reason that proves my uncle’s Bearisms have merit: balancing the work I’m passionate about with a relationship is impossible for me. So I made a choice, albeit almost too late.

It happened five years ago. I met Paul through his mom, Cheryl, a former client of mine, when I delivered a matching set of side tables I designed and built for her. She’d remodeled her home, a lovely estate just outside the city, and Paul had been there when I arrived. He helped us move the living room furniture to make room for the new tables.

I don’t date often, and I’d never dated anyone long term because of Uncle Bear’s advice. I figured it best to take it to heart rather than deal with the heartache of a failed relationship. But at twenty-three, I had been young, naive, and rash, and Paul had been charming—his family even more so. Since I wasn’t close to my parents, I craved what he had and what he could offer me, and deep down, I desired to feel loved. He was the first person who wanted me all to himself, and I fell for him easily. I let him sweep me away, and before I realized it, almost a year had passed and we were engaged.

But finding Paul hadn’t helped me find myself; it had made me feel more lost. And I’d been in denial that our relationship wasn’t right for me until the moment my best friend and maid of honor, Emi,proceeded up the aisle before me. In the vestibule of the church, I turned to my uncle, who was escorting me into my new life—a life I’d just realized I didn’t want—and he took one look at my stricken expression.

“Oh, Melisaurus,” he’d said with a touch of compassion, reverting to the childhood nickname he’d used when I first came to live with him, and my walls of denial came crashing down.

“I should have listened to you. I can’t marry him. I shouldn’t marry anyone,” I said, getting slightly hysterical in my panicked state.

“Sh-shh. There, there.” He rubbed my bare arms below the ginormous poufed shoulders of my wedding dress—my “something borrowed” from Paul’s mom. “Are you sure this isn’t just nerves?”

“No.” I shook my head hard, feeling tears rise. “It’s more than that,” I said and quickly shared with him what had happened several nights prior.

I’d been working on a chair for a client at Artisant, trying to complete the project before I left on our honeymoon. With all the wedding festivities and obligations Paul’s family had been demanding of me, I’d already missed my client’s deadline. It hadn’t been intentional, but I’d lost track of time and forgotten that Paul had offered to give me a lift to my apartment so I could get ready for dinner with his parents. I was bent over the partially assembled chair with a chisel when Paul stepped into the workshop.

“Hey, Meli. Ready to go?” His voice carried a hint of impatience.

---