Page 52 of Keeping It
With a sigh, and a silent prayer, I turn toward the sound of my name. “Malena!” I return, with a little less enthusiasm than she used.
“I thought that was you. You look beautiful. I’m so glad you decided to show up,” she says, stepping into my personal bubble.
Backing away a touch, with a smile on my face, I reply, “It’s time I got out of the house. I’m feeling so much better now. This place looks amazing.” I swallow hard, thinking about how much time has passed since I stepped foot in the foyer here.
“I know, right? Tahoe did such a fantastic job,” Malena coos. My stomach sinks at both her casual use of his nickname and the fact she knows something I don’t. “He’s been working like a madman on it so it’s not that surprising,” she adds, tossing her long hair over one shoulder. Even the sun decided to play nice for the occasion. It’s not blaring down on us relentlessly today.
I raise my eyebrows and try nonchalance. “Yeah? He did this all by himself?” I ask, waving an arm around. There’s a flower garden with a sitting area in the distance and the dock has been extended to wrap around the property on both sides. Now boats can tie off and frequent the bar. Get too drunk, and then stay the night. It’s a genius idea.
“He did. I know Leif and the boys helped with some of the manual labor, but this is Tahoe’s brain child. When you refused to talk to him, I mean, after the accident and you needed to recover,” she says, opening and closing her mouth when she realizes her blunder. “He was upset, Caroline,” Malena decides on. “This is the product of that. You should see the inside.”
My heart squeezes. The smile I offer is weak, something in absence of words. “He’s inside greeting guests. Go say hi,” Malena says, grinning. “I know he’d love to see you.”
I’m rubbing the sides of my dress between my fingers—nervous, scared, excited to finally lay eyes on the man that ripped my heart wide open and stepped inside like he’d always lived there.
“I’ll go see if mama needs my help first,” I say.
Malena clears her throat. “No. She’s fine. I was just there.”
I quirk one brow. “Oh?”
She nods quickly. “Go inside. They have your favorite profiteroles on a table in the foyer. The ones we were going to have at your house warming party. Remember?” Her face falls. Malena does love to plan a party. I’ll have to let her plan something again.
She is trying too hard, but I can’t deny that I’m anxious to see the inside. If the outside looks this amazing, the inside must be top notch. She pats me on my back and I take my leave, trying to keep my head down as I approach the front of the Inn.
A few older ladies who are friends with my mama say hello. Their faces are friendly, but I see the pity in their kohl rimmed eyes. It’s the same look my mother wore when she told me to move out and get my life together. I rub the numb spot on my leg. One of the reminders of my accident. The burns on my leg were bad enough that I had to endure multiple skin grafts. I’m lucky my leg healed as much as it did. I should feel lucky for a million reasons, apparently. Right now, I feel anything but. I move on from the latest person who feels bad for me, with a new sense of purpose. Everyone is giving me exactly what I need without realizing it.
The stairs leading up to the porch and front door are stained a dark walnut, and the new double doors are a vivid blue adorned with a skeleton of a frog etched in the glass panel. One side is open, so as quietly as I can, I slip inside.
There are just as many people in here, so I’m safe, undetectable, for at least another moment or two while I take in everything. He redid almost everything, but the staircases are still the same. He left those intact. The walls are a bright white and the beachy feel meshes with the masculinity of the dark, sleek décor. It’s an odd combination I wouldn’t have put together, but it works well. It’s Tahoe. I close my eyes and take in a breath. This is my new reality. One I need to take control over regardless of how much it hurts. He is integrated into my world. In my absence, even more so. SEALs are around, chatting, drinking, being friendly. I haven’t recognized any of them as Tahoe’s friends. They’re just another indicator of my new reality.
Spotting the profiteroles, I grab one and a small plate and head for the stairs. When I’m at the top, my breath catches. “How much money did he throw at this thing?” I gasp. There’s a huge bay window that overlooks the bar, the docks, and the bay in the distance. The view is something from a beautiful painting. I look down and see the terrace that he left untouched, where Tahoe first kissed me.
I take a bite of the confection as I let the memory play softly in the background.
“It’s rude to ask prices. Where did you learn your manners anyways?”
With a mouth full of sugar and cream, I let the voice, his voice, soak in. I knew I missed him, but I didn’t realize how much. I avert my gaze from the window, to him. Nope. The mere sight of him makes me weak in my knees. There’s no way I’ll be able to coexist with this man. The town is too small. I hate it. I despise myself for this flaw, knowing it will be the greatest challenge I’ll face in this lifetime.
He smiles. It’s crooked. A dimple pops. His gaze dips to my body, the dress I picked out specifically for this reason. His gaze lands back on my face and holds. He heaves a long breath. “Caroline,” he says, voice cracking. He swallows hard. “You came.” Relief washes over him, his shoulders rising and lowering in a deep breath.
I set my plate down on a small console table next to the window. This is why I came here, right? To get this over with. “It looks fantastic, Tyler,” I say. His eyes narrow. Suspicion. “This is something to be proud of. It will be great for tourism and Bronze Bay residents alike.” The panty scorching smile drops from his face. At least this will be easier now. “Thank you for all that you’ve done for our small town.” Polite. Concise. Everything a southern woman should be. “We appreciate it.”
“Caroline,” he repeats. “Say something.”
I clear my throat, and turn my gaze to the hardwood floor. “I just said multiple things, Mr. Holiday.”
“Mr. Fucking. Holiday? What the fuck are you playing at?” he growls. “You avoided me for months. Half a year I tried to talk to you. Tried to see you. You’re finally here, finally. And you’re going to pretend we’re strangers?”
I shake a finger at him. “Not strangers. Friends. You broke up with me. I’m just trying to get on with it. You’re living here for the foreseeable future?” I ask.
“Of course. You knew that,” he replies, waving a big arm to the Inn.
“So am I. Let’s be civil to each other.” I make a move to leave, but he blocks the stairs with his body—his sheer size a deterrent to any further movement forward.
“Talk to me. Please, God. I’ve waited so long for this. You’re killing me here. Please,” he pleads. I see the desperation in his eyes and I want to erase it, but then I’m reminded of how quickly he threw everything we had away.
Folding my arms across my chest, I say, “Talk to me then.” I meet his blue eyes and it’s a mistake. My insides quake back to life, calling out for him.
