Page 140 of Meet Me in the Valley
Just a few questions that keep me up at night when I don’t get a video call or just a few texts throughout the day.
I know he’s busy with work. I know he’s living his life in Texas while I sort of coast along here in California. My purpose became so wrapped up in my mom, I didn’t realize the slow descent to losing my passion.
I miss working. I miss flexing my design brain and playing with patterns and textures and furniture. I miss the sharp stench of fresh paint and slamming a sledgehammer into old cabinets and drywall.
Wood finishes, light fixtures, and the satisfied look on a client’s face when my vision comes to life—all of it brings a rush through me.
“Tia. I need you to chug your wine, throw on something hot, and be ready for a damn good night.” Audrey saunters towardme, lifting the corner of my mouth with her finger. “We’re turning that frown” she gives me a teasing look, “upside down.”
She’s right. I need to loosen up. I’ve been uptight and moody for days. A fun night out with my friends might be exactly what I need to shake this off.
But then my heart dips. Because no matter how loud the music or strong the drinks, our nights always feel off when we’re not all together. When he’s not there.
“You’re missing him bad, aren’t you?” Audrey’s voice softens as she tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
I tip my glass back to chug my wine the second I feel that sting behind my eyes.
Damn.
“I miss him so freaking much it’s not even funny,” I admit, fingers twisting the watch on my wrist that makes me feel like he’s still close somehow.
Audrey gives me a look—the kind only best friends can give. “Logan loves you more than anyone else on this planet. I bet he calls you at 11:59 just to be the first to say Happy New Year.”
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Logan’s always been the first person I’ve wished a Happy New Year to. Sure, I had to watch him kiss a different girl every year, but he always came back to give me a kiss on the cheek.
And now, the one year I want his kiss on my lips more than anything … we’re not even together.
“I’ll be sure to pick up the phone,” I say with a quiet smile.
“Good. Now come on. Donovan and Wyatt are back at the King estate with more wine for tonight. Let’s sneak one more glass before we meet up with Iz to get ready.”
A little heaviness lifts off my chest at the thought of us girls sipping wine and jamming out to music as we put on our makeup and do each other’s hair.
Yes. You need this. Tonight will be a great night.
The King estate is ridiculous. Immaculate, of course, but in thathow-do-people-live-like-thiskind of way. I’ve been here a bunch, and it still stuns me every time. Panoramic valley views like a postcard, furniture that probably costs more than my car, and this almost unfair ability to feel both royal and cozy at the same time.
But tonight? We’ve entered full-blown Gatsby mode.
No flapper girls, but thereisa champagne tower that looks like it could trigger a domino disaster at any second, a fancy ice sculpture that I’m praying no one leans on, and servers walking around in white gloves like they just finished serving the Queen.
It’s the kind of party that makes you second guess your outfit and your life choices. It’s opulence toeing the line of absurd, but only at the grandeur of it all.
And honestly? The Kings crushed it. As usual. Grace and Caleb King know how to throw a fucking party, that’s for sure.
It seems like everyone in town is here except my parents. Dad didn’t want to overwhelm Mom with a bigger crowd than the one at Audrey and Donovan’s engagement party. So, the two of them will welcome the new year together, cozy at home.
My friends definitely showed up and showed out. The boys look like they just stepped off a runway—each of them in a tailored black suit, sharp enough to make jaws drop.
Audrey and Isabel are showstoppers in their own right. Audrey’s olive green satin gown hugs her figure and makes the red tones in her hair pop like firelight. Isabel, naturally, wears one of her own designs—a pale yellow chiffon strapless dress that practically floats when she walks. She looks like she belongs straight inside a fairytale.
I took a gamble and rented mine online, figuring I’d never have another reason to wear a gown again. No fittings, no guarantees. But somehow, the dress fit like it had my name stitched right on the tag.
I chose a deep red trumpet gown, cinching my waist and doing wonders for my backside. My hair is swept to one side in soft, Old Hollywood waves, and my lipstick matches the wine stain of a bold cabernet. The off-the-shoulder sleeves show off my collarbone, one of Logan’s strange obsessions on me. The memory of his mouth on them during our time in Vegas sends heat curling low in my belly.
We all gather outside on the makeshift dance floor, glasses of champagne in hand, swaying to the live band beneath the glow of a thousand twinkling lights. The scene unfolding before my eyes cast beneath a blanket of stars and the endless rows of vines off in the distance gives me pause.
Damn. We are lucky to live in such beauty.
