Page 71 of Confusing Cade
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BELLA
I came back from the East Coast trip feeling energized. Determined. Optimistic, even. The long visit with Lilly was productive, restful, and meaningful. And I was glad I got a chance to see her life at boarding school. Spending the holiday with her in a rented house a few blocks from campus had been just what I needed.
Besides, it was a new year, after all.
I’d never been one to put much stock in that kind of thing, never been one to focus on the change of a calendar page, but this January felt different. And maybe itwasdifferent. I had enough money to float for a while. I didn’t have to go back to FanZone. I could put that behind me and figure something else out. For all its trouble, at least the website had given me that—at least it had provided me with the luxury of time. That was something I hadn’t benefited from in ages.
Now that I had it, I hoped I wouldn’t have to give it up anytime soon.
I was still thinking of that when I got home, fresh off the plane from Boston and grateful for the warm weather that a South Florida January always brought. I picked my car up from the long-term parking lot and drove to my apartment with the windows down, the sea breeze and fresh air kissing my face.
But when I pulled into the spot across from my front door, my breath caught in my throat. A large but wilted bouquet of flowers waited for me on the rattan welcome mat beneath my front door. From the looks of it, the arrangement had been there a few days.
Cade.
They had to have come from him. Who else would order something so ostentatious, then leave it there for days without inquiring about if it had arrived? I got out of my car, dragged my luggage up the path, and exhaled when I saw the card tucked between the ferns highlighting the red and white flowers. Yep.
Cade fucking Weston.
I navigated around the flowers, pulled my suitcase into the apartment, and took a couple of moments to gather myself before retrieving the gift and placing it on the kitchen counter. The card was written in a simple, slating script, one which I recognized immediately as Cade’s distinctive, masculine handwriting. That meant he’d gone to the extra trouble of stopping by the florist himself to write it out instead of dictating the message over the phone or to Lois.
Which indicates he means business...
And that included the request at the end, asking me to call him as soon as I got this.Please,he added before signing his name.Bella, I was so wrong and I was an asshole who didn’t even give you a chance to prove your innocence. Please forgive me.
There was no doubt it was an earnest plea. It had to be if he’d taken this much trouble to reach out to me. The last time we spoke, he’d been clear about what little he wanted to do with me and how much I had hurt him. And he hadn’t been willing to listen to me, no matter what I tried to say.
That part hurt most. He hadn’t even been willing to listen to my side of the story. Of course, I hadn’t been trying to sabotagethe Promenade the whole time. There was absolutely no upside to that, no reason at all to do it. Dad was long gone, and he was nothing but a memory to the few people who cared about him as more than a business connection. Destroying the Promenade wouldn’t bring him back, and it wouldn’t settle any old scores between my family and Cade’s.
I sank into my breakfast table chair, my head dropping into my hands, the weight of Cade’s card and those wilted flowers pressing down on me. A month ago, I might’ve said I was in love with him, that being around him felt like coming home, like a warm blanket on a cold night. Or at least, that’s what I’d thought, back when I believed he saw me for who I was. But now? The memory of his accusations stung too sharply. How could I still want a man who doubted me so deeply, who didn’t even give me a chance to prove my innocence?
His note said he had something important to share, but the last time he’d insisted on seeing me, it ended with him tearing into me, leaving scars that still ached. Yet, the careful script of his handwriting, the effort of delivering the flowers himself, tugged at something in me. I felt a faint flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to make things right. I wasn’t sure I could trust it, or him, but the possibility gnawed at me, leaving me torn between guarding my heart and wondering if there was still something worth salvaging.
I rose from the chair and located my phone in the side pocket of my leather duffle bag. Seconds later, Cade picked up the other line, and a shiver traveled down my spine and through my legs at the sound of his simple hello.
“I got the flowers,” I said.
“I wondered when you would.”
“How long have they been here? They’re half dead.”
“Half dead? You didn’t get them right away?”
“No.” I paused, my voice steady despite the memories flickering at the edges of my mind. “I went out of town and just got back. I needed... space.”
“I see.” Cade’s voice was quieter than I expected, tinged with something I couldn’t quite place. Regret, maybe? Or was that wishful thinking?
The silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward, each second pulling at the threads of our fractured history. I leaned against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge to ground myself. Finally, I broke the quiet. “Your note said you have something to share with me. What is it?”
