Page 86 of Show Me How (Thatch 3)

As I said, my reading material had grown with me.

I’d always thought every event in our lives—­major or otherwise—­was just another part of our story that made us who we were meant to be for our Prince Charming. I knew my story would never be found forever engraved on the pages of a novel—­only woven within the songs in my notebook—­but still I waited for my love story to put all other love stories to shame. For my happily ever after . . .

Only to find out that none of it was real.

“He’s not really changing for you or falling in love with you, he’s lying to you to get what he wants. He just wants the curse to be broken,” I mumbled, and looked back at my book. I froze when I realized what I’d just done.

Oh no, I’m also that girl.

The one who tries to stop a fictional character from making a mistake with another, even though there is no mistake to be made. I was trying to stop my favorite Disney ­couple from being together. That would be pathetic any day. After almost a month? It was depressing.

At least I wasn’t in three-­day-­old pajamas, and I had still gone to work that day, as I had every scheduled day that month. Because I refused to let Deacon Carver see how he had broken me with his words and when he’d walked away.

Not that he’d seen me, but this town talked.

“That’s right, Belle. Run home.”

My head snapped up when someone knocked on the door, and I quickly searched for my phone so I could check the time.

Grey and Jagger had taken Keith today instead of having me take him to the babysitter’s, but they’d said they had something planned and wouldn’t be back for another ­couple hours.

My arms tingled as goose bumps covered my skin, and my heart steadily beat faster and faster as I slowly stood from the couch and walked toward the door.

No one else ever came over here, and I knew it was stupid to dream it could be him, but I wasn’t able to stop it.

Irrational, betraying heart.

I’d spent so much time during the past month agonizing over my heartache, and even more time thinking of where I had gone wrong. How I’d kept expecting Deacon to revert back to his old self. And, most important, how I’d continued a relationship—­for lack of better word—­with Stranger even though I’d known deep down that it was wrong, once Deacon and I had taken a turn in ours. But no matter how much blame I put on myself for our downfall, Deacon had betrayed me just the same. Because as Deacon had said, he was there for every conversation, as was I . . .

Stranger had known the way to my heart, and had very clearly needed Words the way I’d needed him.

Stranger had told me he didn’t know if he’d be able to walk away from me, from our conversations, and I’d known what he was saying was true.

And while Deacon was subconsciously falling in love with me, Stranger had fallen for Words.

Stranger had taught me how to trust someone with my heart by taking the small pieces of it and putting it back together, one conversation at a time. Our conversations and his words left their mark; I would never deny that. But he and I knew that what he was doing was preparing me for someone else. And once my heart had been made whole again . . . I gave it freely to Deacon.

Deacon had told me that he wanted a life with my son and me. He’d made me believe he was giving me his heart in return.

He’d made me believe it was only me for him, when in reality—­or depending on how you looked at the situation—­I wasn’t.

I never had been.

Another knock sounded, and I held my breath as I reached out for the knob.

I opened the door, and the breath I’d been holding rushed out as disappointment flooded me.

Irrational, betraying heart.

“Graham. Hi.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Uh . . .” I had just realized how devastatingly depressed I was a few minutes before, and had foolishly hoped I would open the door to someone else. But Graham was Deacon’s best friend, and I couldn’t allow him to see my pain. “I’m great. You?”

“Good, good.” He looked pointedly at me. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, right.” I quickly backed away, and opened the door wider. “I’m sorry.”

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