Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,115

following morning, I was waiting for her at the new house when Jessalyn returned my call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Cole. This is Jessalyn Wells.”

“Hi, Jessalyn. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

“Of course. So you’ve decided to speak with a therapist?”

I took a breath. “Yes. I’m at least going to give it a try.”

“I think that’s great, Cole. Really great.” She gave me the name and number of someone in her office that counseled adults and had done a lot of work with group grief therapy. “Not that you have to do that,” she said quickly, as if she knew I’d been about to protest at the idea of talking in front of a group. “I just wanted you to know she has experience working with people who have lost loved ones.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Well, I’ll let you go. Happy new year.”

“Happy new year,” I said.

We hung up, and I looked at the name and number I’d written down. Before I lost my nerve, I called it and left a message requesting an appointment. I wanted to have at least one session under my belt the next time I asked Cheyenne to give me another chance.

And by having the window seat built in the master bedroom, I wanted to show her that this would be our house—that her dreams and mine were intertwined now, that our future was here, together.

Bianca was one hundred percent on board. “You know what?” she said, eyeballing the space that morning. “We could knock this project out in a few days.”

“Really?”

“Sure. With some help.” She glanced at me. “You think you could get Enzo over here with some wood and a hammer?” Then she laughed and flashed her palms at me. “No pun intended.”

I laughed too. “I bet I could.”

“Excellent. Why don’t you give him a call? He’s much more likely to say yes to you than me.”

“Agreed,” I said, digging my cell from my pocket. “Calling him now.”

Moretti was in.

But he said if we were really going to do it right within only a few days, we’d need a couple more pairs of hands, so we enlisted Griffin and Beckett too.

We worked the entire weekend, and Moretti came back Monday to help me finish up. Bianca was fantastic as well. While the guys yanked up the carpeting, refinished the wood floors, and constructed not only a window seat but built-in bookshelves on either side of it, she rolled up her sleeves and painted the walls a soft gray.

She also shopped like her life depended on it.

By Tuesday evening, I had a king-sized bed with an upholstered headboard, made up with brand new sheets Bianca insisted Cheyenne would appreciate for their high thread count, a fluffy white quilt, and more pillows than two adults could possibly need. At the foot of the bed was a cozy throw blanket in a soft pink that reminded me of something Cheyenne would wear. Next to the bed on either side were two matching antique tables for nightstands with twin lamps sitting on top of them. Beneath the bed was a gray and white patterned rug. Over by the fireplace, which Beckett helped me get in working order, were two easy chairs and a small table in between, upon which Bianca had set a little tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Standing in the doorway of the bedroom after work, I could hardly believe it. “Wow,” I said to Bianca on the phone as I drove home. “I don’t know how to thank you. Everything is perfect. Please send me the bill for everything.”

She laughed. “We’ll get to that. When are you going to show it to her?”

“Soon, I hope. Maybe this weekend.”

“And you’re moving in for real the following week?”

“Yes.”

“Nice.” Then she paused. “This might be a personal question, but is Cheyenne going to live at the new house with you?”

“I hope so.”

She laughed. “Well, if anything can convince her, that master bedroom will do the trick. Let me know how she likes it—although I already know she’s going to love it.”

“I will. Thanks again, Bianca.”

Later that night, I went in to say goodnight to Mariah. She was speaking to me again, but our relationship had been strained since Christmas.

I sat on her bed. “A week from tonight, you’ll be sleeping in your new bunk beds in the new house.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not excited about it?”

“I am. I just wish Cheyenne was moving in with us too, like she was supposed to. I miss her.” She looked up at