Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,90
of a new life.
Maybe it wasn’t the life that I’d originally planned, but it was a good life, a beautiful life, one that I would give my all to build, to cherish, to protect.
I breathed deeply, my body relaxed, my heart full. Maybe Cheyenne was right and I didn’t need to worry so much. Maybe there was no dragon. Maybe that shadow behind me was gone. Maybe the best really was yet to come, all I had to do was keep moving toward it.
But it was hard not to look back.
Twenty-Four
Cheyenne
“Finally!” Blair turned the sign in her bakery window to CLOSED and locked the door. “I thought those people would never leave, and I’m dying to talk to you. How’s everything going?”
“Great.” I was sitting at one of the little round café tables along one wall with a cup of tea and an uneaten pastry. “Everything is great.”
It was late Friday afternoon—a week had gone by since the night Cole had told Mariah about us and said he loved me.
Blair poured herself a cup of coffee and came and sat down across from me. “Things are great? How come I don’t entirely believe you?”
“I don’t know.” I took a sip of tea.
“Out with it,” she demanded. “I know that look on your face.”
“What are you talking about? I swear, I could not be happier.”
“But you’re not eating that scone and I happen to know that blueberry-lemon-thyme is your favorite.”
I laughed. “I told you I wasn’t that hungry. And I’m meeting Cole and Mariah for dinner soon. We’re going to do some shopping and then go for tacos.”
“Nice. Have you gotten him something for Christmas yet?”
I nodded. “A sweater and a scarf. Do you think that’s too boring?”
“Not at all.”
“I got Mariah a giant furry blanket, plus some lip gloss and nail polish.”
“She’ll love it. Do you have any idea what Cole is getting you?”
“No. He might not even get me anything.”
Blair rolled her eyes. “Because he might forget the woman he loves at Christmas?”
I blushed. As soon as Cole had left my house last Friday night, I’d texted her HE JUST TOLD ME HE LOVES ME!!! in giant shouty caps. “I don’t know. Maybe he hasn’t had time to shop yet. He’s been busy with the house.”
“Give me a break.” She took another sip of coffee. “How are things going with the house?”
I sat up taller and smiled. “Good. I saw it on Monday, and it’s incredible. I mean, it needs a ton of work, but it’s a beautiful old brick house with a wraparound porch and a huge yard.”
“When does he move in?”
“Closing is the twenty-ninth, but I don’t think he’s moving in until after the first.”
“When do you move in?” She smiled deviously.
“Blair!” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not moving in. Good grief, it’s only been a few weeks.”
“It’s only been a few weeks since you guys did something about your feelings,” she clarified. “But the feelings have been there a lot longer than that. And it sounds like everything is perfect, so what on earth is bothering you?”
Sighing, I took one more sip of tea and set the cup down. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but this is going to sound totally stupid, and you’re probably going to tell me I’m nuts.”
“I’d like nothing more.”
I rolled my eyes and sat up taller. “So everything is going really well. We see each other every day, even if it’s just for a little bit. We talk for hours on the phone each night. And the way he looks at me—it’s the cutest thing, almost like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear.”
“Awww.” She sipped her coffee, holding the cup in two hands.
“We don’t get enough alone time, of course, but when we do, the sex is like rattle-the-ceiling good.”
“Yes, I know—because you rattled my kitchen floor when you were going at it downstairs in the garage.”
My cheeks got hot, and I laughed. “Sorry about that. We were trying to be fast. And quiet, I swear.”
“Fail,” she said. “But I’m still not hearing any cause for concern here, Chey.”
“I’m getting to it. A week ago, the night he told me he loved me, in fact, he mentioned something about being afraid.”
Blair’s eyes widened. “What did he say he was afraid of?”
“Something he can’t see coming.” I let it sink in for a moment. “And ever since then, I cannot shake the feeling that he’s, like, looking over his shoulder, waiting for disaster to strike.”