She sniffs the mix of flowers, seeming unimpressed. Which isn’t a surprise, but they’re all the lame florist had left at 4 p.m. on a Sunday. I should’ve given them my card. “Wooed me?”
I nod, rocking on my heels. “Yep. I never wooed you. And I want to. I want to woo you off your fucking feet.” I point to the bouquet. “There’s a card, but don’t read it now. Wait until I’m gone. My car will be here any minute.” Then, just as the words leave my lips, a car pulls into the driveway. I step forward, gently press my hand to her jaw, urging her to look at me. When she does, I ask the question I should’ve asked all those years ago. “Will you please go out with me, Jameson Taylor?”
Her lips part, and I can already sense the hesitation.
“Look, I know that there are a million different reasons why this won’t work. But I’m here, fighting for the one reason why it will. So… I’m asking you, begging you—just one date,” I plead. “And if you decide you don’t want me after that, then… I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”
She shakes her head, not in a no response, but in disbelief at what I’m asking of her. “I’m going to see Gina tomorrow, and you’re leaving now…” Her eyes search mine. “How would one date even work?”
“I’ll take care of everything,” I rush out. “And you don’t need to give me an answer right now.” I pick up my bag. “Please, just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.” I place a kiss on her forehead, and before I can catch her reaction, I turn and I leave.
I get in the car and ride to the airport with only one thing on my mind. It’s the same thing that’s been there since I walked into Esme’s bedroom last night.
I saw Jamie in a wedding dress, and I…
…I want to see it again.
That’s all I’ve been able to think about.
Not the how or the why or the when.
I just…
I want to see Jamie in a wedding dress…
…and I want her to wear it for me.
33
Jamie
“I may have held on to the missing piece, but you’re the one who completes me.”
I’d waited all of two seconds after Holden left yesterday to open the little envelope that he’d hidden in the bouquet of flowers. Inside it was the missing piece of the puzzle, along with his handwritten note—a note that I’ve read over a hundred times since.
It’s astounding, really—the way the butterflies appear every time I breathe his words into my soul.
But it’s also downright terrifying.
Because I thought I knew what I wanted, and the future I’d settled on was one without him. Now he’s gone, leaving me at a fork in the road, completely confused and overwhelmed.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I carefully place his note back in the envelope with the puzzle piece and store it in the side pocket of my backpack.
“Jamie!” Gina calls out. “Did you forget to pack it?”
“No, it’s here.” I reach into the main pocket, pull out one of the tiny clay pots Big H had sent me, and start moving to the living room while I check my phone.
Holden: When are you leaving Gina’s?
I stop in the hallway and question my response. It’s the first time he’s reached out to me since he left, and I haven’t contacted him because I’ve been too dumbstruck to know what to say.
I shoot back:
Jamie: Thursday morning.
His response is instant.
Holden: What’s her address?
Jamie: ?
Holden: Address?
Chewing my lip, I reply with Gina’s full address, and after a solid minute of no response, I give up on waiting and meet Gina in her living room.
She’s in her usual spot on a large recliner by the front bay window. “Here,” I say, gently handing her the clay pot. I ignore the way her aged, withered hands shake as she takes it from me, her gray eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Is this from their barn?” she asks, inspecting it closer.
I’d only spoken to Gina a couple of times while I was at Holden’s. Any more would’ve been out of character for me, and she would’ve known that something was wrong.
“Yep. It’s cute, right?” I don’t tell her that Big H had sent them, because that would mean explaining how he sent them, why I was emptying my RV, and why my RV was out of commission to begin with. I haven’t told her about driving it into a ditch. She’d only worry, and it’s really not necessary. As far as she knows, I went to Holden’s, stayed a few days to work things out, and left when I realized that there was nothing more to salvage.
Gina nods, offering me the pot so I can put it on the shelf where she keeps all the other useless things I find for her on my travels. I set it next to a snow globe of the Grand Canyon. “How are Zeke and Dean?” she asks.
“They’re good. Zeke’s looking for summer staff at the diner, and Dean is… Dean.”
Gina watches me a moment before asking, “And how are you, sweetheart?”
Just as I’m about to respond, another text comes through. I’m quick to check it.
Holden: Here are your flight details. A car will pick you up from Gina’s and take you to the airport. Another will be waiting when you land.
“Jamie?” Gina asks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I’m quick to say, my mind scattered, lost in a sea of possibilities.
Gina motions to the carpet by her feet, and I can’t help but smile as I sit down in front of her, loosening my hair from its bun. I’m pretty sure she keeps a hairbrush on the table beside her for moments just like these. She brushes through my hair, just like she did when I was eight years old and fresh out of the bath to rid the filth I’d been living in. When I close my eyes, I can still smell the scent of old books, can still hear the crackles of the fireplace, and feel the plush carpet beneath my bare toes. I can still hear Holden’s voice, his words cracking my heart open for him. “You’re not here to be average, Jamie. You’re here to be extraordinary.”
It’s been years since he spilled those words between us, as if they were just random thoughts that meant little to him. But they meant everything to me. Everything.
I made sure to do a lot in the years since. I traveled the country, met so many amazing strangers, experienced life in a way that some people only ever dream about, and yet… I still feel so average. So ordinary. So… unfulfilled.
“Do you have a what if, Gina?” I ask.
Her hands pause mid-brush stroke, and she’s quiet a moment before saying, “I only have one.”
I half turn to her. “What happened?”
She lets out a dreamy sigh, patting my head gently, so I turn back around. She starts brushing my hair again, saying, “His name was Conrad Howells, and he was the love of my life.”
My eyebrows knit. “I thought your husband’s name was Simon.”
“It was, and Simon was an abusive alcoholic that laid his hands on me one too many times.”