Page 52 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

Chapter 19

Thesunisstillhiding when I get out of bed. I'm restless, otherwise I'd cling to my blankets like they're a raft keeping me alive at sea. Lying there with my own thoughts is torture, I can't do it, instead I find myself creeping through the tranquil house until I'm in the front yard.

Grass sodden with dew freezes my bare feet. Folding my arms over myself I shiver, hanging on to the last remnants of heat leaving me under the sky. The moon is a sharp curve made extra beautiful with nothing to compete with it.

Even if I like the cold, I know I should put something warm on over my pink lounge-pants and white baggy shirt if I plan to stand outside at four in the morning. I used to be better at taking care of myself, but now I struggle to make the effort.

It's been ten days since the engagement party, and I've been floating in a fog ever since. I'm no different than a dandelion seed caught in a current of wind, incapable of fighting back or changing direction. Hugging myself tighter, I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering.

What am I doing?

No.

What am I going to do?

My toes settle on the concrete-hard ground that waits for the sun’s warmth; we both do. Rocking in place, I turn to look at my car, the house, then at the bushes creeping into the back area. They're set back fifty yards, swerving before mixing with the old garden and the new one. The red roses hang heavily in the moonlight, glowing like ghosts.

I shiver again, but not from the cold.I never got to ask Jordan about the white rose tattoo.The chance slipped away; stolen from me the way the rest of the experience was.What scared him so much? Did I do something wrong?

All of it was wrong, I know that. He did too. Something else is going on.I have too many secrets I'm trying to balance,I remind myself bitterly.I don't have room to learn someone else's.

When I start towards the house, a jolt of pain stops my freezing foot in its path. The moon offers enough light for me to catch the green sparkle. Amazed, I lift the piece of sea glass up in two fingers.Dezmond threw this away. I didn't think I'd see it again.

A ripple of disgust coaxes me to clutch the sea glass harder. That asshole … he thought this was junk. He worried more about the cheap metal ring that didn't fit my finger. Dezmond didn't know the worth of anything in life, I'd never trust him to judge what was important.At least Cadence understood.

Blinking, I turn the rounded object in my fingers. An idea is bubbling up. I pull out my cheap phone, the time reads4:35 a.m.I can make it. Mom won't need me in the shop since it's due to be a quiet Monday. Cadence did say I should come by.

Buzzing with the possibility of something new—something that didn't involve Jordanorhis son—I dash back towards the house. Most of my plans have been disasters, to the point that I'm questioning if my mind is functioning right these days. But I still know better than to show up at the beach in my pajamas.

There's no traffic at this hour. By the time I make it over the Granite Bridge to Coral Rock the horizon is the same shade as strawberry jam. I don't need to check my GPS to know where I'm going. The small sandy beach on the north side hasn't moved since I was a kid.

I drive from muscle memory, though it was always my dad that made the trip. I quit coming here before I had my license, but I still know the way by heart.

Parking in the small sandy lot, I step into the fresh ocean air. Gusts of wind yank at me, summoning me towards the water. I smile as I obey them. I've changed my pajamas out for loose green board-shorts over bikini bottoms, a tight rash-guard with a tropical pattern, and some sandals that have seen better days. I'm not wearing them for long, my toes wriggling in the dry sand that blows at the top of the gentle slope towards the water.

With sandals dangling on my fingers, my hair snapping wildly in a braid that barely controls it, I scan the beach. Seagulls scream as they float effortlessly on the strong winds. They gather near the only group of people willing to come to the beach at this hour. I count six kids and two adults.

Cadence looks up, spots me. Waving enthusiastically, she mouths something that I can't hear—the wind carries her voice farther from my ears. But as I get closer, I see her bend down, speaking to the man beside her. He sits up, looks at me, and then he and his daughter are both smiling. She looks exactly like him.

“Well, well, well,” Cadence's dad says as I jog up to them. “When Cadie said you were coming, I told her she was out of her mind. Now I owe her twenty bucks.”

I smile bashfully. “Hi, Mr. Carver.”

“Hah. Only my students call me that.” He hesitates, thick eyebrows edging lower over the same compassionate eyes his daughter has. “Guess the last time we talked, youwereone, though.”

It's hard to fight my frown. Has it been that long? I was caught up in my dad's problems during most of high school, constantly dragging him home from the bar drunk after too many hands of poker. Cadence and I drifted apart before the lottery win happened. Graduation … that was when I'd last spoken to Mr. Carver.

Cadence comes to the rescue, her voice crisp on the salty air. “Dad! Don't scare her off, she just got here.” She winks at me, then snatches me into a brief, but firm, hug. I want it to last longer than it does. “Lori can call you Mr. Carver, half the town still does and most of them have one foot in retirement.”

“Cadie,” he chastises her. He strokes a wide hand over his head, the gray curls of hair making his rich umber skin stand out. The backdrop of the ocean brings out his olive undertones. He looks fresh, like he took a shower before coming here. In class he was always splattered with vibrant dots of paint. For a while, I wanted to grow up to be an art teacher just like him. He gave me advice when I graduated:All it takes to teach kids is patience and a good heart.

I used to have one of those. I don't now, so I abandoned that dream like the rest.

He lays a gentle smile on me. “You call me whatever you want, Lori. I'm just happy you're here.”

“Me too,” I say. And I mean it. I was nervous on the drive but standing here with the sand sucking at my toes, the waves slapping on the shore, the kids and tweens piling up their tools, I regret waiting so long to come back.

“Okay, everybody!” Mr. Carver bellows, hands propping on his hips over his red and blue shorts. All eyes are on him. He naturally commands attention. It makes me smile under another wave of nostalgia—he hasn't changed at all.

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