Page 84 of Falling for the Bad Boy
I didn’t want to risk it getting stuck in customs. That left one option. I’d have to go get it and bring it back myself. After searching the internet to find the absolute least expensive round-trip flight, I pulled out my credit card. Decision made. The price of the ticket would just about wipe out my savings. And with no more paycheck coming in, I’d have to do something to make sure I had enough cash to pay for my flight home. The only thing I owned that was worth anything was my bike.
I’d have to sell it before I left for home anyway. With a heaviness in my heart, I grabbed my keys and pulled the door of my apartment shut behind me. Now was a good time to sell the bike. There was still enough summer left for someone to enjoy it. Once I got home, I wouldn’t have a need for a frivolous expense like a motorcycle. I should be grateful I’d had the chance to enjoy it while I could.
I’d do anything to make sure Trinity didn’t lose sight of her dream. Even if it meant letting mine slip away for good.
CHAPTER 39
Trinity
“What am I going to do?” I drained the last sip from the ice-filled tumbler. Macy had set a giant gin and tonic down in front of me the second I’d walked into the apartment.
“It can’t be as bad as you think.” Macy cocked a hip against the table. “You’ve still got inventory, right? It’s not like you’re going to open the doors and have nothing to sell people.”
I cradled my head in my hands. “But the pattern I created is done in the merino. I’ve got over a hundred orders of the kits that I’m not going to be able to pass out.”
“Can’t you just toss another kind of yarn in there?”
As much as I loved my bestie, Macy didn’t get it. “I can try to find a substitute, but I’d probably have to rework the whole pattern. It would be like”—I struggled to come up with a comparable crisis that Macy might be able to understand—“like trying to make a margarita with rum instead of tequila.”
Macy’s lips screwed into a frown. “Wouldn’t that be more like a daiquiri?”
“Exactly. So you’d have to adjust the ingredients. You couldn’t do a straight sub of rum for the tequila without making some changes, right?” There, now my roomie would understand the predicament Oliver had left me in.
“But as long as you had the fruit, you’d still have a hell of a good drink. I mean, who cares if you’re getting tequila or rum? I’d be happy with either.” Brow furrowed, Macy reached for my glass. “And now you’ve got me craving some sort of frozen fruity drink. Should I make margaritas or daiquiris?”
I groaned. So much for Macy understanding the simple principles of yarn substitution. “I suppose I can rework the pattern and use a substitute yarn. But I was really hoping to work with something people couldn’t just grab from their local craft store.”
“Have you talked to him?”
Him had to mean Oliver. Otherwise known as “he who should never be named again.” I’d ignored all of his calls over the past several days and not bothered to check my voice mails or texts. “No. And I don’t want to.”
“Do you think, maybe, just maybe, you’re being a little harsh?” Macy winced as the question left her mouth, probably bracing herself for an outburst.
“Harsh?” I blinked. Hard. “Are you kidding me? The man tried to ruin me. All the lies…” I grappled for words that might convey the deep hurt Oliver had caused. “I can’t believe a single word he said.” None of them. Finally, when I’d thought I’d found a reason to stay put for a while and someone who was worth letting in. He’d ruined me.
Macy put her elbows on the counter separating her from me and leaned closer. “Maybe think about giving him a chance to explain.”
“Explain what? How he tried to run me out of business so he could save his own ass? How he lied to me about everything? How he refused my shipment of yarn to ruin my grand opening?” I clamped my arms over my middle and turned away. Let Macy feel sorry for the man. But I didn’t have a soft spot left for Oliver Martin. Not a single one.
CHAPTER 40
Oliver
I counted the balls of wool for the third time. “Are you sure this is all you’ve got?”
My mother touched my shoulder and smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re home.”
“Mom, I need to get this back to the States. There will be plenty of time for hugs once I’m home for good.” Unfortunately. As much as I loved seeing my family and helping myself to a few of my mother’s home-cooked meals, I still wished things had turned out different. Being back in New Zealand, surrounded by fleece and sheep and the earthy scent of early spring reminded me of everything I was going to have to deal with by coming home.
“One more hug then I’ll get back to counting.” My mother opened her arms, and I pulled her into an embrace.
“Family hug.” Isla crashed into both of us, flinging her arms around my mother’s shoulders. “I still can’t believe you came back.”
“Only long enough to get the wool.” I disentangled myself from their arms. “I’ve got to get this back to Trinity and then I’ll be back for good.” For good. The words seemed to reverberate through my head then settle to the bottom of my gut with a thud. I regretted my involvement with Wyatt, but why couldn’t there have been another way to ensure I stayed in the States?
Isla zipped up the huge suitcase my parents had stored under their bed since their honeymoon. “One bag down, one to go. You sure they’ll let you bring all of this on the plane?”
“I don’t see why not.” I packed skeins of wool into a smaller matching bag. What did it say about my family that the last time my parents had used the luggage they’d only gone to Auckland for a long weekend? And that had to have been at least five years ago. My whole family was made up of homebodies. They didn’t like to stray far from the homestead. Just thinking about never leaving the farm again made my fingers itch, my heart race.
