Page 179 of Always Meant for You
I pull in and kill the engine. Mabel doesn’t move.
Her hand tightens on mine. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” she asks, searching my face.
I force a grin. “I’ll be holding down the fort here.”
“If you change your mind . . .” She looks away.
I nod, the ache in my chest growing. “I know.”
I want to be with her. I want to carry her bag through that terminal, sit beside her on the plane, and hold her hand. I want to see her in the meeting with the PR agency people and watch her dazzle them as Mabel Muldowney. Because she will.
But every time I think about leaving, I freeze. It’s like there’s a line between this town and the rest of the world, and if I cross it, I lose the ground I’ve fought so long to stand on.
“Do you have everything? Phone, chargers,” I mumble, not sure what to do with my mouth.
She unzips the front pocket of her little pink purse and sifts through the contents. “Yeah, I’ve got what I need—charger, phone, wallet, gum, passport,” she says, holding it up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You never know.”
“Don’t go running off to Paris,” I say, aiming for lightness, but the words fall flat, scraped raw by the tightness in my chest.
“I won’t.” She glances at the bus. “I should get going.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport? I can. I would.” I can barely get the words out.
“No, it’s okay. The ride will help me settle before the flight. I’ve got notes to go over. And I know you’ve got work to do here.”
There’s always work waiting in Elverna. Always fences to mend, rows to walk, meetings to plan. But for the past few weeks, I’ve had her beside me through every bit of it. I’ve breathed in her lavender scent. Let the sound of her voice settle over me at night until I drifted off. I’ve watched her sleep, memorized the shape of her mouth, traced my knuckles down her jaw, and felt her lean in without hesitation.
I don’t want to let that go—not for a second.
She’s not leaving for good. She’s coming back. But knowing these things doesn’t quiet the ache.
“Cal?” she whispers. “What are you thinking?”
“Just that I’ll miss you something awful.” I look down at her pink heels. “I like hearing the click of your shoes.”
“It’s only a few days, and maybe I’ll buy another pair. More clicking and clacking for your listening pleasure. And I did leave several pairs back in the city. I’ll be able to ship those home.” She peers at the bus. “I left a lot of loose ends in New York.”
I hear the heaviness in her voice.
“We could store your shoes in the barn,” I say, trying to lift her mood.
She gives me a look sharp enough to cut a fence wire—just what I was hoping for.
“I misspoke. Not the barn,” I add quickly. “Never the barn for your shoes. I’ll build a climate-controlled structure, fully secure. Maybe call it . . .” I pause, pretending to think. “Maison de Mabel.”
Her mouth twitches. “Sounds more like a roadside attraction.”
“Welcome to Elverna,” I say, talking like a TV announcer. “Come for the organic tomatoes, then tour the pink shoe museum.”
She laughs, and I wish I could bottle the sound.
She glances at the bus. “I’d better get to it.”
I tighten my hold on her hand. “I know.” I sigh, hating to let go.
“I love you, Cal. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry. I know the city. I can handle myself.”
I nod. I study our joined hands, then peer out the window. A few people mill around the depot. “I wish I could kiss you.”
