Here With Me Read online

  She’s coming back to me.

  “I’m not like I used to be. Dr. Curtis taught me to be more open with how I feel.”

  “I can tell.”

  We’re back at the cars, and I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to wait any longer, but I know this is right. She hasn’t told me how she feels, and if I move too fast, I’ll lose her—possibly for good. That’s a chance I’ll never take.

  “You were my reason to fight, Mindy. If it weren’t for you, I’m not sure I’d be here.”

  She blinks quickly, turning her face to the side. “You’re stronger than you think.”

  I’m not sure I agree. If I stay here much longer, I don’t know what will happen.

  “I wanted you to know that. I wanted to say thank you.” Taking a chance, I step forward and kiss the top of her head, closing my eyes and inhaling lilacs, saying three words in my heart.

  31

  Mindy

  Ma lifts the lid off her Creuset pot, stirring the red sauce a wooden spoon. “Now, Melinda Claire. Give me the zest.”

  I hold the small bowl containing the zest I made for her to inspect. “I stopped before I got to the white.”

  “Perfect.” She rakes the tiny bit of zest into the large pot of marinara.

  I stand beside her puzzled. “Will we even taste that? It doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “It’s enough.” She holds up her palm. “Sometimes less is more.”

  The doorbell rings and my heart jumps. Ma invited Noel and the whole gang over for dinner tonight, and as I approach the door, my nerves kick in.

  Seeing him yesterday, the things he said to me knocked the lid off my tight box of control. Now, just knowing I’m going to see him again, my heart starts leaping in my chest and making me feel a little sick.

  “Just like old times!” Noel leans forward to kiss my cheek.

  In her hands is a glass dish of the tiramisu she made that one time. “It’s become my signature dessert,” she explains. “Your Ma approved it!”

  Taron is behind her with Dove on one hip and a bottle of red wine in his hand. “Hey, girl.” I give him an awkward shoulder hug and kiss Dove’s cheek.

  “Hey, princess, how’s second grade?”

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Ms. Tornado says our class is impossible.”

  “What?” I start laughing.

  “The boys hate the girls, so me and Boo had to use Eddie to hand out the Christmas candy…”

  I give Noel a confused look, and she shakes her head. “It’s Miss Toronado’s first year teaching. She’s letting the seven-year olds run the show. You should have seen their party today.”

  Leon steps in behind her. “Enjoy it while you can, Baby Genius. Those boys will wise up quick.”

  “I’m not a baby!” She pushes his kiss away, leaning her head on her daddy’s shoulder.

  “She’s been a little grump all day.” Leon leans in to give me a hug then passes me, headed in the direction of the food.

  “She’s not feeling good.” Sawyer steps through the door, taking his niece from her daddy, and sending surges of bubbling electricity through my veins.

  Dove wraps her little arms around his neck and leans her head on his shoulder.

  Noel returns from the kitchen, concern lining her face. “She was fine at the party this afternoon.”

  I reach up to touch her forehead. “I don’t think she has a fever.”

  “She’s probably just tired.” Sawyer gives me a warm smile I feel in my lady bits. “How’s it going?”

  A knot is in my throat, and I don’t hug him… because I want to kiss him. Hell, watching him cuddle and soothe his little niece makes my ovaries ache for his babies.

  “You’re always so good with her.” I put my hand on her back and rub.

  Ma appears beside me at the door. “Does she need to lie down? Mindy, take her to your room.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right this way…”

  Sawyer follows me up the stairs, carrying Dove. The lamp is lit on my bedside table, and he tucks her into my small bed. My insides are racing thinking of the times he crept through my window… the times I crept through his. All the times we made love.

  Turning away, I fight to regain control. Am I ready for this? Have I decided?

  A box I need to take to my apartment is on my desk. It doesn’t have a lid, and a framed photograph of Noel and me in eighth grade with Sawyer and Leon standing beside us is on top.

  Naturally, it catches Sawyer’s eye. “What’s this?”

  “Old school photo.” I reach forward and carefully take it from his hand.

  It’s a cute picture of my bestie and me, but the reason I framed it and kept it on my dresser for so long was because he was in it, looking so gorgeous in profile. Square jaw, broad shoulders, dark hair, brooding expression…

  “I remember these.” He picks up the pictures I printed last summer—the selfie he took of us sitting on the pier together, the picture I took of him in the groves with the golden sunlight making him look like a god.

  Both were the basis for the festival poster. Both conjure visions of the life I want to have, a life in a grove with him as my home, holding me. The anchor surrounded by the garland.

  “They’re my favorite photographs,” I confess.

  “This is the poster.” He looks at me with satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

  He’s so open now. I think I’m ready to dive into his arms… I think I’m ready to sever the invisible rope holding me back. “You’re right.”

  His brow furrows, and he reaches into the box again. “Dear Sawyer?”

  My heart stops when I see the spiral-bound notebook missing the back cover. The curved lines of my handwriting are clear to read.

  “You wrote this to me?” His eyes move down the page quickly. “Why didn’t you send it?”

  I lunge forward, but it’s too late. He’s reading my letter.

  “Sawyer… don’t…” My heart thunders in my ears. My chest squeezes, and I want to die.

  Without a word, he lowers the notebook into the box. He goes to the bed and pats Dove’s back then leaves the room.

  Confusion twists in my stomach as I listen to the thump of his boots receding down the stairs. Snatching up the notebook, I sit on the side of my bed beside Dove, who is now little-girl snoring.

  No one could talk me out of loving you. Not even you.

  I love you, Sawyer LaGrange.

  Forever…

  “Melinda Claire!” Ma calls up the stairs. “We’re waiting on you!”

  There’s no way I’m going down for dinner. I can’t possibly sit across from him knowing he read this. Silly Deacon and writing things down. I want to strangle him.

  Ma calls again, and I stand slowly, going to the door, descending the stairs like a prisoner being called out for sentencing.

  Everyone’s at the table. Noel, Taron, and Leon are laughing and talking, silver clanks against plates, and the room smells like zesty red sauce and buttery bread. Sawyer sits across from me, and my insides flash when our eyes meet.

  “Melinda helped me make the sauce this time.” Ma passes the bowl of marinara. “She zested the lemon.”

  “Is that so?” Sawyer’s deep voice heats my stomach, and I reach for my glass of wine.

  “It’s delicious!” Noel cries. “You have to give me this recipe.”

  “We worked on her technique.” Ma gives me a wink, and I focus on the space in front of me.

  Plates are empty, wine passed around. They go on talking about school parties and Christmas and Noel’s birthday coming up. We’re a week away from the holiday, and Noel brings the tiramisu from the kitchen. I stand and start collecting the dishes, and Sawyer does the same.

  “You don’t have to,” I quietly plead.

  “I want to,” he gently argues.

  We’re alone in the kitchen, and I stand back as he scrapes the plates he’s holding and loads them in the dishwasher. I put the ones I’m holding on the count
er while I wait, dying inside because he still so quiet.

  I finally can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  He puts the last dish in the machine then closes the door and turns to face me. His eyes level on mine, hot and hungry. Heat flashes to my core. I don’t have time to think before his arm goes around my waist and he pulls me to him, cupping my face with his hand and covering my mouth with his.

  My lips are shoved apart, and his tongue curls against mine. I exhale a soft moan as my panties burst into flames, gripping his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer. I want to tell him yes, I’m ready, take me… But he releases me.

  He holds my face in his hand, his thumb under my chin, looking deep into my eyes. We’re both breathing fast. “I’ll always love you, too.”

  With that, he releases me, leaving me to collapse against the cabinet.

  Standing in my office, I try to practice deep breathing as I prepare for my meeting with him. It’s Friday, and we’re scheduled to talk at one, to review my designs and slogans for his campaign, to do our business.

  Business.

  Sliding my eyes over my desk, I imagine him lifting me onto the surface, lying back as he takes me…

  Stop.

  I move around, straightening things, killing time for another twenty minutes as I wait.

  In my fluster, I forgot my iPad at my apartment, but with the help of the G-drive, I’ve pulled up the two sketches on my desktop. My favorite is an anchor with a garland of peaches draped down the neck, but for flexibility I’ve also got a sketch of an anchor sprouting into a peach tree. As for slogans, I’ve written Stability for peace of mind and Grounded in purity, stability, and vitality. I kind of don’t like either one, so I tossed in, Stability and purity since 1968.

  It’s all very professional. Exactly what I would show any client… And my body is hot and vibrating at the thought of seeing him again. I can’t stop reliving his kiss last night, hot lips bruising mine, his possessive grasp around my waist, his hand on my cheek, his thumb bracing my chin.

  I tossed and turned in my bed in my apartment for an hour last night wondering how desperate it would be if I sneaked through his window once more… just for old time’s sake.

  Instead I rubbed one out and forced myself to stay put.

  Now I’m standing here, waiting, and I have no idea what I’m going to do when our eyes meet. I think it would be appropriate for me to tell him I’d like to see him again once we’ve concluded our meeting. It’s not mixing business with pleasure if I ask him on a date this evening… then I can jump his bones when he picks me up at my apartment!

  The thought makes me grin, and I rub my hands up and down my crossed arms.

  It was chilly when I arrived, so I cranked up the heater for the first time since I moved in. My key got stuck in the door, and this time I couldn’t get it out. Whispering a swear, I shot a text to Jeff asking him to send a locksmith today.

  Every door in this place sticks, and I’ve got to be able to use my front entrance.

  Needless to say, I don’t feel very professional as I wait, crappy doors, smelly furnace, and horny as hell. I pace, looking through the Pantone color book. I sit in the waiting area and look toward my office space, thinking like a client and trying to decide if I should rearrange the furniture again.

  My stomach is in knots, and I haven’t eaten since dinner last night—which turned out really well, by the way. This girl can cook! With a little help from her mother.

  I’m in the chair shifting positions for the fifth time when I realize that smell is getting stronger. My brow furrows, and I sniff again, longer. It’s not just a dusty old furnace smell, it’s more like a chemical… but not like pot or cigarette smoke…

  Turning in my seat, I look out to the parking lot. Empty. Turning back, I realize the scent is coming from inside my office. I stand and walk around the perimeter sniffing, but I can’t figure out… Until I reach the short hall leading to the tiny storage room.

  I dash down it, bursting through the door without thinking, when I’m hit in the face by intense heat and an overwhelming stench of chemicals. I don’t have time to turn on the light. Flames shoot up from the back cabinets.

  “No!” I scream, searching everywhere for the fire extinguisher. God, do I even have one?

  My foot kicks the door shut, and I’m in the dark except for the orange light of the flames. The smoke chokes me, and the chemicals in the air burn my eyes. They burn my lungs. I’ve got to get out of here, but the door won’t budge. Twisting the knob, I choke out a scream for help, pounding on it with my palm.

  I’ve never seen fire move so fast. It’s so hot, and I’m trying not to faint. Pounding noises come from the other side of the door, but they’re so far away… Oh, God, the key is stuck in the front door!

  My brain barely has time to register Sawyer…

  “Help me!” I try to scream, but way back here, behind two closed doors, I know it’s not loud enough.

  I can’t breathe. Dropping to my knees, I realize the air is clearer on the floor, and I lie on my stomach facing the crack under the door. Consciousness slips away, and the last thing I remember is Sawyer’s possessive hold on me…

  32

  Sawyer

  I’ve kept the same routine every night this week. We finish dinner, I get in my truck and drive past Mindy’s office to be sure she’s gone then past her apartment to be sure her car’s parked there. Then I come back and go to bed.

  Part of it was just wanting to know she made it home safely and not wanting to crowd her with a bunch of texts. The other part was I didn’t want her at that office alone after dark.

  I’m actually relieved it’s Friday, and I’m headed to our meeting to review her design concept. At least now she won’t have a reason to work late… Until her next job, I suppose.

  With a chuckle, I realize until she says we can be together again, I’ll probably be making this drive every night after dinner. With all that’s happened in the last few days, I’m cautiously hopeful it won’t be too much longer.

  Our coffee date was good, but I’ve been feeling strong since last night, since I read the letter she wrote to me. I wanted to take it, keep it, and re-read it like a mantra. Perhaps it was a bit hasty to kiss her, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. After seeing the truth of her heart, I needed to show her I felt the same.

  It was difficult not to do more—like take her hand and pull her into the dining room and tell the family everything then take her home and spend the night loving her. The startled look on her face, even with her cheeks flushed and her lips parted, reminded me she said no.

  She’s not ready.

  But hell, I’m just waiting for her to say the word. I miss her pretty eyes, her silky hair, the feel of her fingertips sliding along my jaw. I want to kiss her again. I want to hear her laugh.

  I want her to hold my hand like she used to, fingers entwined, palm against palm. I want her to look at me the way she once did, with so much trust. I’m finally back to the place where I can take care of her, where I can deserve that trust.

  Maybe today…

  The excitement of these hopes is dampened when I turn into the parking lot. I don’t know why, but I sense something’s wrong.

  Mindy’s car is in the lot, but the glass doors of her office are dark. Not dark like the lights are off… It takes a beat for me to realize they’re being obscured by ugly gray smoke. Looking up I see tiny traces of smoke rising from the back of the building. Jumping out of my truck, I’m hit with the smell of fire and chemicals.

  “NO!” I run to the front doors, grabbing the handle and pulling, but it won’t budge. “What the fuck?”

  Beating on the glass, I cup my hands around my face and peer into the space. My stomach drops. I can’t see a thing.

  “Mindy!” I shout at the top of my lungs. Pressing my ear to the glass, I don’t hear her.

  Fumbling for my phone I almost drop it as I quickly dial 911. The operator
comes on with the usual questions, but I cut straight to the chase.

  “This is Sawyer LaGrange. I’m calling to report a fire in progress at the old Mexican cantina. Someone’s trapped inside. I need help NOW!”

  Dropping my phone, I pull back and hit the glass doors with my shoulder as hard as I can. Pain shoots to my elbow, and the fucking doors don’t budge. Standing back, I lift my leg and kick it as hard as I can, but the glass is shatterproof. It bursts into an array of tiny squares held together with thick plastic.

  “No!” I scream again. “Mindy!”

  Dashing to my truck, I hit the ground, crawling under the bed to where the spare tire is located. Feeling around, I find the crowbar and rip it out of the holder before scooting out again and running to the door.

  I close my eyes to avoid the shards and bash the doors over and over until they finally give way, and I’m able to push my way inside. From a distance, I hear the noise of sirens. Without hesitating, I race into the office, but I don’t see Mindy.

  “Mindy?” I shout through the black.

  Her purse is on the desk. Her car is out front, but I don’t see her keys anywhere. Then I realize the source of the smoke… I remember the first day I was here, when I had my near-panic attack. I was too foggy to remember what she said… paint supplies, old rags. Fuck!

  I look down the narrow hall to where the small door is closed, and my heartrate spikes. Nausea twists my stomach, and my breath quickens. In this very moment I push back against the trauma trying to hammer me. My girl is in danger, and I’m not stopping.

  Forcing one foot in front of the other, I move faster until I’m in front of the wooden barrier. Again, I turn the knob, and it won’t budge. What the fuck with the doors in this place? I take a step back and slam my shoulder against it. It shudders and groans, and I do it again and again until finally, it flies open.

  Heat slams me in the face like opening the door of an oven. Squinting my eyes, I bend down, searching everywhere until I see her. Mindy is lying on the floor in a heap with her face turned to me. My chest seizes, and I rush forward, dropping to my knees and gently scooping her into my arms. Coughing, I rise to my feet again, the chemicals burning my eyes. I’m already having a hard time breathing, and I don’t know how long she’s been in here.