Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series Read online

  “See?” My mother gestured to Mariah. “Even a nine-year-old knows that you can’t sit around waiting for Mr. Right to just appear like a rabbit out of a hat. Relationships aren’t magic, Cheyenne. They take some effort.”

  “I know, Mom,” I said through my teeth.

  “I’m not sure you do, what with the outfit you’re wearing.” She gestured with distaste at my clothing. “It does absolutely nothing for your cute figure.”

  Admittedly, my leggings had a hole in the butt and below one knee, and my vintage Queen sweatshirt had seen better days—probably in 1982. But I’d worn them for cleaning, not a night at the opera. “This isn’t an outfit, Mother. It’s sweats.”

  “Mariah, do you like that outfit?”

  “It looks comfy,” Mariah offered.

  “Comfy is for babies and grandmothers,” my mother huffed. “You can’t go around being comfy and expecting to attract the love of your life.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t listen to her, Mariah. A good person looks beyond appearances to what really matters—your heart.”

  “Not if it’s covered by that ratty old sweatshirt,” my mother muttered under her breath.

  “If a man doesn’t appreciate Freddie Mercury, he is not the man for me.” Shooting her one last evil glare, I turned Mariah by the shoulders and steered her toward the front door. “Come on, honey. I’ll walk you back. I have something to return to your dad, and I could use some fresh air.”

  * * *

  Of course Cole got home from work while I was leaving his house in my frumpy old sweats and snow boots.

  “Hey,” he said, walking toward the back porch from the garage. He took my breath away in his uniform like he always did. “How did it go with the turkeys today?”

  “It went great.” I gave him my brightest smile, hoping it would distract him from my raggedy clothes and hair. “The kids had fun.”

  “Good.” He stepped onto the porch and looked me up and down. “Still no coat? It’s thirty degrees out here, Cheyenne.”

  I laughed. “Don’t scold me, Dad. I just left your jacket inside. Mariah stopped over and I walked her back so I could return it. I needed to cool off anyway.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “My mother was singing her favorite tune. It’s called All the Reasons You’re Still Single. I swear to God, I might strangle her in her sleep one night. Or smother her with a pillow. Is that more humane?”

  He laughed. “I’m not sure I can recommend homicide, but would a beer help? Or a glass of wine?”

  “It might.”

  “Why don’t you come in? Or better yet, let’s avoid both our mothers. Why don’t we escape our houses and go out for a drink?”

  For a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe. Had Cole just asked me out?

  “That sounds like fun,” I said, attempting to sound casual while inside I lost my shit completely.

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Me neither. Let’s grab a bite in town.”

  I glanced at my clothes. “Do you mind if I clean up a little first?”

  “Not at all, but I actually dig the Queen sweatshirt.”

  I burst out laughing. “Thank you. My mother just insulted it.”

  “Don’t listen to her. But I have to change too. Why don’t you text me when you’re ready?”

  “Okay. I might need like half an hour. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. See you in a bit.”

  “See you in a bit.” I hopped off the porch and headed down the driveway, crunching over the inch or two of snow that had accumulated today, although what I really felt like doing was cartwheeling through it. Dancing on it. Scooping up giant armfuls of it and tossing it over my head like glitter.

  Cole and I were going out for dinner! Alone! Together! And he’d done the asking!

  Not that this was an official first date or anything, but it was something.

  It was something.

  Five

  Cole

  For a moment, I stood on the back porch watching her walk away. It struck me then what I’d done—I’d asked her on a date.

  Part of me wanted to call out to her, tell her to forget it, apologize for suggesting we go out tonight and explain that I couldn’t go through with it because I didn’t really date. Another part of me thought that was ridiculous. This didn’t have to be a date. It could be two friends going to grab a bite to eat and a beer. Totally casual.

  Not that such a thing was possible in this town. If I so much as chatted with a woman at the deli counter at noon, by five o’clock the rumor would be circulating that I was about to propose. Bellamy Creek was a wonderful place, full of old-fashioned traditions and good-hearted people, but the only thing those people loved more than helping their neighbors was spreading rumors about them.

  And one of those people was washing dishes at the kitchen sink as I entered the kitchen.

  “How was your day?” asked my mother.

  “Good.” I took my boots off at the back door as my brother and I had been trained to do our whole lives, so we wouldn’t track snow through the kitchen.

  “I made beef barley soup for dinner. Can I get you a bowl?”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to go grab a bite in town if that’s okay.”

  “Of course, dear. With the boys?” She still referred to my friends as the boys even though we were thirty-three years old.

  I cleared my throat. “No, with Cheyenne, actually.”

  “Oh.” A pause as she digested this. “She was just here.”

  “I know. I saw her outside.” I made my way across the kitchen quickly, hoping to get out of the room without having to discuss it further.

  No such luck.

  “So is this a date?” she asked.

  “Nope, it’s just dinner. She’s been so great with Mariah lately,” I added. “I thought I’d treat her to say thanks.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s nice of you.”

  I could hear from her tone of voice that she thought there was more to it, but I left the kitchen before she could prod any further.

  Before heading upstairs, I poked my head into the living room, where Mariah was watching television. “Hey, you.”

  She looked up at me and smiled. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “How was school?”

  “Good. Did you hear back from Uncle Enzo? Can we go see the new houses?”

  “Yep. We have three appointments on Friday.”

  Her face lit up. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Are we seeing the one with the doghouse?”

  “We sure are.”

  “Yay! I’m excited,” she said.

  “Me too.” I started up the stairs, then paused. “Hey, is it okay with you if I go out for a little bit tonight?”

  “Sure. Where are you going?”

  “Just to get something to eat with Miss Cheyenne.”

  “Can I come too?” she asked hopefully.

  “Not this time, kiddo.”

  “Why not?”

  I felt guilty trying to come up with a reason. “We just need a little grown-up time.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Her disappointment was obvious.

  “But we still have our movie date Friday night, don’t we?”

  She brightened again. “Yes. Hey, maybe we can invite Miss Cheyenne to come to the movies with us!”

  “Maybe,” I said, continuing up the stairs, careful not to commit. People would really start to talk if they saw the three of us at the movies.

  Upstairs, I shut the door and took off my uniform, deciding at the last minute to quickly shower and shave.

  Back in my room, I pulled some jeans from my drawer, put on a clean T-shirt and underwear, and considered the dress shirts hanging in my closet. Deciding it would be too obvious to choose something blue again, I chose a black button-up this time, taking a moment to roll up the sleeves. I traded my work watch for a nicer one, ran a comb through my hair, and gave in to the te
mptation to wear a little cologne. I was replacing the bottle on my dresser when the framed wedding photo caught my eye.

  I picked it up and looked at it closely, which I hadn’t done in months. Maybe even years. At this point, it was almost just part of the furniture.

  What struck me first was how young I looked. No furrow between my brows. No crinkle lines at the corners of my eyes. Nothing but joy and optimism in my expression. We were only twenty-two when we’d gotten married. People had tried to tell us to wait, to break up and date other people, to put off making a lifelong commitment until we were older and wiser. Our marriage wouldn’t last, they said. We were too immature.

  We’d laughed and insisted we knew better. After all, we’d been together for six years, and we’d never broken up once. We’d never cheated on each other. We’d never been with anybody else. Promising to love, honor, and cherish her forever had been easy for me. Of course, things hadn’t gone the way I’d thought, and I’d lost her before forever was even on the horizon.

  For just a moment, the old fears kicked in—a gut reaction. Was it because I’d been too complacent? Too confident in my ability to protect people I loved from harm? Was that smile on my face a little too cocky? Had I really believed that bad things didn’t happen to good people?

  Because they did.

  All the time.

  I saw it on the job every single day. You could be a good man, the best man you knew how to be, but you were a fool if you believed what you love couldn’t be taken from you. It could. In an instant.

  That’s why I was better off alone.

  My phone vibrated on the dresser. Grateful, I picked it up and looked at the screen.

  Cheyenne: I’m ready.

  Me: Me too.

  Cheyenne: Should I walk over?

  My gut instinct was to go get her, but that would make it seem more like a romantic thing. Best to keep this strictly platonic in every way.

  Me: Sure. I’ll meet you outside.

  I shoved my phone into my pocket, said goodbye to my mother and Mariah, and went outside. When I saw her coming up the driveway in the backyard, my body temperature soared, and I dropped my keys in the snow.

  She looked gorgeous. Her hair fell in loose, honey-colored waves around her shoulders, and she was wrapped up in a giant gray sweater that looked like a blanket I wanted to crawl under. And her lips—they were a bright scarlet color, which stood out against all the white surrounding us, like a neon sign shouting KISS ME ALREADY YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

  As I bent to retrieve my keys, I felt like dunking my head in the snow. Maybe even lying down in it and rolling around.

  I ran way too hot around her.

  * * *

  “So tell me about the houses you’re going to see on Friday,” Cheyenne said, lifting her glass of white wine.

  Tearing my eyes from her mouth for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour, I took a quick drink of my beer and set it down. “One of them is pretty close to my mom’s house—maybe too close,” I added, making her laugh, “and the other two are south of town, closer to the water. One is right near the creek, although it’s a little out of my price range.”

  “I’m excited for you.” She picked up her fork and twirled it in her linguine.

  When I’d asked her what she felt like for dinner, she’d suggested Italian, which I was happy about. Not only did I love the food at DiFiore’s, but it was small and quiet, with dim lighting and deep leather booths in the back that offered some privacy.

  “Thanks. We’re excited too.” I cut into my osso buco, which was my favorite thing on the menu. “They’re all nice houses, but each of them needs some work.”

  “How does your mom feel about you moving out?”

  “I think she’s conflicted, to be honest. We’ve been there so long, and she likes having people to take care of. I remember how lonely she was after my dad died. When Mariah and I moved in, that gave her a purpose.”

  “That’s understandable. I’m a caretaker personality too.”

  “But it was never supposed to be permanent, our living with her.”

  “I think you two will love having a place of your own. And your mom is going to be just fine.”

  “I hope so.” I picked up my beer. “She loves to drop these passive aggressive comments about how she doesn’t really see the point in buying a house of my own if I’m not going to get married again. She keeps asking if I’m going to hire a housekeeper and a cook, because she cannot imagine how I’m going to be able to keep the place clean or my child fed.”

  Cheyenne grinned. “Can you cook?”

  “A little,” I said defensively. “I can make pancakes, grilled cheese, and spaghetti.”

  “Boom.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner right there.”

  “I can also make meatballs,” I announced.

  “Meatballs!” Cheyenne arched one brow. “I’m impressed.”

  “Yes. Believe it or not, Mrs. Moretti taught me. But I was made to understand that if I ever gave the recipe to anyone else, she’d have to kill me.”

  Her head fell back as she laughed, and I was distracted by her throat—its pale skin, the hollow at the base, the curve of her neck to her shoulder. Earlier, in my car on the ride to town, I’d caught the scent of her perfume, and imagined the way it would fill my head if I put my lips beneath her ear, or brushed them against her collarbone, or swept them along her jaw.

  “Cole?”

  Blinking, I snapped my attention back to her eyes. She was studying me with a curious look on her face. “What?”

  “I asked if you were hoping to move before the holidays.”

  “Oh.” I realized how hard I was gripping my beer and set it down. “Um, I’d love to be in a new house by the new year. But there’s a lot of things that would need to be in place for that to happen.”

  She took another bite of her pasta and sighed. “I’m so jealous. I wish I could move out by the new year.”

  “Your mom gave you a hard time today, huh?”

  “And then some. Right in front of your daughter, who’s probably going to end up with a warped sense of self-esteem because if she listens to Darlene Dempsey, she’s going to think a woman can’t be happy without a man.”

  “No wonder our moms are such good friends,” I said.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Maybe they just really miss their husbands, you know? I sometimes have to remind myself that my parents were really happy together and I’m sure she wants the same for her kids. She probably can’t conceive of what her life would have been like without my dad.”

  “I think you’re right about that.”

  “And my mom cannot stop crowing about Griffin and Blair, how she was right about them all along, even when he was adamant that there was nothing going on with them and he was not interested in a relationship.”

  “Yeah,” I said, recalling how stubbornly Griffin had insisted he was not going to fall for his soon-to-be wife. “He was a fucking idiot for a while, wasn’t he?”

  “He was,” she agreed. “And I hope you remind everyone of that when you give the toast at their wedding reception.”

  I groaned, picking up my beer again. It was my second one and just about gone, although I’d been trying to pace myself. “Don’t remind me about that. I’m dreading it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because public service is my thing, not public speaking.”

  She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “You’ll be great. Just tell a cute but embarrassing story about when he was young, remind everyone how he swore up and down he was never going to get married, especially not to a Tennessee debutante who didn’t know a carburetor from a camshaft, and wish them well. Then ask us all to raise a glass and do the same.” She picked up her wine glass, which was nearly empty. “Cheers.”

  I tapped my bottle against her glass. “Can you please give the toast?”

  Smiling, she shook her head and finished her wine. “It’s al
l you, my friend. But you’ve got this. Just say the thing about love being worth the wait that you said to me the other night.”

  I squinted at her. “What?”

  “The other night when you walked me home, you said love isn’t easy to find, but it’s worth the wait.”

  “I said that?”

  She laughed. “Yes, you did.”

  “Huh. That’s not bad.” I tossed back the rest of my Belgian ale and grinned. “I think I read that in a fortune cookie.”

  “What?” She wadded up a cocktail napkin and threw it at me. “A fortune cookie! I totally took that to heart. Now you’re telling me it was some mass-produced, factory-generated BS?”

  We were still laughing when the server appeared at the edge of our table and asked if we’d like another round.

  “Not for me, I’m driving,” I said, although I wished I could have a third beer, or maybe a shot of whiskey—anything to numb her effects on me. “I’ll take a cup of coffee though.”

  “Sounds good. And for you?” the server asked Cheyenne.

  Cheyenne bit her lip. “I probably shouldn’t. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Oh, go ahead,” I said, nudging her foot beneath the table. “It’s my treat.”

  “Cole, no—you are not paying for all this.”

  “She’ll have one more,” I told the server, whose name tag said Lara. She looked vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn’t place her.

  “Great! And would you like to see the dessert menu?”

  I looked across the table. “Would you?”

  She sighed. “Of course I would. But considering the amount of pasta I just ate and the number of calories I’m going to consume tomorrow, I’m going to say no.”

  I looked up at Lara. “We’re all set. Just the coffee and wine, and then the bill.”

  When we were alone again, Cheyenne reached forward and put her hand over mine. “You do not have to treat me, Cole.”

  “Quiet,” I told her gruffly. “I asked you to dinner, so I’m paying for it.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate it, even if you did give me made-up advice.” She left her hand on mine as she smiled. “This is actually the best night out I’ve had in a really long time.”