Entangled (Serendipity Adventure Romance Book 2) (17 page)

Cara would come over just in time to rescue him, but it always started and ended the same way — with Suit Guy seeing him off with a look that said,
She deserves someone better. Someone like me.

He could imagine the scene perfectly because it had played out exactly that way a dozen times in the past when they really were engaged. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. What if a couple of years slipped by and she started to think the same thing?

He looked out the window, where a dozen freighters waited their turn to transit the Panama Canal. Ships in limbo between two seas.

Every part of his body screamed for him to go soak in the shower, then crash among the dozen pink throw pillows on her bed and tune out until she woke him up with a kiss and slid in beside him. A fantasy that almost won him over there and then.

There was another fantasy, though, alongside that one. One in which he never had to wonder if he was good enough for her again.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Doing the right thing had a way of burning a guy, even when he had the best intentions. He’d proved that again and again. Chances were ninety-nine to one he’d lose her again — maybe even to one of those jerks in a suit. Because why would Cara want to wait for him?

He stared off into the boundless blue Pacific, wondering. Then he sat down at her desk, weary to the bone.

He slid a drawer open, knowing what he had to do to make this a start rather than an end. Knowing that the hardest part was still to be done. Harder than sleeping next to her without touching. Harder than jumping off a waterfall or riding across a rope bridge.

Writing the letter he had to write was harder than all that. And leaving would be the hardest part of all.

As he pulled out her stationery and stared at the blank page, his mind tortured him with images of what would happen after he left. The door would swing open and Cara would walk in, calling his name brightly, eager to share her triumph. She’d walk from room to room looking for him, and it shredded him to think how much it would hurt her to find him gone.

But if he didn’t do this now, he might never have the nerve to do it again.

He lowered the pen to the paper and began to write.

Dear Cara…

Epilogue

New England, four months later…

Cara held up the lavender paper, reading the lines for the thousandth time.

Dear Cara,

Please believe me when I say that leaving is the last thing I want to do…

She lowered it again to keep her eyes on the icy ground but let the words play on in her mind. She had them memorized by now, anyway, and played the letter back like a recording as her boots crunched over the packed snow of the parking lot.

But I need to do this, just like you needed to get to your meeting in time.

The meeting she’d come home from, ready to beg Tobin to stay, only to find him gone.

I never stopped loving you, Cara, and I never will. But I think you were right. We weren’t ready to get married back then. And even though I want to meet you at your door with a bottle of champagne and a ring and a promise, I think we’re still not ready…

That part of the letter hurt the most because she’d been so sure that after everything they’d been through, things would be all right.

I need a little time to set some things up.

That was the hook that kept her baited over the next couple of lines, which were full of cross-outs.
If you love me…
The latter two words were crossed out and replaced by
If you believe me
, which he’d crossed out in turn before settling on something else:
trust me
.

If you trust me…

Trust. She knew he wasn’t pointing the finger there, though he had every right to do just that. It was her who’d ruined everything their first time around by not trusting him. Her, who’d driven him away.

If you trust me, and trust that this crazy force field that starts up between us whenever we’re together can wait just a little longer…

When she’d first read the next lines, she’d been crushed to read that he wasn’t asking for days, but months. She’d already gone forever without him, only to live a lifetime in a couple of days. Waiting four months felt like death, but how could she not wait?

So she waited as long as she could — three months and twenty-six days, not that she’d been counting — and here she was, just as directed in the letter.

She looked down at the address he’d written, then up again. Beech Tree Hill.

A ski slope. A little tiny one.

It looked like a farm had been converted to a modest ski hill, with a quaint old barn that oozed New England warmth on this crisp winter day. It wasn’t a big place, but there was a nice vibe to it. Lots of happy kids and proud parents bubbling with good cheer, all of them winding down at what seemed to be the end of a busy day.

A sign over one door said
Office
, and the one next to it,
Ski School.

Ski school. Surely she’d find Tobin there, right?

A bell jingled as she opened the door then waited as a young mother herded her children toward the desk. “Today was great! Is there any space in beginner lessons next week?”

“All booked, sorry,” the young man said. “But I can put you on the waiting list.”

The woman sighed, added her name to the list, and bundled her kids off.

“Can I help you?” the young man asked Cara. His eyes seemed to spend an extra minute analyzing her face, and she figured it was the tan.

Panama
, she wanted to say.
Just flew in.
But she got right to the point instead. “I’m looking for Tobin Cooper, please.”

He flicked a thumb up. “Next door. That way.”

So she went back out and up the stairs to the office, wondering what business Tobin might have there.

The barn looked ramshackle from the outside, but it was newer and fresher the higher up she climbed. One story up, a sign pointed right, to the office. The staircase continued upward, but that part was cordoned off.
Private
.

She turned right, followed a short hallway, and peered into the office. The door was open, and she stared for a minute at the view. Two walls of the office were taken up by panoramic windows: one side overlooking the bustling slope, the other capturing a quiet scene of bucolic farms and wooded hills that stretched to distant mountains. Her breath caught, it was so beautiful. So different than the saturated greens of Panama. The wood-burning stove glowing in one corner made her wonder about the apartment upstairs. It had to be gorgeous up there, under the eaves.

She was about to rap on the open door when she saw the sign there.
OWNER
, said a dusty old plate.

Tobin Cooper
, said the shiny new plate underneath.

Her knees wobbled just a little bit.

I need a little time to set some things up
, he’d written in his letter, and sweet Jesus, it sure looked like he had.

The office walls were hung with pictures of young skiers. She looked from face to smiling face. Not one showed Tobin tearing down the slopes, or Tobin on the podium after winning yet another race. He’d won plenty in his time, but what was he showing off in his office? Joy. Youth. Happiness.

A little bit of Tobin was in every one of those pictures. And something else, too: pride.

She was still gaping at it all when the floorboards shifted behind her and a man spoke.

“Can I help you?”

She spun to face the stranger and mumbled for a minute before producing coherent words. “I’m here to see Tobin.”

He looked her up and down. “He’s outside. Can I help you?”

“I need Tobin.” Part of her winced at how that sounded, but heck, it was true. “I’ll wait.”

Wait?
her body cried. She couldn’t wait another second.

It must have shown, because the man sighed and pointed down the stairs. “Follow me.”

Her heart beat faster with every step down the winding stairs and outside into the frosty air. The sun was dropping fast, bathing the snowy hills in pink. A crowd gathered at the bottom of the slope, huddled around a three-step podium grand enough for the winter Olympics. Each step was crowded with little red-cheeked girls wearing tiny medals around their necks.

“A big hand for the contestants in today’s under-ten girls’ event!” A familiar voice announced, and Cara stopped in her tracks.

There was applause, the flash of a dozen cameras, a ripple of approval from the crowd, but all she saw was Tobin.

Tobin, in his white ski parka and jeans. A microphone in his hand, a smile glowing on his face. The kind of smile you get from giving, not taking.

“Hey, Tob.” The man tugged on his sleeve.

“One second.”

“Um, Tobin,” the man tried again.

“Not now, Gus.”

“Tobin, I really think—”

Tobin turned to Gus, who flicked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at her. Tobin’s eyes followed the thumb and turned to wide fields of blue.

He froze, and she did, too, because seeing him here wiped her brain clean of all the words she’d wanted to say. She had the vague sense of a hundred pairs of curious eyes swinging in her direction, but the only gaze she cared about was his.

Tobin, looking at her like he’d won the Olympics, and she was the prize. Except this time, his reaction said he didn’t even know he’d been in the running. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a massive gulp.

There was a jangle as Gus took the remaining medals out of his hand. “I got this, man,” he said, sotto voice. Gus shoved Tobin her way, then turned to the audience, raising his voice. “Right, folks! On to the next event. Calling all under-ten boys to the podium…”

She didn’t catch the rest, because Tobin came stumbling toward her. Tobin, stumbling — that had to be a first. Her arms opened to catch him, and the next thing she knew, he was wrapped around her like a cape, his arms cinched as tightly as she’d once held him on the back of the bike.

The dead of winter in New England, cold enough for their breath to come out in swirling white puffs, but all she felt was warmth. Warmth and a pulsing kind of joy. Tobin clutched her, her head under his chin, nose to his chest, and he smelled so familiar, so good. She clung to him, making a thousand silent vows. To never doubt, to never leave again.

He made a little croaking sound and led her away from the crowd, up a little rise surrounded by trees.

“You came,” he said, holding her shoulder as if to assure himself she really was there.

“You’d have come for me. You did come for me.”

“You waited,” he said between two uncertain breaths.

She laughed, not too convincingly. “That was the hard part.”

You trusted
, his eyes said, and when she dipped her head in a nod, he pulled her back into a hug.

“Tobin,” she started when he let her go. But her tongue couldn’t quite find the right words, so she rooted in her pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to him.

Even in the dim light, she could see his eyes shine in recognition. It was his card to her — his proposal, from all those years ago.

A year ago we met on this very mountain and you changed my life. I’ll love you forever, Cara. Will you be mine?

The card was frayed and warped from their wild escape, but the words were still there, along with her answer.

Yes, Tobin, yes. I’ll be yours forever.

She’d added a little more underneath, and her heart was in her throat as his eyes slowed to read it.

Second try,
she’d written in.
I’ll love you forever, Tobin. Will you be mine?

It wasn’t the same mountaintop and it wasn’t Valentine’s day. She hadn’t organized a candlelight dinner, but somehow, it felt even more right now than it had back then.

His eyes shot up to hers, and the blue of his eyes was fierce. “I’ve always been yours, Cara.”

She more or less threw herself at him then and mumbled into his shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry. For everything.”

He put his forehead against hers and spoke so quietly, she could barely hear. “I’m not.”

Another little bit of Tobin wisdom. The more she thought about it, the more she knew he was right. For all the regret, the pain, the empty years, they’d earned it this time. Earned each other and their happiness. Because that’s all she could see from where she stood to the horizon: a lifetime of happiness with her man.

“I mean it, you know,” she sniffed, brushing a mitten across her cheek. “Be mine, as in, all the way.”

“I mean it, too.” Then he flashed one of his trademark naughty grins. “I wonder how long marriage licenses are good for in this state?”

He might have been joking, or might not have been, but she sure wasn’t. “I checked. Sixty days, so our old one is expired. But the nearest office is ten miles away, and it opens at nine in the morning.”

His eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head right then nodded slowly. “You have done your homework.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to plan.” And hope, and fret.

He clapped in an all-right-then motion. “Great! We can get married tomorrow.” His voice was light, but he was studying her reaction like he still wasn’t sure she meant it.

She meant it all right, but there was a catch.

“Unfortunately, there’s a three-day waiting period after you apply.”

He blinked. “Wow. You really have done your homework.” Then he shook his head. “Like after waiting six years they think I need to think this over?”

She laughed aloud, and it felt good. Great. Liberating.

“More like, after six years, I think we can survive three more days.”

“Not so sure,” he pouted and reeled her back in.

She snuggled up against him. “Just think of all the catching up we can do in three days.”

His mouth curled up. “I like the sound of that.”

“Of course, we do need to figure out a couple of things.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Like what?”

“Like how we’re going to get this to work.” She waved a hand over the ski slopes, then in the vague direction of the Boston suburb where her new assignment was.