The Bridge (18 page)

“I’m sorry . . . I know this is hard.” He whispered the words against her face. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

She pressed her head against his chest and wished with all her being that when she opened her eyes, it would be seven years earlier and they would’ve had this conversation before she left. “You said . . . something about a message.” She eased back enough to see his face.

“Yes. He played me a message.” This part was hard
for Ryan; that much was obvious. Clearly, he had based his belief in her father’s words entirely on what had happened at the end of the phone call. “It was your voice.” He sighed, deeply discouraged. “I’d like to say I’ve forgotten what you said, but I haven’t. I heard you say, ‘Yes, Preston . . . you know how I feel about you. I’ve known you all my life. You always knew I wouldn’t stay at Belmont forever.’”

The light-headed feeling was back, and the room began to spin. The words were familiar, and if Ryan said they were her voice, then they must’ve been. When had she said that? Her senior year, maybe? Or the summer before she left for college? As she forced her brain to go back, the picture came into focus.

Preston had called from her father’s office the day before she moved to Nashville. The entire conversation felt like nothing more than a plea on his part, his way of begging her to forget her plans for Belmont. So she had reassured him. After all the years of boarding school, he had to have known how she felt about him. Like he was her friend. Nothing more. That was what she had meant. She explained to Ryan despite the sick feeling trying to consume her.

When she was finished, the next realization almost
leveled her. “My father . . . he was in the room.” The admission was sickening. “He records calls on his business line. So he must’ve saved my side of the conversation. He probably planned on using it to convince me how I felt.” She raked her hand through her hair, sick to her stomach. “My dad knew I didn’t love Preston. He tried everything he could to convince me I did.”

The story made sense to Ryan. She could see that much in his face. “Or in case he ever needed to use the recording to keep a boy from Carthage away from his only daughter.” His obvious disbelief dropped his voice to a whisper. “I can’t believe this.”

“Exactly.” Molly wouldn’t blame him if he hated her for the way her father had treated him. “I can’t believe he’d lie to you.” She looked deep into Ryan’s eyes, all the way through him. “Can I tell you something?”

“Please.” He ran his thumbs along her hands, his eyes locked on hers.

“I never would’ve called anyone that night.” Her eyes locked on his. “All I could think about was you. That night . . . it was one of the best in my life.”

He stared at her, defeated once again. She watched a pair of tears slide down his cheeks. “Then why, Molly? Why’d you leave?”

“Because.” She shrugged one shoulder, her lip quivering. “You didn’t want me. You apologized the next day. And an apology after a night like that was as good as telling me you never wanted to kiss me again.”

“Molly.” He released the hold he had on her waist and ran his fingers down the length of her arms. “I missed you every day since then. I thought you were married, but still”—he pulled his copy of
Jane Eyre
from his pocket—“I kept this. Hoping that maybe someday I’d see you again.” Another bit of understanding filled his expression. “Everything had changed . . . you wrote that at the back of my book. Because of my apology?”

“I did.” She managed a weak smile despite the tears in her eyes. “It’s why I wore the ring.” Her heart felt like it had been in knots for seven years and only now was it finally beginning to unravel. “I didn’t want your pity. Not if you were sorry for kissing me.”

He looked like he had a hundred things he might say. Instead he did the one thing she was desperate for him to do. Slowly, with the buildup of far too long, he pulled her to himself and kissed her, a kiss that erased seven years in as many seconds. His lips against hers,
the feel of his strong arms around her shoulders. All of it was like some wonderful dream, as if the Ryan in the video had stepped into her world.

All she wanted was to never wake up.

M
olly didn’t look away, wouldn’t dare take her eyes off him, because if she did, he might not be there when she looked back.

“You should know something.” His eyes danced.

Molly understood how he could look so happy. With the lies cleared up, there was no distance between them. No lies or doubts or hurt feelings. “What should I know?”

He linked his arms around her waist once more and swayed with her gently, dancing to the sound of creaking boards in their favorite room at The Bridge. “You should know that I’ve always wanted to kiss you.” His grin continued to lighten the mood between them. “Even when I thought you were married.”

“Ryan!” She giggled, and then the reality of what he’d said sank in. “You’ve always wanted to kiss me?”

“Always. From the first day I saw you in the auditorium during orientation.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Her voice fell to a whisper. She put her hand on his cheek, searching his eyes. “We lost so much time.”

“Not anymore.”

“So what do we do?” Her mind spun with the impossibilities of their lives, the logistics they would need to work out. “My office is in Portland.”

“You mean your Portland office is in Portland.” He swayed with her again, his eyes sparkling in the soft light from the window. “Your Nashville office will be here. Isn’t that what you meant?”

He made it sound so easy, but after a few seconds of wrestling with herself, she realized he was right. With her money, she could open branches in ten cities. “So I move to Nashville?”

“Tomorrow.” He kissed her again and one more time. When he drew back, he spoke straight to her soul. “You marry me, and I chase my dream of being a studio musician, and when the babies come . . . you know where we’ll take them, right?”

She laughed, not believing this was real, that he was actually saying these things. Marriage? And
babies? The joy in her heart was as foreign as it was wonderful. “Where do we take them?”

“To The Bridge, of course.”

“Right. Because someone has to teach our little girl that no net will ever ensnare her.”

“Mmm.” He kissed her again.

She let herself get lost in the feeling. When she took a breath, she whispered near his face. “Is this happening? Are we really doing this?”

“Dreams don’t feel this good.” His voice was thick with passion. When he kissed her the next time, he seemed to force himself to take a step back. “Don’t leave me, Molly. Ever again.”

She smiled. “I kept your memory alive. Every year on the same day.”

“You did?” They were completely comfortable together. As if no time had passed between them. “When?”

“Black Friday.”

“Nice. A reference to your hatred for me, I assume.”

“No.” She laughed. “Just wound up that way. The one day when I blocked off time after work. That’s when I would play the video.”

“What video?”

“Come on, Ryan.” Her heart hadn’t felt this good since that night in her Brentwood backyard. “The one you made for your cinematography class.”

“Where I interviewed you in the car?” He chuckled at the way he’d made the project seem like a serious work of art. “You still have that?”

Her laughter faded, and her eyes held his. “I do . . . I play it every year, the day after Thanksgiving. Makes me remember how thankful I was to have you.” Her smile felt sad again. “Even for only two years.”

“Molly, I had no idea.” He looked like he might kiss her again. Then he made a funny face. “What was the name of that video?”

“Remember?” She held onto him, wanting the moment never to end. “You called it ‘The Bridge: How a Small-Town Boy from Carthage, Mississippi, and a Highbrow Girl from Pacific Heights, California, Found Common Ground on a Daily Commute Down Franklin Road Outside Music City to The Bridge—the Best Little Bookstore in the World.’”

“Worst title ever.”

“I tried to tell you that.” She laughed again. “You got an A, anyway.”

“Here’s a better title.” He ran his thumb along her
cheekbone, lost in her eyes. “‘Two Years and Forever . . . How a Bookstore Changed Everything.’”

“Hmmm.” The longer they stayed like this, the more real it felt. The more she could practically see their life ahead the way Ryan had laid it out a few minutes ago. “I like it.”

“You know something? I might want to get married right here in this room. Where it all began.” Ryan kissed her one last time and then, against the demands of their desires, led her downstairs. “Let’s get you back to your hotel. We both need a good night’s sleep.” He winked at her. “Tomorrow is Christmas.”

In the craziness of the last hour, Molly had almost forgotten. She slipped into Ryan’s arms, and as they reached his truck, she thought of something. “A pastor once told me that God was the giver of second chances.”

“He is.” Ryan’s eyes made her wonder how she could’ve ever doubted his feelings. “I’ve prayed for this moment since we said good-bye. Provided you weren’t married, of course.”

She laughed. “As if I would marry Preston Millington. Please.”

The wind had picked up, and the chill in the air
was biting cold. He swept her into his arms and held her for another long moment. Then they climbed in his truck and headed north on Franklin Road. As if her father had never lied to Ryan and his apology had never happened and she’d never gotten on a plane and left for good. Along the way, they talked and laughed and dreamed about possibilities that were suddenly real.

And as they drove, as Molly felt the warmth of her hand in his, she did the only thing left to do. Treasure the miracle.

And thank the God of second chances.

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

N
o book comes together without a great and talented team of people. For that reason, a special thanks to my friends at Howard Books, who combined efforts with a number of people passionate enough about Life-Changing Fiction™ to make
The Bridge
all it could be. A special thanks to my amazing editor, Becky Nesbitt, and to Jonathan Merkh. Thanks also to the creative staff and the sales force at Howard and Simon & Schuster who worked tirelessly to put this book in your hands.

A special thanks to my amazing agent, Rick Christian, president of Alive Communications. Rick, you’ve always believed in only the best for me. When we talk about the highest possible goals, you see them as doable, reachable. You are a brilliant manager of my career, an incredible agent, and I thank God for you.
But even with all you do for my ministry of writing, I am doubly grateful for your encouragement and prayers. Every time I finish a book, you send me a letter worth framing, and when something big happens, yours is the first call I receive. Thank you for that. The fact that you and Debbie are praying for me and my family keeps me confident every morning that God will continue to breathe life into the stories in my heart. Thank you for being so much more than a brilliant agent.

Thanks to my husband, who puts up with me on deadlines and doesn’t mind driving through Taco Bell after a football game if I’ve been editing all day. This wild ride wouldn’t be possible without you, Donald. Your love keeps me writing; your prayers keep me believing that God has a plan in this ministry of Life-Changing Fiction™. And thanks for the hours you put in helping me. It’s a full-time job, and I am grateful for your concern for my reader friends. Of course, thanks to my daughter and sons, who pull together—bringing me iced green tea and understanding my sometimes crazy schedule. I love that you know you’re still first, before any deadline.

Thank you to my mom, Anne Kingsbury, and to
my sisters, Tricia and Sue. Mom, you are amazing as my assistant—working day and night sorting through the mail from my readers. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. Traveling together these past years for Extraordinary Women and Women of Joy events has given us times that we will always treasure. Now we will be at Women of Faith events as well. The journey gets more exciting all the time!

Tricia, you are the best executive assistant I could ever hope to have. I appreciate your loyalty and honesty, the way you include me in every decision and the daily exciting website changes. My site has been a different place since you stepped in, and the hits have grown a hundredfold. Along the way, the readers have so much more to help them in their faith, so much more than a story. Please know that I pray for God’s blessings on you always, for your dedication to helping me in this season of writing, and for your wonderful son, Andrew. And aren’t we having such a good time? God works all things for good!