Cade was having a fantastic morning, considering he was in his office, supposedly working on his research project. He’d told himself he was going to loosen up his writing brain by working for fifteen minutes on his story before he did his work, but before he knew it, it had been two hours and he was still writing. Words were flowing like Niagara through the gorge, and his fingers were on fire.
Hallelujah.
Down on the quad, it was a glorious, sunny day. The trees were changing, students were playing Frisbee, and even a dog had gotten in on the action. The plant that Gabby had given him was basking in the sunshine on his sill, tiny bright green shoots springing out of it.
For the first time in years, Cade felt like…himself. It was nothing short of a miracle. And he owed it all to Gabby. She’d opened up something deep inside him that he’d locked and closed down after his marriage. Something he never thought would see the light of day again.
Ever since he and Gabby had made love, they’d been having regular discussions about their stories, and despite Gabby’s inability to be fond of literary fiction, she always seemed to help him see a different angle on a character or event. Her work was progressing too, and he had high hopes it might be picked up by a publisher.
“Hi, Cadey,” a voice said from the door. Every muscle in his body froze. Cade didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
Yup. Same bright smile, same dainty, heart-shaped face with pink, bow-shaped lips and big, swimming-pool-blue eyes.
Emerson.
He recalled a time when she’d stirred him—and even more times when she’d wrecked him to the point where he couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day. He was relieved to find that he was surprisingly calm. As for the attraction…that was long past.
He wished for the thousandth time that Emerson would move to Europe or some other faraway locale so that he didn’t have to put up with her springing into their lives like a pop-up puppet whenever the mood suited her, which mercifully wasn’t often. He worried for his sweet, happy, innocent daughter. How was he supposed to be Ava’s protector, when he didn’t have the ability to guard her from the whims of her own mother? He feared these visits would surely take their toll, eroding away Ava’s hopefulness, her optimism, her belief and trust in people who said they loved her.
Emerson walked in, wearing tight jeans and high sandals, bangles around her wrists jingling with each step. She picked up a paperweight from his desk that read “A metaphor is like a simile” and tossed it from hand to hand. Next she surveyed his desk, bit by bit, scanning over his business like she had a right.
“May I sit down?” she asked politely. “I asked the woman out there and she said it wasn’t your office hours, but I told her I was your ex and I was sure you’d see me.”
Cade found himself gripping the lip of his desk as Emerson took a seat without waiting for his response.
His phone buzzed. “One second, please,” he said to Emerson, making sure to smile. In some ways, he regarded her as a sleeping beast whose ire he did not want to awaken.
“I’m so sorry,” Carol said over the phone. “She insisted on walking to your office. Do you want me to call security?”
“No, but how about a reminder call for my next appointment?” Cade said.
He didn’t have any appointments this morning, but Carol understood. “Ten minutes?”
“Perfect. Thanks, Carol.”
“So. I came to see Ava for her birthday,” Emerson said.
“That was five days ago,” Cade said, trying to unclench his jaw.
“Coming from California was quite a trip. I don’t think a three-year-old will mind if I’m a day or two late.”
Cade didn’t say anything, like she’d just turned four. Did she even know? “She’ll be out of day care at five. You can see her then, if that works.”
“That’s fine. Actually, I stopped here because I wanted to discuss a few things with you.”
She got up and walked over to his window. “I always did love these old campuses. You don’t see windows like this anymore.” She turned to Cade, bracing her hands behind her on the sill. “Neither of us has had any creative output since the divorce.”
She paused, eyeing him carefully. He made certain to keep his face neutral, because he was not about to go there. It had taken her less than half a minute to change the subject to herself. She hadn’t even asked about Ava.
“You know my comments got blown way out of proportion by that reporter. I was a little angry over the divorce, but I never intended to discredit you.” She dropped her voice and looked down, her long lashes feathering over her cheeks. “Not like that.”
In the old days, he used to believe that the dropped gaze and the soft, breaking voice were signs of sincerity, but knowing her for ten years had taught him otherwise. Somehow, he couldn’t drum up any sympathy for her. Or believe anything she said anymore.
Cade snorted. “You told them I stole your ideas. That’s a little hard to blow out of proportion.”
“I swear I didn’t. Although you have to admit we did have many, many discussions about plotting. I don’t think it’s unjust for me to feel I had a hand in that book, Cade.”
“We did discuss our writing a lot. But I wrote the book.” The calm he’d managed to maintain was shattering as she drilled down to his core insecurity. He’d freely discussed everything with her—plots, characters, future books, withholding nothing. But never in his wildest dreams did he feel he was stealing from her, appropriating her ideas. Yet a small, twisted fear remained: could he have done it without even knowing?
“Well, of course you wrote the book. And it did very well. But neither of us is achieving success by ourselves. I say it’s time for bygones to be bygones and do what we’ve always done best together—create.” She leaned over his desk, a suggestive move that showcased her cleavage.
Surely she wasn’t…she couldn’t be…was she turning on the sex appeal to persuade him to work together? He wanted to tell her not to bother.
“So, Cadey, a college professor, eh?” She’d sauntered over to his bookshelves, flicking her fingers quickly over his rows of books, moving onto his diplomas, hovering for a time over the one from Iowa. Was she bitter and angry even after all this time? He couldn’t tell, and that was part of her game. This was what Emerson did: she disrupted, she startled. The effect was to keep him off guard and off-balance.
“They hailed you as a prodigy,” she said, flipping through one of his academic journals.
“I’m no prodigy. Just a guy trying to get by like everyone else.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’re quite talented.” She turned to look at him. “I’m here to ask for a fresh start. I propose a collaboration, just like the old days. Bouncing ideas off one another, writing into the wee hours. It would start our creative juices flowing. Not to mention it would solve our other problem—I’d see Ava more.”
Cade knew she didn’t want to see Ava more. Most mothers would move Mount Everest to get to their child, but that was never Emerson. She was playing him because she hadn’t been able to write anything successfully since the divorce.
“The question is, can you forgive the past?” she asked.
“Emerson, I have let the past go.” But I have no desire to relive it. “And I’d love for you to have a more consistent relationship with Ava.”
That was a polite way to phrase it, thanks to working with his counselor over the past few years. The counselor had finally told him he could not force Emerson to love her daughter, and to save his breath.
“Well, if we work together, I’d get a place here. I’d see Ava all the time.”
Cade thought of how explaining to Ava why her mother didn’t want to see her more often was the most confusing and painful thing he’d ever done. And she was only four. What would it be like when she really put together all the pieces and demanded better explanations?
“I’m in town all weekend. I thought I could stay at your place. So I can be closer to Ava?”
“Well, actually, I don’t think—”
“I didn’t book a hotel, and I noticed the nearest one is completely full this weekend. Something about an art show on the green or something?”
He was about to say no when Gabby appeared in his doorway, looking like the beautiful, kind woman she was. He wanted to warn her away before she stepped foot into his office. Better yet, he wanted to flee with her.
“Cade, hi,” she said, a bit out of breath.
Gabby’s gaze flitted from him to Emerson and back again.
Oh, hell.
“Gabby, this is Emerson. Emerson, this is Gabby, my…girlfriend.”
He saw the startled expression on Gabby’s face. The way her eyes widened as she stared at him. And the tiny smile that formed on her pretty lips.
He’d said it. Because that was what she was, wasn’t she?
The only thing was, the word girlfriend didn’t even begin to do her justice. She needed a better word, not one that sounded like he was going steady with someone in high school.
Emerson stuck out her hand. “Oh. So you two are an item?” After shaking Gabby’s hand, she said, “Are you a student?”
“No, I’m an attorney. And I write.” He saw the look of stunned surprise on Emerson’s face.
For the millionth time, Cade wondered how the hell he’d ever ended up with her. He’d fallen so hard and so completely that he’d been blind to all the warning signs—the emotional instability, the constant competitiveness.
“An attorney?” Emerson said. “And you write fiction as well?”
“Yes, I do, actually,” Gabby said.
“Oh, Cade,” Emerson said with a patient sigh, “you’ve always had a weakness for writers, haven’t you?” Her tone was overly sweet. “And do you use Gabby as your muse, the way you used me?”
Cade forced himself to shake off Emerson’s comment. This was her final stab, directly at his Achilles’ heel, and she was damn good at striking it. He tried to forget her words, block them out, but they lingered, taunting him.
Hadn’t Gabby listened to him talk about his story, helped him brainstorm ideas? And hadn’t he felt invigorated after their discussion, the words flowing freely for the first time in years? Surely he wasn’t living his relationship with Emerson all over again?
“Well, I’m exhausted after my long journey,” Emerson said, stifling a yawn. “Do you still hide your key over the door frame like we did in Iowa City? I’ll drop my suitcases off at your place, then maybe we can get our daughter together?” She let her gaze drift over to Gabby. “Nice meeting you, Gizelle.”
“It’s Gabby. Nice meeting you too,” Gabby said. To her credit, she didn’t even sound salty, only wary. But she turned her gaze on him with a question on her face that he understood without words. Emerson had asked about getting their daughter and staying at his place. Oh, shit, how did he explain that?
* * *
“Well,” Gabby said, lowering herself slowly into a seat in Cade’s office after Emerson had left. “So that was Emerson.” And she was stunning.
Cade scowled and looked at his watch. “I might run to the day care early so I can prepare Ava as best I can.”
“What is Emerson doing here?” Making herself at home, apparently.
He shook his head, clearly upset. “She said she’s here for Ava’s birthday. Too bad she missed it.”
“I’m sorry, Cade.”
“I can handle it.” He seemed…preoccupied.
“I know it sucks for Ava, and I know how stressful this is.” And she’d really noticed the cattiness, but she didn’t even bring that up. “Are you okay?”
“Gabby, I’m fine.” He was checking his phone, something she noticed he did when he didn’t want to talk about something.
Okay, that sounded like the discussion was closed. She’d let it go for now, because she could tell he was under stress. Still, she felt shut out, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. And what was the comment Emerson had made about getting our daughter? And staying at Cade’s house? It was almost like she was campaigning for…another chance with Cade.
She decided to try a different tack. “You called me your girlfriend.”
“Yes, I did.” This was not accompanied by a smile. She got barely a glance before he went back to his phone. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
She got up to leave. “Okay.” She got to the door before she turned around. “Oh, I got an email from Joanna Devereaux earlier today. She’s your agent, right?”
“Oh yeah, Joanna.” Finally, he looked interested. “She told me she was going to email you. What did she say?”
“She wants to see more of my manuscript.”
This made him set down his phone. A broad grin told her he was genuinely happy for her. “Gabby, that’s terrific. Congratulations.”
“I was surprised—shocked, really—to see her name show up in my email.”
He stood up and walked around his desk talking animatedly, with his hands. “I got excited about your pages, and I shared them with her. The fact that she’s thrilled supports how I felt about them too. You’ve written something with a lot of great potential, Gabby.”
She was happy he was excited. But her stomach was churning and she felt a little nauseous. “I’m glad you liked them, and I’m glad someone amazing like Joanna likes them.”
He opened his arms wide. “So? What’s the problem?”
He honestly didn’t know? Oh God. “Cade, I can’t help feeling it was my decision whether or not to put my pages out there.” She tapped her chest for emphasis—my pages. “The manuscript is nowhere near ready to be queried to agents, yet you went ahead and shared it without telling me.” She threw up her arms. “Why would you ever do that?”
“Wait—are you angry with me?” He looked—stunned. Totally blindsided. And that scared the shit out of her.
Angry? Between the fact that he appeared to see nothing wrong with what he did, and the fact that Emerson was stunning and gorgeous and sleeping over at his house—why should she be angry?
Gabby paused. Counted to ten. For so many years, she’d pushed down her true feelings. Afraid to rock the boat. She wasn’t going to do that again. But if she and Cade couldn’t tell each other the truth about what they felt, what did they really have?
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am angry. Because it’s my manuscript.” She tapped her chest again. “My book. I would want to put my best foot forward, especially with such a prestigious agent.”
“I’ve known Joanna for years. I know when something’s exceptional.” He sounded confident. “I never would have wasted her time with something inferior.”
“The point is, Cade, it was my decision.” Her voice sounded too high, and her eyes were starting to get teary. “You took that away from me.” Her life had been like that—her dad, desperate to help her, had paved her way into law school, getting influential people to write letters for her, even talking to the dean, who was a friend. And he’d helped her again to get a job with her firm. She’d lived her life feeling her accomplishments were based on her dad’s help, not her true talent. She wasn’t going to allow that to happen with her writing.
Cade sighed and pinched his nose. “I know how badly you want to write. I know how important it is to you. I was in a position to do something to help, and I just jumped on it. Plus, your story is fantastic—emotional, unique, passionate. You have an opportunity to achieve your dream in a big way, and I truly believe you can do it.” He crossed his arms. “The thing is…you have to believe it too.”
“Are you saying I don’t believe in myself?” Of course she did.
He was standing there, looking smug, treating her like a child. This was getting worse and worse.
“You haven’t even managed to tell your family how important your writing is to you. It’s like you’d rather do what everyone expects you to do, even though it makes you miserable.”
Oh no, this was not resolving at all. “At least I’m not taking over someone’s decisions for them. Or worse, shutting them out of important things that are going on.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying.”
“Your ex is back, and surely you’ve got to be terrified for Ava—what you’re going to tell her, how she’s going to react, what she’s going to do when Emerson waltzes out of town in a day or two. Yet you haven’t shared any of those feelings with me. Or given me the opportunity to say anything I’m feeling.”
“I’ve got it handled,” he said.
“Of course you do.” It was her turn to cross her arms. “Because you handle everything on your own. Without letting anyone else in. I’m really glad you have such great control over everything, but you know what? I don’t like it when people don’t share their feelings. And I don’t like people making my decisions for me.”
He went dead silent. His mouth was drawn into a thin line, his lips pressed tightly together. He was pissed. Well, too bad, because he really was too complicated. She saw the pattern—he clammed up when he was upset, at the exact moment she needed discussion and resolution. And he did things without asking her. Unacceptable.
There was a time when she would’ve walked on eggshells to avoid a man’s anger. But she wasn’t going to do that either.
“Look, Cade, I really believe—” She was about to tell him they needed to discuss things, but he cut her off.
“—that we’re really not very compatible, are we?” He’d finished her sentence, but not in a good way. In the worst way.
“What?” Oh, this was not going well. Gabby’s nose was getting itchy, the first sign that tears were building up. Her eyes were misting over, but she blinked the blurriness away. “I love Ava too,” she said. “Are you really going to throw away everything we’ve been building because you’re scared to death to let anyone in again?”
“I need to think about this.” He gathered up his book bag, shoving his laptop and phone inside.
“Fine. You just go think about…whatever. But you don’t get to pick whether you want me or not on your terms.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you can say we’re not right for each other, and say you want to keep all your business to yourself, and have your ex-wife sleep over at your house, but I’m not going to wait until you figure out whether you want me or not, Cade. I need someone who knows what they want—specifically me. Because I’ve already had a fiancé who was lukewarm about me, and I deserve more than that.”
With that, Gabby got up to leave. One look in his eyes—those beautiful, uniquely colored eyes—showed her the hardened expression of a man who’d completely closed himself off. And that made her burst into tears.
* * *
Gabby’s mother had taught her at an early age that books were her friends, and during times when life wasn’t going so well, Gabby tended to pick one up and get lost in it. She was lucky that way, that books could be a great comfort to her when she needed them most.
Except today. When she tried to read, no novel held her interest. She kept seeing Emerson’s gorgeous face and wondering what the hell had happened between herself and Cade. Emerson happened. Gabby’s anger over his misguided attempt to help her happened. His shutting down and refusing to discuss anything happened. Plus he’d said they weren’t compatible. Oh God, he’d broken up with her. Her tears began again. How could he do that without even talking anything over?
Misery made her finally reach into the old box near her desk and pull out her mom’s manuscript. She flipped the pages and saw spotty corrections made throughout with a white correction ribbon. Whatever this was, it had been a labor of love. Whatever it was, it contained the essence of her mother, and right now, she needed that.
For my mother, read the dedication. And my daughters and son. True love is a precious gift, but it’s fragile. When it finds you, treasure it, and do everything in your power to keep it safe.
Gabby teared up at that, for too many reasons. One, because these were her mother’s words, the only advice she was ever going to deliver from beyond the grave.
And two, because she knew beyond a doubt that she loved Cade. He was everything she wanted—kind, hardworking, surprisingly funny, and he understood and believed in her, even if his way of trying to help her had backfired. But she just wasn’t sure if he was ready to love her back. She needed openness and honesty, and she had to trust that her partner wanted the same—because what else was there?
Gabby fingered the dedication. She didn’t even know if the experience of having cancer had made her mother consider that dedication, but she suspected it had. What had it been like for her mother to know she would have to leave them all when they were still so young? That would break any mother’s heart. It broke hers just thinking of it.
With that, Gabby turned the page and began to read.
Carrara, Italy, 1958
Rosa Mancusi had everything she’d ever wanted—she was young, in love, and she lived among the famed white hills of Carrara, Italy, with her large family. Today was the day she would meet Jacob Bonfiglio at the quarry and tell him the news she’d been keeping to herself for eight weeks—she was pregnant with his child. Their child. She hoped their baby would have his beautiful brown eyes, his thick, wavy hair, and the dimples that made him seem so boyish when he smiled. They had plans to begin their future together, but covert plans—for Jacob was Jewish, and her family would not hear of them being together.
She went to meet him at their usual place, but he wasn’t there. Sometimes he was late, as they usually met after his shift at the marble mine, but today Rosa had reason for unease. They’d fought yesterday, and she was eager to make up. That would probably involve lovemaking under the olive trees that grew near the abandoned quarry, and a thrill went through her just thinking about that. She wanted to apologize, she wanted to tell him her secret, and most of all, she wanted to plan their future.
They’d talked extensively of eloping, of running away together to America, where attitudes would be more tolerant, and they could raise their family in peace.
“He’s gone,” her father said, meeting her at the whitewashed fence that surrounded their little house.
“Gone? No, of course he’s not gone,” she told her father, who seemed to have difficulty meeting her eyes. Jacob would never leave her. They’d only had a squabble yesterday—it was over the best time to leave for America. They both loved their families and had hated the impossible attitudes toward marrying, but they were going to run away together anyway, confident that they would win over their families in the future.
“He left this,” her father said, handing over an envelope. She tore it open immediately. I do not love you, the note read. I cannot go with you to America.
Out of the envelope fell a gold chain, on which hung a thin, perfectly white marble pendant.
“What is in there?” asked her father. “What did he put in there?”
That was when she knew. Jacob did love her. He’d left her his pendant. No matter what the words said, she didn’t believe them.
Only how would she find her one true love?