Champagne and Lemon Drops: A Blueberry Springs Chick Lit Contemporary Romance (35 page)

How was she going to elope with Nash—because
that's surely what was going to happen during their getaway—if she
couldn't shrug off her ex?

"This trip is a good idea," Nash said. "I
think you'll really enjoy this area. It's near a gated community I
want to show you. It's close to the airport, the opera, and a few
other great places I think would be great for raising kids." Nash
carefully tucked his folded underwear into his suitcase.
"Beth?"

"Yeah. Great." She grabbed a tube of
toothpaste from the en suite and shoved it into her bag.

"Here." Nash held out his hand. "You're
going to get toothpaste everywhere. Let me." Nash came around the
bed to root out her toothpaste. He placed it in his black toiletry
bag. "And don't forget your toothbrush."

Beth zipped her bag with a sharp tug.
"Ready?"

"I need another ten minutes. Don't forget
your toothbrush."

She released her bag, letting it thud onto
the floor.

"What's wrong?" he asked, hands on his hips.
He looked pale and peeved in his uncharacteristic sweats and
t-shirt, the bandage still covering his stitches and the worst of
his heavy smooch with the concrete.

"Nothing." She flicked off the movie Nash
had turned on. "Let's go."

"Beth. What?"

"Nothing!"

She was not going to discuss the scary,
tempting second thoughts that battered her nor all the thoughts
whizzing through her mind about how wrong everything felt. It
didn't matter what she did, there was no clear path that seemed
like it was the easy, obvious, one-hundred percent right way to
go.

"If you're mad at me," Nash's eyes flashed,
"be mad at me. It isn't fair to be like this. I made a mistake. I
admitted it. I apologized. I'm not perfect. Nobody is."

She stared at him.

"Beth!" He slammed his open hand on the bed.
"Engage, damn it!"

"I can't do this," she whispered, backing
away.

He rubbed his forehead. "Go on a trip? Get
real. Pick up your bag and let's go."

"No."

"Why not?"

She took in their shared
bedroom. Nothing said
ours
about the room. A photo of her and her sister sat
on her bedside table and a bra hung on the closet doorknob, but
other than that, everything was Nash's. The exquisite bedspread,
the trendy art on the walls, the fluffy towels in the en suite.
Everything. At first it had been reassuring and luxurious, but now
it felt lonely and exclusionary.

It wasn't their condo. It wasn't her home.
It was Nash's. And it would always be that way. She was the movie
he put in the fancy DVD player when he wanted entertainment. And
while she loved being Paris Beth, it wasn't the real her. She cared
too much about everything and everyone and wasn't that free-flying
independent adventure girl Nash thought she was. She was Blueberry
Springs Beth. The girl with the job that wouldn't go anywhere big,
but satisfied her heart. She was the person who provided hope and
joy at the end of good people's lives and now helped others in need
of her therapies. She was the girl that loved the fact that she
knew all the faces walking around town and that if she fell down
they would pick her up again. This town and all its flaws and
aggravations accepted her, warts and all. It was home.

She studied Nash. Perfect, perfect Nash. She
closed her eyes. This wasn't where she belonged. When she was with
him she wasn't her true self. If she wanted more people around her
Thanksgiving table all she had to do was open her door and holler.
Blueberry Springs—her family—didn't embrace Nash and he refused to
embrace them. And that told her something she should have figured
out months ago.

"I can't do this anymore, Nash. The real me
is the girl you want to change."

Her ears blocked the sound as he lectured
his way around the room. Detached, she watched his actions:
demanding, pushy. Nothing similar to what would comfort and
convince her to change her mind.

"It's been fun," she said, static pulling at
her mind, "but I can't be with you, Nash. Not forever. Being
together doesn't make us better people. At least not me."

She hefted her bag and walked to the door,
leaving him standing in the bedroom with his jaw hanging low.

***

There was liberation in being a missing
person—in being one of many in a constant cycle of strangers in and
out of the capital city's biggest hotel. She was just some woman
sunk deep in a lounge chair enjoying a beer at the end of her long
day. A long day of driving away from Blueberry Springs in order to
give herself room to think.

She massaged her temples, worried Nash would
look up her credit card charges and show up demanding that they
talk it out. But there was nothing to talk about. As she drove
across the countryside, skirting cities, she chased the feeling
that he was the wrong man for her. He provided everything she
thought she wanted and needed, but somehow he still wasn't the
right man.

The problem was Oz.

She shut off her mind. She needed to relax
and let the answer come to her. She needed to sip her beer, knowing
nobody was going to demand to know her next step. Nobody was going
to push their unwanted advice like some cash-strapped drug lord
pushing his wares.

Right now she was without family and going
to enjoy its peace.

She sighed and stared into
her beer glass. Despite wanting space she didn't feel like she
could do this alone. She needed someone to talk to. She
needed
family
.

She closed her eyes and let the fresh, cold
beer bite at her tongue, the last of the bubbles tickling the top
of her mouth as she swallowed. She glanced at her phone and on a
whim, opened her address book. There it was. Less than an hour's
drive from here.

An ear and an answer.

***

Beth shook out her nerves and rang the
buzzer for apartment 4A, holding her breath. The lilac bush beside
the front step was pumping out the smells of spring and, for the
first time in days, she had hope in her heart.

Let him be home.

Okay, so her father hadn't sent her a
Christmas card and he hadn't come to Cynthia's wedding nor her own.
He probably wasn't even in the country. But if he was home, and she
was on his front step, there was no way he wouldn't listen to her
problems. Looking for problems in big companies and then solving
them was his sought-after talent making him the perfect man for the
job.

The main door released and she entered the
building, climbing up to the fourth floor. The door to 4A swung
open and a man who looked a lot like Cynthia watched her
approach—if her sister had very little hair and was a man. Tall,
slim, narrow face, serious eyes. He stared at her like he couldn't
place her.

She didn't think she'd changed that much
since she'd last seen him eighteen months ago, but in case, she
gently reminded him, "Beth. Your daughter."

He opened his door wider and stepped aside.
"I know who you are. Give a man some credit."

She stepped into his home, feeling slightly
robot-like and equally awkward in her movements.

"You made a beautiful blushing bride. Did
you manage to tie the knot?"

"What?" She turned to face him. "You were
there?"

Her father smiled, and indicated for her to
take a seat in the living room. "I arrived back from Singapore the
night before. Too late to RSVP, but I couldn't resist trying to see
you—even if just at the church. So, I got in my car and drove."

Beth sat heavily, feeling uprooted. Her
father had driven all night after an international flight in order
to see her get married? "Why didn't I see you?" Tears pricked her
eyes. Why hadn't he spoken to her? And why hadn't she heard rumors
of him being there? Surely people would have recognized him.

"Now, now," he said, looking embarrassed.
"There wasn't a chance. Not before the boys got into a fight. And
after... it just felt like I shouldn't crowd you."

"You wouldn't have crowded me," she
protested. "They ruined everything and nothing feels right anymore.
I can't summon a plan I want to hang my future on."

Her dad gave a chuckle and handed her a
tissue. "You're my same, little Bethany, you know that?" He reached
over and gave her hair a tussle.

She struggled to compose herself and took in
his living room in an attempt to distract herself. It was plain,
ordinary. It didn't look lived in and could be anyone's. Just like
the man in front of her could be anyone's father. Maybe even hers
if she tried. If he tried. There were years where she'd longed for
him to be a part of her life, but sitting here now, she knew he was
less like family and more like an acquaintance. And he wasn't going
to solve her problems.

"How about a cup of joe or something?" he
asked.

"I'm okay." She watched him for a moment.
"If you were me, what would you do?"

Her father, who had stood up to head to the
kitchen sat back down. "About what?" He looked intrigued.

"I think I broke up with Nash."

Her father raised one eyebrow, exactly the
way Cynthia did when she found something interesting but wanted to
hear more before wading into the disaster. It was eerie. It was
like talking to a male version of her sister. But it was also kind
of comforting. Would he give her the same advice?

"I, um, we didn't get married and we lost
our honeymoon because of his... accident at the church."

Her father nodded grimly. "I saw that. He's
all right?"

Beth nodded. "We were supposed to go away
this morning and probably would've eloped." She looked at her pale
hands, her ring making her fingers look frail rather than delicate.
"But I think I broke up with him."

"You're not sure?"

"Oz asked me back." She added quickly, "Nash
doesn't know."

Another raised eyebrow and pause.

She offered, "I told Oz I'd have to be crazy
to take him back."

"People do crazy things all the time. Ever
hear of bungee-jumping?" Beth shot him a look and he apologized and
said, "I assume Oz and Nash don't get along judging by what I saw
on the steps."

Beth nodded. "Yeah. They seem to have
developed a history."

Her father let out a short bark of laughter
that made her jump.

"What?" Beth asked, her cheeks heating.

"Two men fighting over you, huh?" He winked
and stretched out an arm in order to give her shoulder a playful
tap. "Thatta girl."

"It's not like that," she said tightly. "I
don't know who I should choose."

"How about neither of them."

Beth sat back.
"
Neither
?" No,
that wasn't right. How could she let
both
of them go?

"Oh, come on." Her father looked impatient.
"Open your bloody eyes. Have you seen the way Oz looks at you?"

"Recently?"

"That man would do anything for you. That
split second in front of the church I saw—never mind."

"What?"

He waved her off. "It's nothing but an old
man feeling romantic." He gave her a sad smile. "I don't think I am
the man to help you out. This is one of those times in life when
you need to follow your heart. Not someone else's opinion."

"But who do I choose? Nash
can give me everything, but I don't love him—" She gasped and
clamped a hand over her mouth like she'd been socked. She slowly
doubled over, her mind frozen. She didn't love him. It was
everything but that true, deep, permanent love she'd had with Oz.
She
missed
Oz.
She
loved
Oz. And
he had asked for a second chance. A chance to be together and start
again. To be really great. To have a future she'd really like to be
a part of. Or at least try out.

"Well, there you go." Her father stood up
and dusted off his hands.

"But Oz—" She stood. "I'm not sure where I
fit in with his future."

"We all struggle with something." Her father
got a far off look. "You need to take your life by the horns my
dear girl."

***

"Oz?"

A groggy, yet hopeful voice on the other end
of the line replied, "Beth, is that you?"

"I hope I didn't wake you." Beth checked the
alarm clock resting next to the hotel room's bed. Its bright red
numbers announced the wee hours of the night. "I woke you, didn't
I?"

The grogginess fell from his voice, "Are you
okay? Everyone's worried."

"Sorry. It is too late, isn't it? I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have called."

Beth was about to lower the phone to its
cradle when Oz said, "I'm here any time, Beth."

She paused, telling herself she only wanted
to hear his voice. But really she wanted to reassure herself that
his offer was real. And that things would work out if she accepted
it.

"What's new with you?" she asked.

He paused as if caught off guard. "I started
a dining room table." He sounded more awake. "I'm working on going
through the process of making the legs on my own, but I don't have
a machine. I want to make the whole thing, start to finish, with my
own hands." His voice lowered. "It's good for the soul."

"Are you going to buy one of those things
they had in the school shop?"

He chuckled. "I haven't dared price one
out."

"You have money though, right? You haven't
spent it all?" The idea of him being broke already bothered
her.

"I still have a bit of savings from selling
the business, but I need to be frugal so I don't end up having to
take a job I hate." He paused. "Right now I'm driving the recycling
truck two days a week. It's a bit of mindless income to help me
out."

"Oz?"

"Yeah?"

"...nothing."

There was a pause.