Read Something More Than This Online
Authors: Barbie Bohrman
Something More Than This (17 page)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I
sit nervously inside of my car, watching Dylan as he gets ready to read the Sunday newspaper.
I know his schedule like the back of my hand. And if there is one thing, without fail, that he does like clockwork, it’s come Sunday morning, he’ll buy the newspaper and come to the beach to sit and read it from start to finish.
So when Mimi called me out, I knew that I had one shot to get the letter printed in the Sunday edition. Luckily, I’m friendly with the person in the office who controls the printings. After a last-minute call to him on Friday night and an endless amount of promises that I would never ever be late on a deadline again, he agreed to run my letter in the “Letters to the Editor” section without Dylan’s final approval.
Of course he was terrified of the repercussions and made me swear up and down that if the higher-ups or Dylan himself had a problem with any of it, I would take the fall. And at that point, once the letter was printed and out there, there would be no question of the way I feel about Dylan, my boss. So the repercussions for me would be tenfold no matter the outcome. But I decided that he,
us
, is worth the risk. And I completely realize that the prospect that I may very well be without a job soon is something I should be worried about a lot more than I am. However, the fear of losing the man I love for good is decidedly worse. I can always work elsewhere, or do something else in the field that will keep me going until another job materializes. But I couldn’t just sit there and let him slip through my fingers. So I chose to shout my feelings for him from the rooftops. Go big or go home.
I woke up at the crack of dawn and practically ran out the door to beat Dylan to the beach and get a spot where I could hide.
And like clockwork, Dylan showed up.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him since I left his office on Monday morning. And the sight of him makes my pulse race and my heart thump away in my chest as if it had been asleep for the past week. The urge to run over to him is overwhelming. It starts as this tiny fire in my belly, then spreads to my limbs. Then it builds and builds until it’s all consuming and my legs itch to start sprinting. But I can’t. Not yet. Not until he actually wants me to. Because this plan can easily backfire, and not just for us but for my career too.
I wait and wait, watching as he turns over page after page, folding them over perfectly with deft hands so that the winds won’t keep him from reading. From time to time, he stops and looks out over the water. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I’m hoping somewhere in his mind and his heart there is still room for me . . . for us.
Then, an hour into sitting and pretty much stalking him, he turns around, looking to his left and his right. Which is my cue.
Gathering all the strength I can, I say a little prayer under my breath, close my eyes, and open my car door. Before I second-guess myself, I start walking. He spots me easily and stands up, brushing the sand off his shorts and then adjusting his glasses.
Once I reach the edge of where the pavement meets the sand, I take off my flip-flops and hold them in my hand so I can walk the rest of the way to him. It’s a cloudy day and the wind starts to pick up the closer I get to him and the shore. With my heart in my throat, I finally reach him.
And when I look at him today, now, forever . . . I know that he’s the man of my dreams, my best friend and my soul mate. His eyes look back at me with vague curiosity, like he can’t believe I’m really here standing right in front of him. The smallest hint of relief washes across his features before going right back to the expressionless look that I’ve come to know all too well over the years.
“I read your letter.”
My small smile is to hide the sinking feeling I get after hearing the way he says this: as if it doesn’t matter how or what I write to him, he’ll never forgive me.
“Oh, okay, so I’ll just leave you alone then.”
I turn around quickly and start walking back to my car, as if the sand was actually as hot as it usually is on a warm summer’s day. Behind me, I hear Dylan’s footsteps, so I stop but I can’t make myself turn around to face him again. I know that if I do, I’ll cry, because my heart feels as if it were literally breaking in two.
I can feel the warmth rolling off of him in waves as he comes even closer, and closer still. And then he’s turning me around as my tears well up in anticipation of him saying all of the things I don’t want to hear out loud: that he wants nothing more to do with me, that I’ve ruined any chance we had once and for all.
Dylan’s hand surprises me and cups the side of my face. His eyes follow the lone tear that leaks free and down my cheek. When his thumb reaches out to catch it before it hits the ground, I almost break down in relief. Because his green eyes are alive with something more than friendship, something more than a promise, and something more than the right here and now.
“Katy, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
And before he can even finish repeating one of the very first things he’s ever said to me, I’m in his arms where I belong, always.
EPILOGUE
One Year Later
Florida Observer: Letters from the Editor, Sunday, October 11, 2016
Dear Your Katy,
Sorry it has taken me so long to write you back.
I only have one question, and if you get it right, I’ll agree to marry you.
In 1977, Miami quarterback Bob Griese was the first NFL player to wear what in a game?
Sincerely,
Editor in Chief Dylan Sterling
P.S. I made it easy on purpose. Now, turn around.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
T
hank you to my kids, my husband, and my friends who have stuck by me and kept me going. A special thanks to the following people, without whom I would lose my mind: Lisa Chamberlin, MJ Abraham, Claire Contreras, Stephanie Sandra Brown, and Sara Queen.
A heartfelt thanks to Melody Guy . . . you are simply amazing and I hope to work with you again one day.
Thanks to everyone at Montlake Romance, specifically my editor, Christopher Werner, who I’ve probably driven crazy with titles for this book, and by the time it goes to print, covers too. Jessica Poore, author relations representative, who is without a doubt one of the most thoughtful and funny people I’ve had the pleasure of never meeting in person. And finally, my original editor, Maria Gomez, thank you for believing in me and rooting for me from the sidelines.
Thanks to my readers, who somehow get my sick sense of humor and send me notes to let me know how much they laughed and cried during one of my books. Those notes never get old, and no matter how much time goes by, I’m still humbled that you chose my book out of the thousands you could be reading instead.
And finally, thanks to all the book bloggers out there, big or small, who support me and my books. Without you, I would be nowhere, and to say that I appreciate each and every one of you would be an understatement. I would, however, like to say a special thanks to a specific few who have come to mean a lot more to me than I could possibly put into words: Sandy Roman Borrero, Holly Malgieri, Kayla Sunday, Cantu Sisters (Amanda and Crystal), Stephanie Brown, and AJ too! (Hi, AJ!!) Christine Estevez, and finally, Angie McKeon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Barbie Bohrman
B
arbie Bohrman was born and raised in Miami, Florida, and ultimately moved to the Garden State, where she currently resides with her two children and husband. When she is not writing, you can find her trying to get through the one thousand-plus books on her Kindle or watching
Lost
or
Seinfeld
.
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