It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1) (4 page)

“It’s the silver Ford Escape.” Disappointment rattles my voice. “My key is in my right arm pocket,” I say as we arrive at my car door. He gently releases me so I can free my left arm from around him and unzip my right arm pocket. My subconscious yells at me as I fish out my single key,
“If you would have gotten your keyless entry fixed, you would have only needed one hand to press the four-button code and he wouldn’t have to let you go.”

I unlock the door, slide onto the seat, and reach for my purse in the passenger’s seat. Thankfully, I’d been forced to get it organized this morning since nearly all its contents fell out last night. I pull out two Band-Aids.

“How about some water and something to clean off your hand?”

I fish a napkin out of the glove box and grab my water.

“Hand them over,” he says.

I open my mouth to argue with him, but his stern voice leaves me feeling like arguing isn’t an option.

He carefully cleans my hand with slow, easy strokes, then peels the bandage open gently with his teeth. He lightly pushes down on the sticky areas to adhere the bandage to my hand. It seems he has done this a bunch of times.

“You need to go home and ice that knee. You still up for drinks tonight?”

It’s only when I’m staring into Marshall’s denim blue eyes that I remember my promise from the night before: Peter, the bartender, my date of desperation. My heart sinks, and I wish I had been of sound mind enough to get Peter’s number so I could cancel our date, but instead, it’s the man of my dreams I have to turn down.

Rose arrives right on time, of course. I’m still wrapped in a towel. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head but says nothing as I meet her in my kitchen. She glances down at my legs furrowing her brow. “Are you limping?”

I shrug. “Follow me to the bathroom so I can tell you about my day while I get ready, and we can get going.” Rose follows me to the bathroom, which is still filled with steam from my long, hot shower, the one I knew I didn’t have time for and that would make us late. Not that we necessarily had to be on time for anything.

I wipe the steam off the mirror so I can see what I’m doing, then fill Rose in on my last twenty-four hours while I put on my makeup. I don’t leave out any of the details or thoughts I’d had today. My sister and I have always shared everything with each other. We would talk on the phone daily while she was in France, where she was having the greatest time of her life and even a few flings. Meanwhile, I was just beginning a relationship with Gavin, which was very exciting at the time, like anything new is. I’d never have guessed at the time that we wouldn’t last.

Rose takes a seat on the counter and leans back on the mirror. “So you cancelled your date with the bartender then, right?”

I wince. “Well, no. I told Marshall I had a date, and I’d take a rain check. I don’t think he’s interested in me anyway. He was only being nice. He has Miss Mile-Long Legs and who knows who else.”

“Liz, don’t sell yourself short. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” I mock her, using my hand as a puppet.

We both laugh.

***

Home Décor is a welcome distraction. Rose and I spend a few hours picking out the items for her living room, starting with three large floral stamped medallion tiles, a large console table with multiple drawers and a distressed black satin finish, and a hodgepodge of accent items in creams, pale blues, and greens for the finishing touches. Rose and Derek just purchased a twill sofa in caramel and a matching love seat that will pair beautifully with the blues and greens. Rose and I will refinish her oversized coffee table to match the console table. The few interior design jobs I’ve had, mostly for family and friends, have been redesigns, fixing up lived-in rooms, but Rose and Derek’s living room would be my first job starting with a blank canvas, giving me very solid images to add to my design portfolio.

I’m inspecting a suede-wrapped photo album when Rose nudges me.

“So, darling sister, I have to ask, when are you going to quit that dead-end job of yours and do what you were born to do?”

I keep staring at the album, unsure of the answer to the question I have oftentimes asked myself.

“I mean, Liz, look how happy you are here, digging for decorating treasures. You’re glowing.”

I look up at her, still unsure how to respond, and take a deep breath.

Rose’s eyebrows raise in suspicion. “Or maybe it’s this Marshall guy that has you all charged up.”

I laugh. “Calm down. I already told you he isn’t even interested. He was just being nice, asking me out for drinks.” I set the album in the cart. “And as for my job, I’m getting closer to leaving.”

Rose shoots a look that screams
bullshit
.

“I mean it, Rose. I’ve been working with the numbers. A few more months and I will be ready.” But she and I know that I don’t need a few more months and that I have the funds in my savings account to make it happen. Our dad has had us putting
every
penny we didn’t
need
into our savings since we were eight.

Rose’s eyes light up. “I almost forgot.” She hands me a newspaper clipping from her purse. “A new nightclub is opening up in Hermantown. They’re looking to hire a designer. All you need to do is call and schedule a meeting with the owners. They would be fools not to hire you.”

My shoulders tense with the knowledge that my sister has always been blind to the fact that I’m not like her. She forgets that I haven’t left our hometown and that I haven’t had the amount of life experiences that she has. She has never seen me the way I see me. Maybe that is why I love her so dearly—she sees me as her equal, not like she is the better half.

We come out of Home Décor having spent less than our budget and enjoying a sense of pride that only children raised by a savings fanatic can appreciate.

We’re loading our treasures into Rose’s SUV when I spot a rusted-out red truck in the lot a few cars down from us. The windows are tinted, but I can see that there is a man in the driver’s seat looking over at us, making me feel uneasy. We finish up and return our cart, and I can still feel his eyes on us as we walk across the lot to Lakeside Café for lunch.

“Some creepy dude is staring at us in that red truck,” I tell Rose, pointing at the truck. When I do, the truck peels out of the lot.

“That was weird,” says Rose.

I shiver as I think of the guy from the bar who threatened to make me pay.

We are seated on the patio under a 2 Gingers Whiskey umbrella. We have a spectacular view of Lakeside Trail and the massive body of water that, even having grown up here, still takes my breath away.

Determined to get over the feeling of the creepy guy watching us, we enjoyed turkey-avocado paninis and ice tea while discussing the fistful of paint swatches I’d picked up.

“I think Derek is going to protest the rich paint color,” Rose sighs. “He loves what you did to Aunt Margret’s den, Liz, and I’m sure he’ll trust our decision, but I don’t plan to give him any choice anyway.” She winks.

“Tell him he has to answer to me if he doesn’t like it,” I say, putting up my fists.

We both giggle.

“So did you guys finally agree on a wedding cake?” I ask before taking another bite of the giant panini before me.

Rose and Derek’s wedding is set for August. It will be an outdoor wedding at Derek’s family’s farm. His parents are having an entire gazebo built, and they hired gardeners to plant hundreds of perennials for the wedding. It will no doubt be spectacular.

She laughs. “I let him have that one, figured it was only fair. So chocolate-almond cake it is.”

Our banter continues for another hour before I call it quits. “Time to go home and get ready for my big date.”

Rose just laughs, and we head to her car. I can’t help but look around the lot for that red truck, which, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen. But I still feel a tremor of dread throughout my body.

***

Upon entering the restaurant, I can tell Peter’s nervous. I know how he feels, but not only because of how I’m feeling about tonight’s date, but how I feel every time I am anywhere near Marshall Roderick. Peter is standing near the window next to the hostess station, arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to look casual.

“She’s here.” I can’t hear him say it, but I can read his lips as he directs the statement to the short, skinny man at the hostess station. He stands taller and slides his hands into his pockets, then pulls them right back out. His face flushes. He must be unsure of what to do with his hands.

“Elizabeth!” He waves me over as though I might not have seen him. Trying my best not to limp, I make my way through a large group also waiting for tables. Good thing I iced my knee after all that walking Rose and I did while shopping today.

“Booth okay?” our host asks, looking directly at me. I nod as Peter awkwardly puts his arm around me. The feeling of his hand on my side feels foreign, almost cold, although his hand is warm. It feels nothing like Marshall’s hands upon my sides this afternoon. The searing heat of his hands and his heavenly scent made my blood boil and my clitoris sing.

We are seated in a booth near the bar. Peter orders a beer. I decide on a Sauvignon Blanc, which I’ve learned pairs well with Mexican food—Gavin was good for something. We both pick up our menus and endure a long minute of silence.

“Did you get a chance to listen to Jamestown Revival?” Peter says, setting down his menu.

I suddenly feel guilty. Other than a few moments this morning, I’d not even thought of Peter today. “No, not yet, but I definitely will,” I offer, wishing I had listened so we could have at least one guaranteed conversation topic.

“I know your taste in music, but tell me a bit about yourself,” he manages to blurt out eagerly.

What do I tell him? I’m sick of being single. I desperately want to be in a relationship, but it needs to be one with lots of sex to make up for the lack of it in my past relationship of four years to a man who couldn’t love me. I have feelings for a man who likely didn’t know I existed until yesterday and who I have avoided talking to for almost two years because I’m a blubbering coward.

“Nothing too exciting to tell, really. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m a manager at Beacon Pointe Resort, although interior design is my passion.” I manage to get all this out in nearly one breath. “How about you?”

“Well, I grew up in a small town in Florida. Once I graduated, I couldn’t wait to leave. After three years of college, I got my job at the Brewhouse, and I’m also working for my cousin at the absinthe distillery. My parents hoped I’d become a lawyer, but it really wasn’t for me.”

I swallow hard.
Absinthe distillery? Didn’t Marshall say this morning that he and his buddy owned it, or am I going crazy? Am I on a date with the cousin of the man of my dreams?

Peter’s face appears puzzled, and I see his throat strain as he swallows. My confusion must have read on my face.

Thankfully, our drinks show up, saving me from an awkward moment.

“Would you like to order, or do you need a bit more time?” our bubbly waitress asks.

“More time, please,” I reply and pick up my menu. “Um, an absinthe distillery?”

Peter sits up straighter in his seat, sensing my interest. “Yep. It’s a pretty cool job. Absinthe is made from wormwood and other herbs, including anise, so it has a sort of black-licorice flavor. Most of our bottles are 120 proof.”

I pay no attention to the fact that he just told me the stuff is knock-you-on-your-ass strong but instead proceed to ask, “So you say your cousin owns it?” I pray he will give me some indication of who his cousin is.

“Yeah, my cousin and a good friend of his do.”

Come on, Peter, give me more.
I will him with my mind.

“Our best seller is Sweet Sarah. It goes for $139 a bottle. We ship it all over the world.”

“Whoa, $139 a bottle?” I grit my teeth. No wonder the Lakeview Penthouse Suite is his room of choice.

Peter says nothing, just smiles.

“Sweet Sarah. Such a nice name for something so powerful,” I spit out.

His face sours a bit. “It’s named after the other owner’s wife.”

I realize then I’m not totally sure I have scanned Marshall’s hand for a wedding ring. Until yesterday, he usually appeared to be alone.
Is he cheating on his wife and taking his ring off when he comes to the hotel? Why would a man use his wife’s name in this way if he is cheating on her? The words he spoke yesterday at the hotel, “I sure have missed all my beautiful ladies,” flash into my head. Or could it be Marshall is the one who is Peter’s cousin. I can only hope.

Once we talk about his work (something he seems to know very well), he appears much more relaxed. He goes on about a trip he took to Brazil, and I find it just fascinating enough to stay engaged in the conversation. I’m relieved he is so talkative, since I’m feeling less than chatty this evening. I find my mind drifting back to Marshall from time to time, but for the most part, I’m enjoying Peter’s company.

We both ordered the fish tacos, which I talked him into having after confessing they are one of my guilty pleasures since I like mine drenched with sauce.

Peter pays our tab, though I offered to contribute, and he kindly declined. We walk slowly to my car, but before I climb onto the driver’s seat, I turn to him, hoping to feel something, needing to forget about Marshall. Peter opens his arms, taking me into a hug. The few seconds he holds me feel good, and then there it is—a kiss on the cheek.

“I had a great time, Elizabeth. Drive safe.” He touches my hand and smiles. I smile back but say nothing. We both turn, and I just climb into my car, surprised by the sudden jolt of disappointment. It felt good to be kissed, even if only on the cheek, but every inch of me screams with desire for so much more, leaving my stomach twisted up in knots.

***

My thoughts weigh heavy this sleepless night. I can’t shake the feeling that rocks me to the core.
Is it that my yearning for Marshall Roderick is so deep that I would let any, just any, man kiss me?
The very thought leaves me feeling corrupt, but at the same time, I have a foreign sensation—a buzz of exhilaration that alarms me.
Would I just settle for Peter, a man who is good-looking and interesting enough but doesn’t seem to light my fire? More importantly, he might be Marshall’s cousin. What the hell is happening to me?