“Mark,” she said, drawing my attention from the regret swirling among my thoughts.
“Do you know what I do every time you leave?” I asked suddenly. I didn’t give her the chance to answer. “I make myself watch. I force myself to look. When I wait in the garage while you drive away. When you go inside the farmhouse or the Apple House or your office. When you climb in your car in the afternoon after work. I watch and I wait, and I try to get used to the idea. I try to get used to watching you go. It’s inevitable. You’re not meant for here. Kirby Falls is just a stopover until you find your way back to where you really belong. And I think”—I swallowed the roughness from my throat—“I think I didn’t prepare myself nearly well enough.”
eighteen
CANDACE
I try to get used to watching you go.
At his words, a film reel of Mark Mercer flashed through my mind. Patient, loyal, solemn-faced Mark waiting in a parking lot with his hands shoved in his pockets. Watchful blue-gray eyes making sure I got inside safely, no matter where I was. A steady, stalwart form standing guard just for me, in work boots and a five-panel hat.
All those gentlemanly gestures, all those thoughtful images, turn into something heartbreaking in an instant.
“Mark,” I tried again, reaching for his clasped hands. But he wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t want to be temporary or casual either. I should have been upfront with you. I’m so sorry. I should have told you weeks ago that I wanted to stay.”
It was like that final word was a key turning in a rusty lock. Mark’s head snapped up, confusion wrinkling his brow as disbelief warred with the hope I felt mirrored in my own chest.
I threaded my fingers through his. “There’s no job for me back in New York. I—I don’t want to go back. I want to stay in Kirby Falls. For months, I thought Joan didn’t want me here—until last night. But the bigger part was having my self-worth tied to some corporate job, an image, an idea of success that no longer fit with my happiness.”
“What does that mean?” Mark asked, his fingers gripping me back so, so tightly.
“It means I’m staying. As of twelve hours ago.” I smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I should have.” I glanced around the kitchen, looking for the words, the ones that had eluded me last night in the bathtub. “Honestly, I was a little scared.”
“Scared?” he wondered softly, drawing my attention back to him.
“You didn’t really sign up for a girlfriend. This has all been”—I paused, then swallowed uncomfortably—“secret. I didn’t know how my staying would affect that. If you’d still want me.”
“Of course, I want you,” Mark replied immediately. “Of course, I want you to stay...if that’s what will make you happy.”
“I think I haven’t let myself get used to the idea yet. It’s so new, and I have a lot to take care of. My apartment in New York, the rest of my things, buying a car. My parents were so sweet and excited when I spoke to them last night—when I asked if I could stay. But part of me is probably always going to worry about disappointing them or letting them down or making them regret sending me to such an expensive school.”
Mark shifted in his seat, sliding his bent leg between mine and slotting us together like puzzle pieces. “You have to know how happy they are to have you here, Candace. They’d rather have you home than a thousand miles away using a degree they paid for. They’d rather you use it right here.”
It was a truth that would take some time to get used to. For so long I’d told myself that my parents loved what I did, that they were proud of my career and the person I’d becomebecauseI’d gone away. Even hearing their reassurances yesterday hadn’t done enough to dispel those long-held beliefs that told me I needed to earn their love and affection with a high-paying salary, an office, and a big fancy life.
When I’d spoken with my parents the previous night, I’d seen the shine in my mother’s eyes and the joy on my father’s face. But believing it would take some time.
You couldn’t rewrite history without penciling in a little regret.
I nodded and confessed, “I know they love me. And I love them. Spending time here and working together these last four months have been amazing—just what I needed after leaving the city. My parents have always been supportive of me, and now I get to support them and the farm. Do you remember that day I told you about wanting to organize group tours at the orchard? And set up field trips and educational talks?”
He watched me carefully. “Yeah, I remember. The day you told me you wanted a family.”
I felt heat bloom in my cheeks, suddenly very aware of the things I’d revealed about my five-year plan to the man I was now currently in a relationship with. Ignoring my shy discomfort, I nodded. “I got so irrationally irritated at some hypothetical future employee who could potentially implement my plan someday. At the time, I didn’t think it could be me, but I wanted it. Badly. That wasn’t the first time I thought about staying in Kirby Falls, but it was when I realized I was lying to myself in thinking New York was going to be able to make me happy anymore.”
With a sheepish smile, I admitted, “I want to man the Christmas tree lot, and I want to be here in the spring and plant a field of lavender. I want to see the blackberries grow in the summer. And I want to do it all with my family...and you.”
“Good,” Mark murmured. “I want that too.” Then he cupped my still-heated cheeks and kissed me. His touch was reverent. It felt like gratitude and relief. Like he’d been up early trying to figure out how to break things off and now he didn’t have to.
He pulled back but didn’t stop touching me. His thumb stroked my cheek tenderly.
It was probably renewed happiness along with that same lingering relief that had me saying with little forethought, “I know it was different before, when we thought this was short-term, but what do you think about telling people now? About dating for real?”
Mark had been so worried about what people thought and how they might judge me as a result of us spending time together out in the open. And while I didn’t have those same fears, I hadn’t felt right forcing his hand when he was the one who’d be left with more gossip when I left town. Now that I was staying, though,I wanted to reassure him. We could face the whispers together. Despite what people thought about him, I knew what had really happened with Hannah and Lyndsey. And I wanted to be with him, openly, where my family and friends and everyone could see.
But I realized my enthusiasm may have been somewhat premature.
Mark hesitated, blue-gray eyes searching my face, before he leaned back in his seat. I tried not to see the distance he’d put between us as deliberate and meaningful.
