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I told Sinclair that I love her on Saturday night.
We celebrated by crawling back into bed.
All day yesterday was devoted to going through many of the things in my grandmother’s bedroom.
I found a few treasures. Sinclair did, too, including a host of photographs that she’ll include in the book.
We discussed it.
If Berk turns her down, she’ll shop the project around to other publishers, and if no one bites, we’ll self-publish together.
Even if the only copies that ever see print are bought by the people who loved Denia, we’ll consider the book a success.
I race up the steps from the subway and almost run face first into a man carrying a briefcase. His phone is pressed to his ear.
“Jameson Sheppard?” he questions with a perk of his dark eyebrow as he drops the phone into his jacket pocket. “Is that you?”
“Mr. Waterson?”
My eleventh grade physics teacher hasn’t aged a day in all these years.
He laughs. “You grew up.”
I step aside to let a group of people descend the concrete steps. “I did.”
His gaze drops to the jeans, dark T-shirt, and gray suit jacket I’m wearing. “Are you on your way to work bright and early this Monday morning?”
“At Carden,” I tell him.
“The family business.” He grins. “You can’t beat that, can you?”
There was a time when I wasn’t sure if I’d find my place within the company, but I’ve given it some careful thought, and I know I belong now. I’m excited, and can’t wait to talk to my brother about it.
“How have you been?” I ask my former teacher.
“Good.” He smiles. “I’m still at the school.”
His brown eyes still hold the same stoic steadiness they always have, but there’s something else there now. Call it a spark or a glimmer, but something is different.
I drop my gaze to his left hand. “Did you ever get married?”
He laughs. “I can finally see that on the horizon, son. I’ve started dating a colleague recently. You might remember her. She teaches history. Glenda Runson… Miss Runson, I mean.”
I pat his shoulder. “Miss Runson is a catch.”
“Indeed she is.” He studies me. “What about you? I always thought you’d end up with Sinclair Morgan.”
“I love her,” I state clearly and proudly. “I’m so in love with her. I’m planning on popping the question soon.”
He chuckles. “I thought that would have happened by now.”
“It did,” I admit. “I asked her two years ago. She turned me down for a good reason, but I’m doing it right this time.”
“Something tells me she’ll say yes.”
“That’s what I want most in this world.” I pat his shoulder. “I need to make it to the office by eight.”
“Go.” He steps aside to let me pass. “I’m proud of you, Jameson. You’ve become an admirable young man.”
“Thank you.” I stop and take a breath. “That means a great deal coming from you, sir. You were always my favorite teacher.”
“But I taught your least favorite subject.” He smiles. “Good luck with everything.”
“You too.” I take off in a sprint toward the offices of the business my grandparents launched decades ago.
Today I’ll confess my truth to my brother and start on the path I was always meant to take.
I knock lightly on the doorjamb of my brother’s office to grab his attention.
He glances up and lets out a low chuckle. “You’re fucking kidding me. It’s not even eight a.m., James. What the hell are you doing here this early?”
I approach him with a cup of coffee in each hand.
I know his routine. Once his assistant wanders in around eight thirty, she brings him a coffee just the way he likes it. Since I’ve been paying extra attention to all the small details since I’ve been back at Carden, I grabbed two coffees on my way in.
I also texted Holden’s assistant to tell her to skip the coffee run today.
I hand him his cup.
His brow furrows as he takes a tentative sip. “This is good. You’re about to drop bad news in my lap, aren’t you?”
I sit in one of the visitor chairs facing his desk. “That depends on whether or not you consider a confession bad news.”
He fuels himself with another sip from the cup before he places it on his desk. “That’s dependent on the confession, now, isn’t it?”
I laugh. “We’re going in a circle.”
“True.” He smiles. “Spit it out, James. What’s up?”
I sit up straighter. I’ve been holding this secret for almost two years, but it’s time I tell him. I missed the chance to tell our grandmother. I’ll always regret that, but I can’t go back in time. The future is my focus, and I need a clean slate to get there.
“I traveled a lot when I left New York,” I say.
“I know.” He rests both hands on the top of his desk. “I do know how to access social media. You did a lot of sightseeing.”
