Page 29 of Worthy of Sunsets and Second Chances

So last summer when she whispered those words on this beach in the dark, the most intoxicating, soul-crushing, beautiful words? Every piece of me wanted to scream them back, tell her she owned my heart, had branded herself to my tarnished soul . . . but I couldn’t be that selfish. Instead I broke both of our hearts that night, but Kendra thought I’d only broken hers.

The waves crash violently on the shore, fracturing a murky surf across the sand and warning of a big storm blowing in across the water. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head as the wind picks up. Lightning flashes far out over the angry whitecaps, and I know I should leave, but my mind summons the last moments with Kendra here, like it always does.

I transformed in front of her eyes from her lover to her enemy. What she doesn’t realize is that I’m also my own worst enemy.

Now, instead of being with her, I am drowning myself in parties and pussy. I thought it would be the best way to forget, but I’m a fucking idiot. I won’t ever forget, and now I just have a shitty reputation of being an even bigger player.

Leaning into it is so easy, because there’s no fucking way I can give my heart to anyone else. Kendra already has it, and she doesn’t even know. She’s not in Fox Grove, but it doesn’t matter. I have watched the sun burn the sky all day and fade into dusky nights for a year, begging for the universe, the tides, Mother Nature, God, even the devil to take away my feelings for Kendra. All that happens is a deeper ache in my soul, one that I know only exists because of how much I truly love her. It scares me, and the only thing I can do is take those feelings and lock them away. Toss them deep into the tides of the dark ocean in front of me right now.

It means letting her go was the right thing to do, because the monster doesn’t deserve the miracle. I’d tear her to pieces.

23

Kendra

Sometimes you make a piece of art so fucking perfect you just want to pinch yourself. This makes me happy. When the thing you planned in your mind comes together, and it not only turns out but turns out better than you expected.

When Lainey and Rem first got engaged, Rem came to me with a grand gesture in mind to surprise his love with—and of course he needed my help. Since the fire stole every possession they had, they wanted to replace things in the new house they were building with meaningful items. So as a wedding gift to Lainey, he asked me to make them custom plates and bowls for the kitchen. I was thrilled that he asked me and was eager to make something they would cherish for years to come.

My pottery is so personal, and each piece is unique, even if it’s part of a set. Rem asked me to make the dinnerware pale lavender, Lainey’s favorite color, and to incorporate flowers. The best part was he was giving me creative freedom on the flowers, saying he trusted me to “make them what they needed to be.” That right there was one artist understanding another.

I decided on a delicate, hand-painted wildflower pattern along the edges. Being overly ambitious, I not only made them large and small plates, but I also made cereal-sized bowls, pasta bowls, a big serving bowl, and some new thumb mugs that I have been experimenting with to add to my sales collection for Sutton’s shop.

The wedding is coming up fast, and I am feeling the pressure to get this done, stay on top of my other mugs for the display I have at Brooks and Books, and keep up at the salon. Totally shutting down all my sales I used to run on Etsy and just selling exclusively with Sutton has made my life slightly less stressful. I certainly do not miss dealing with the packaging and shipping. It’s been so hectic that I haven’t seen much of Bennett, but he’s coming over for dinner tonight, and I’m actually looking forward to it. The break from work alone and having some company will be nice.

“Knock knock.” A deep, familiar, and unexpected voice comes from the open side door. I look up to find Eli, with Wren in his arms, smiling at me.

“Hey, come on in.” I wipe the paint from my hands, the wildflowers on the last plate finally done.

“What are you working on?” he asks, stepping closer to look at my work.

“It’s top secret. So you have to swear not to say anything. You too.” I reach out and tickle Wren’s belly, unable to help myself.

“I swear we won’t tell anyone.”

“It’s Rem’s wedding gift to Lainey. He is having me make dinner plates and cereal bowls for their new house.” I wave my hand over the field of painted plates.

“This looks like a lot more than just a few plates and bowls, Kendra.” Eli’s eyes go wide taking in the other things in the collection waiting their turn to be painted, glazed, and fired.

“I know, I might have gotten a bit excited, but she’s my best friend. And after everything they’ve gone through . . . I wanted to do something extra, something special.” As I explain, I undo my hair elastic, gather my wild mess of blonde, and retie it into a messy bun on top of my head. Eli’s hot gaze tracks every movement I make.

I walk over to my sink, trying to ignore the fact that it feels hotter in here since he walked in. Washing my brushes methodically, I do my best to ignore him.

“I think that’s great. They will both really appreciate all the work you are putting into this. Lainey needs to rebuild her Kendra collection.” I spin back around to see Eli’s sad smile taking in my inventory.

“How do you know about that?”

“She bragged about her mugs all the time. When she moved into Rem’s house, one of the first things we did was donate of all his old, generic, boring ones so she could fill the cupboard with all her mugs—which were exclusively your pieces. They lost a lot in that fire, but I think that the sentimental things hurt the most.” He shifts Wren up to his shoulder and rubs her back. She lays her head comfortably on him, letting out a sigh.

Eli and I just stare at each other, locked in some kind of time warp. There is so much I could say, ask . . . but if we cracked open that box, there would never be a way to reseal it. I also don’t think my heart could handle the truth, the final answers, even after all these years.

And, I remind myself—I hate him.

Our bubble suddenly pops when a sharp voice says, “There you are! I’ve been knocking and ringing the front doorbell.” Bennett barges into the open space through the side door, and it feels all wrong. I immediately want to ask him to get out, but that’s silly. He’s here for me, to see me, spend time with me after weeks of our schedules misaligning.

“Hi,” I say with a weak smile.

“I thought you were making dinner for me?” he asks, and I can see Eli’s back stiffen.