Final Offer: Chapter 8

Cal didn’t give me more than a weekend to process the news about the lake house before he texted me bright and early Monday morning asking to meet up at Early Bird Diner for lunch. For both our sakes, I decided to comply.

Because Mondays aren’t bad enough, my entire morning before our lunch meeting is a complete and utter disaster. Normally my job as a Spanish teacher at Cami’s school follows a predictable routine. But naturally, given my luck today, everything has gone wrong, from a broken fire alarm interrupting my tenth graders’ final presentations to a first grader throwing up in the back of my class right before lunch. The only thing motivating me to make it through today is the fact that I only have two weeks left before the summer break.

I’m already late by the time I arrive at the diner, so the parking lot is full. I circle around Main Street twice to find a spot with no success. The town is beginning to advertise for the mid-June Strawberry Festival, Lake Wisteria’s biggest event of the year, so a majority of the parking spots are taken up by the mayor and his helpers hanging up promotional signs to entice tourists.

It takes me five minutes to find a place to park. It’s fitting, with how sucky my day has been, that I would find one right next to my failed dream.

The store has sat empty for years, the landlord unable to permanently fill the space for longer than a few years at a time. Business after business have tried to make it, but they have never been successful. Even a bakery opened here once, which was a whole new level of torture given my dream to open my own shop in the space. They shut down not even a year later.

What makes you think you would be successful then?

My throat thickens, and I turn my back on the storefront.

You have bigger issues to deal with right now.

I hold my head high as I walk toward the diner.

“Hey,” Cal calls, startling me.

I turn toward the direction of his voice. He leans against the brick wall outside of the front entrance, appearing completely out of place with his perfectly pressed white linen shirt and his custom-tailored pants. His outfit reminds me of the other rich tourists who visit, looking like they belong yachting in Ibiza rather than on our lake.

He slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to get a better look at me. “Cute dress. Did your mom make it?”

The mention of my mom has my throat closing up. Grief is a strange thing. It comes and goes, usually at the most inconvenient time, turning our lives upside down while we process the loss yet again.

I instinctively reach for the gold necklace she gave me for my quinceañera, rubbing the cool metal between my fingers back and forth. “Yeah.” My voice cracks.

“How is your mom doing by the way? I didn’t see her car at the house. Is she visiting your family in Colombia for the summer or something?”

My heart pounds hard against my rib cage as I halt midstride. “You really don’t know.”

His head tilts. “Don’t know what?”

My gaze darts toward the entrance of the diner. “She passed away a couple of years ago while your grandpa was still in a coma. Stage-four pancreatic cancer.” I’m surprised I can get the words out without my voice catching.

It only took you two years to get there.

For the first year after my mom passed, it was hard to talk about her without crying. Every memory felt painful—both physically and mentally. It took Cami asking a lot of questions about her grandma for me to get used to speaking about her again with a smile rather than tears.

“Shit, Alana. I had no idea about your mom.” Cal places his hand against my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. The warmth of his palm works like a balm, warding off the chill seeping into my bones.

“I thought you knew.” And chose not to show up for her funeral anyway.

His head shakes hard enough to ruffle his hair. “Of course, I didn’t. If I had—Fuck. I forbade my brothers from mentioning… this place.”

My breathing becomes increasingly difficult with every inhale.

“I’m so sorry.” His grip tightens. “I wish…” He pauses, as if considering whether he should speak or not. “I should have been there for you.” The way he says it with absolute certainty makes me believe him.

Our gazes connect. Something unspoken passes between us before he wraps his arms around me and tucks me against his chest. My body relaxes instantly in his hold, and a feeling of rightness consumes me. Any anger, frustration, and heartache from the last few days melts away like it never existed in the first place.

I know the relief is only temporary. That the moment he lets go, reality will come crashing down around me.

Just a few more seconds, I promise myself as I press my cheek against his chest. I forgot how right it felt to be held in his arms. Or the comfort that overwhelms me as I listen to the beat of his heart, pumping rapidly in his chest.

I ignore the voice in the back of my head nagging at me and allow myself to enjoy being taken care of.

Why do the things that feel the best always hurt us the most?

“What about your sister?” He runs his hand through my hair, making my spine tingle from the intimate gesture.

“What about her?”

“Is she…” His voice trails off.

“Dead? God no, although sometimes I go to bed worried that she might be.”

“But Cami—”

I don’t let him finish his train of thought. “Is mine in every way that counts. Anto signed the paperwork and made it official soon after she was born.”

His hold tightens, as if he senses me gearing up to pull away. “You never cease to amaze me.”

I burry my face into his chest. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course, you did. You just happened to make the most selfless one because that’s the kind of person you are.” He chips at whatever control I have left over my emotions as he holds me in his arms.

A car honks nearby. His grip slips as I jump backward, ending the embrace. My cheeks flood with color as I take a second step away from him.

His hands fall to his side before forming fists. Frustration pours from him in waves, hitting me in the face with the power of a blowtorch.

“Let’s go inside.” I turn toward the entrance.

Cal follows behind me in silence as we walk into the diner.

“Look who finally decided to stop by.” Isabelle grabs two menus from the hostess stand.

Cal’s cheeks turn pink. “It’s nice seeing you again, Isa—”

Isabelle completely ignores him as she throws her arms around me. Her salt-and-pepper hair brushes against my cheek, giving me a fresh inhale of hairspray and pancake batter. “I missed you last week when the girls stopped by for brunch.”

“Cami caught a bug, so I had to skip out.”

“Oh, no. How’s she doing?”

“Better and back in school. She didn’t want to miss any more days before the summer break.”

Isabelle’s brows pull together. “But it’s only the second week of May.”

“Every day matters according to Cami.”

She laughs. “That girl adores school more than anyone else I know.”

Cal clears his throat, and Isabelle looks over at him.

“Who’s this?” She gives him a once-over.

Cal’s brows rise toward his hairline. “Come on, Isabelle. You’ve known me since I was a little kid.”

“Oh.” She strains her eyes. “What’s your name again? Mal?”

“Cal.” He smiles wide despite his right eye twitching.

A few people look up from their tables. Whispers spread through the diner, making my skin flush. Isabelle saves me from any more embarrassment as she leads us to a corner booth far from the gossiping geriatrics on the other side of the diner. They might be far away, but that doesn’t stop them from looking over at us and whispering behind their menus.

“Could you all be any more obvious?” I call out.

Beth, the head of bridge club, looks like her head might snap off from how fast she turns in her seat.

“Say the word and we’ll kick him out for you,” Cindy, the reigning shuffleboard champ and Cami’s previous pre-k teacher, offers.

I throw her a thumbs-up.

Isabelle pulls out her notepad before reaching for the pen behind her ear. “What can I get you both started with to drink?”

“Chocolate milkshake,” Cal and I say at the same time.

“Glad to see some things haven’t changed.” His smile returns at full blast, and I look away to prevent myself from struggling with temporary blindness.

Isabelle scribbles on her notepad. “Two chocolate milkshakes coming right up. Do you know what you want to order, or would you rather I come back in a few?”

“Will you give us another couple of minutes?” Cal asks.

“No problem, Al.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze before disappearing into the kitchen.

“She hates me, doesn’t she?”

I only offer a noncommittal shrug.

“Why?” he asks.

Because you broke my heart.

Silence settles over our table again as we both pretend to assess the menus in front of us. I’ve been visiting Early Bird Diner since I was a kid, so I can recite the whole thing from front to back without looking. There was once a time Cal could do the same thing, although it doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.

My heart squeezes at the reminder.

Cal fidgets in his seat for a whole minute before gaining the nerve to speak again. “Do you know what you’re going to order?”

“I’m good with a milkshake.” I slap my menu shut.

“I thought you would at least order the most expensive thing on the menu just to spite me.”

“If I wanted to spite you, I’d aim for something a little better than your wallet.”

“Like where?”

“A kick to the balls is always a good place to start.”

His head drops back as he laughs. The sound is hearty and loud, drawing everyone’s eyes toward our table. Even I find myself staring at him. I blame Cal’s ability to draw everyone in like he is the center of our solar system. Because if Cal is the sun, then the rest of us are aimless planets revolving around him, tragically trapped in his orbit.

Isabelle must sense my desperation as she interrupts us with our milkshakes and taking Cal’s order.

I clasp my hands in front of me. “Let’s get to the real reason why you asked for this meeting.”

He fidgets with his hands. “We need to sell the place by the end of the summer.”

My heart rate picks up at the very idea. “But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Do you have the money to buy me out of my half?” The way he asks the question without a hint of condescension makes me wonder if he actually thinks I can.

A metallic taste fills my mouth from biting down on my tongue. “No, but if you give me a year or two, I’m sure I could figure it out.”

His head shakes. “I don’t have that kind of time.”

“What’s the rush?”

He swallows hard. “I need to move on with my life, and I can’t do that if I have this house hanging over my head like a ghost of summers past.”

My chest feels as if it might split in half from his words. “So, you just expect me to uproot mine instead?”

“I know it’s not ideal, but I’m hoping that the money will at least partially make up for it. For what that place is probably worth, you could get a new house and set up a decent savings account.”

“And you care about that because…”

His gaze cuts into mine. “I want what’s best for you, and no amount of time or distance will change that.”

I make a noise in the back of my throat because I don’t trust my voice. His words have the unique power to thaw some of the ice around my heart. Bits and pieces of ice break off, melting from the way he looks at me like I might still mean something to him.

If you did, he would have gotten sober and come back to fight for you.

He taps his fingers against the table in a mindless pattern. “I’m not asking you to move out tomorrow. You can spend one last summer there with Cami before we close on the house.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Do we have a deal then?”

“Stop making it sound like I actually have a choice,” I lash out.

He raises his hands in front of him. “I’m not here to cause problems.”

“Except you are the problem, Cal. Always have been and always will be.”

“At least I’m consistent at something.” He dares to smile.

My fingernails embed themselves into my thighs. “Have you changed at all in the last six years?”

“Of course.” He raises his chin.

“But you’re still drinking.” And using God knows what else.

There is no point in pretending Cal doesn’t have a problem. I already did that once, and it only caused me heartache in the end. It took me a long time to realize loving someone didn’t mean accepting them for all their faults, but to call them out on their issues because you care enough to not want them to suffer.

I was just too young when Cal and I first got together to understand that concept.

“Contrary to popular belief, my addiction doesn’t make up my entire personality, although my brothers and the media sure like to make it seem that way.” He keeps his voice light despite the tightness in his jaw.

“I know that.” Which is exactly why having a front-row seat to him spiraling was that much more painful. I knew the person he was while on opioids and alcohol didn’t hold a candle to the man I knew he could be.

He sighs. “I don’t expect us to pick up where we left off given our past and the fact that you’re in a relationship.”

In a relationship? What the…

Before I can ask, he continues, “But I hope we can at least be civil with each other.”

“Why bother? It’s not like you plan on sticking around for long.” I keep my face expressionless despite the sting of pain over my heart.

“About that…”

No.

“Since I plan on being very involved in the house sale from start to finish, and all the rentals around the lake are already booked solid from May to September, I’m going to need to stay at the house until it’s sold.”

Hijo de puta. “No.”

“You can’t keep me out of my own house.”

My fingers itch to wrap themselves around his neck. “What’s wrong with the motel?”

“Do you want the short or the long list? Choose wisely because we might be here all day.”

Deep breath, Alana. “You can’t seriously expect us to live together.”

He shakes his head hard enough to make some of his hair fall in front of his eyes. “Of course not. I plan on staying at the guesthouse. That way I can have access to the main house whenever I need it while still giving you privacy.”

In theory, Cal’s idea isn’t terrible. The guesthouse is located at the back of the property with its own private entrance to the main road. I could easily pretend Cal isn’t there, so long as we don’t run into each other by the lake.

You can’t seriously be considering this.

What choice do I have? Cal is right. I can’t keep him out of the house with him being a co-owner, and his idea to stay at the guesthouse is far better than him asking to live at the main house.

“Why do you need access to the house?”

“Because I need to pack up whatever stuff was left behind by my family, including that special little collection you mentioned in the attic.”

I almost feel bad for him. The attic is a hoarder’s dream, packed to the rafters with stuff Brady collected over the decades. It would take anyone at least two weeks to work their way through all those belongings.

But if he packs it all, then you won’t have to.

The deal is tempting. I never had the willpower to even try, so I might as well take advantage of Cal being here to free up some space and clear out the last bit of clutter left behind from the Kanes. Then, I can erase any reminders of the Kanes and make the house completely mine.

With the plan I have set in place, it might as well be. Even if Cal owns half of it, he will never sell with the price I have in mind.

I lift my chin. “Fine. But I don’t want you inside the house unless I’m there.”

“Why? So you can keep an eye on me?”

My eyes narrow. “Like I’d ever trust you around my stuff.”

“Probably for the best after that incident with your vibrator.” He flashes me a knowing smile.

My cheeks burn, the heat quickly spreading to the rest of my face.

You set yourself up for that one.

I slide out of the booth.

“Running away already? Things were just starting to get interesting.” His bright grin is full of promise.

“Bye.”

“Are you sure you want to go? I didn’t even get around to mentioning the time I found those h—”

I slap my hand over his mouth. Cal’s speech comes out muffled as he looks up at me with wide eyes.

I lean in and whisper, “Let’s get one thing clear right now. No matter what, we don’t speak about what happened the last summer you were here.” I’m not sure I would survive him being here if we do.

His eyes narrow.

I press harder against his mouth. “Do you understand?”

He nips at the soft skin of my palm, and I fight a full-on body shudder as I release him.

“Not speaking about it doesn’t change what we did.”

“I’m not trying to change it. I’m trying to forget it.” I walk away with an extra sway to my hips, earning a soft groan from the man behind me.

Cal: 0. Alana: 1.