“There.” She pointed, satisfied with her decision. Under the tall canopy of a tree in my back yard, azaleas could enjoy bright morning sun and afternoon shade. “But you’ll need a bed for them so you can give them lots of water. John’ll be home later. He can talk with you about it.”
They were so kind. I’d really lucked out with them as neighbors. I known a bit about Nashville neighborhoods from my time as a student, but back in February when I’d woken up and suddenly decided I was moving, I’d basically thrown a dart on a map of the city. I’d found a pretty little house to rent, shipped all my stuff down and by March 1st I was an official resident of Nashville, Tennessee.
It had been interesting to see people’s reactions. Some thought I was crazy, and unfortunately, Penny was one of them.
“But, why would you go back there?” she’d asked. “Everyone’s graduated!”
I’d smiled and sighed, loving Penny but recognizing that trait in her she’d always had. She valued the social circle above all else, calculating every move to be closer to its orbit. I’d simply said, “I love it down there.” I knew she’d never understand, but I was through doing what made other people happy. I was 23 years old, and I’d almost died in the hands of a Columbian cartel. Life was short and precious. You had to listen to your heart.
“But everything’s finally coming together like we’d always planned,” she’d tried to persuade me. “Zander and I are together. If you just gave Trevor a chance, think how much fun the four of us—”
“Penny.” I’d stopped her, hoping it was the last time I’d ever have to do it. “That’s your dream, not mine. I’m happy for you and Zander, but the life you just described? It’s not what I want.”
Colt had been surprised and disappointed by my decision, too, but Caroline had worked on him to accept me as an adult, fully capable of making my own decisions. I guessed it was hard for him as the oldest brother, filling in for my father. He’d probably always see me as a baby, and he’d certainly had to worry over my safety on more than one occasion. But eventually, he came around, warmly if reluctantly wishing me well with my move.
Two people seemed to understand what I was doing and why without my even having to explain. The first was my brother, Heath. He was only four years older, but we’d never been close, mostly because we’d spent so little time together. By the time I was 10, he was off at boarding school, then college, then going off the grid in Vermont. He’d become a mountain man, preferring solitude and working with his hands to the life our father had marked out for him. He’d married a couple years ago and his wife, Violet, had certainly made him happier. He didn’t brood as much anymore, but he still remained a rugged, plaid-shirted man who could build you a log cabin in a week’s time.
“Do it,” he’d encouraged me, surprising me by calling me up to give me the message himself. “I heard from Colt you want to move to Nashville. Don’t listen to anyone trying to talk you out of it.” He knew all about wanting a slower-paced, more independent life, away from the weight of the Kavanaugh fortune.
The other family member in my corner, right from word one? My gram.
“What an adventure!” She’d looked at me with delight twinkling in her eyes as we’d sat in her apartment drinking—what else—tea. It was so much fun telling her about my plans, and my lack thereof. I knew I wanted to do interior design work in Nashville. I just didn’t know how to go about doing it.
“I don’t know as many people down there. I don’t have the same kind of business network.”
“You’ll make a name for yourself.” Her certainty had warmed my heart. I could see in her eyes how much she believed in me, and it helped me believe in myself.
“It feels like the right thing to do,” I’d admitted to her, feeling joy bubbling up from deep inside.
“I can tell it is, dear,” she’d agreed.
Now I’d been a full-fledged Nashville resident for over four months and working for a local interior designer for the past three. After I’d moved I’d gotten back in touch with an art professor I’d liked, and he’d put me in touch with a few local people he knew, and before I knew it I had a job. A low-paying, mostly following-orders-type job, but I’d earned it myself, based on my own accomplishments. Money had never been something I’d had to worry about, but I swear I wanted to frame my first paycheck. It felt so good to know I’d earned it.
For the first time in my life, I really felt like I could breathe. It was so liberating to not be Georgiana Kavanaugh, the youngest of the Kavanaugh family dynasty. I could be me, just Gigi.
I took walks. I bought a bike and rode it, stopping when I felt like it to buy a snack. I read out on my porch, sipping tea and enjoying the mellow sunshine trickling through the trees on my suburban street. I went out sometimes with the women I worked with, having a glass of wine and laughing about difficult clients.
I got to know my neighbors. I ate the occasional dinner with Jenny and John next door. One afternoon a week a nine-year-old from down the street came over and hung out, helping me with projects in the yard or weighing in on choices of fabric swatches or furniture. Her mom lived on her own and worked long hours. It was no trouble to help her out with childcare, and it felt good to do it.
Post-azalea consultation, Jenny headed back to her house, and I returned to my porch. Relaxing back into the swing, I let contentment wash over me. Happy, relaxed, there was only one thing missing.
I tried not to think about Dom much. But I wasn’t that successful. Every morning when I woke, I wondered where he was and what he was doing. I didn’t even know what time it was for him, or what kind of a schedule he kept, but whatever it was I hoped he was safe. I knew he had to face dangers. I just prayed he was somehow able to walk away from them unscathed.
I didn’t hear from him and I didn’t expect to. He’d made it clear, he thought the six months apart was a good thing. It would clear my head or some such nonsense. I was tired of people treating me like a child, as if I didn’t know my own mind. But I knew I couldn’t control his actions. He’d make his own choices. I’d told him I loved him and I’d be waiting for him when he came back. There wasn’t too much more I could do on that front.
What I could do was start establishing the life that I truly wanted. It felt so good to do it, standing on my own two feet, for the first time in my life asking myself what did I want to do? From that perspective, I could agree with Dom. The six months apart gave me room to expand into my true self. It felt good to make choices on my own. But the truth was I missed him desperately.
Night after night I’d awaken, shaking, heart pounding, glistening with sweat. You’d think with trauma like I’d endured I’d be reliving the fear, the panic of being caught and captured. Not so. It was Dom I dreamed about.
I’d met a few nice guys down in Nashville. The brother of a woman who lived down the street always happened to be over when they invited me to a backyard BBQ. He’d asked for my number. I declined, politely of course. I’d changed my ways, but not entirely. But the truth was I couldn’t be less interested. It had always been that way with men, at least the ones who weren’t Dom.
Finishing my tea, I decided to head over to the local nursery again and look into some planting beds. Jenny had mentioned John would help me out with one, maybe even build it, but it would be good if I understood what the options were. Later that afternoon I returned with several big bags of good quality soil. I was kneeling down underneath a tree, feeling around, deciding where I might want to plant, when my phone sounded with a text.
I knew the timing. Dom was away for six months. It had been just a little longer than that since I’d last seen him. But I didn’t want to live my life holding my breath, waiting, hoping he’d get in touch. It might be Dom texting and telling me he was back in the states. Or it might be one of my coworkers sending me a picture of a sofa. I had gardening gloves on, and I couldn’t be bothered to take them off.
Who was I kidding? Kneeling in the dirt, I peeled my gloves off with s
haking hands and grabbed my phone. I unlocked it, clicked to open it and read.
* * *
Dom: Is this the waffle house you like so much?
* * *
A photo came through of exactly the waffle house I liked so much. It was pretty famous and I guessed maybe I’d even mentioned the name of it to him once, but he’d remembered? And was he there right now?
Shaking, I typed my reply.
* * *
Gigi: That’s the one.
* * *
Heart pounding, I sat down on the ground. What was happening? I wanted to leap through the phone and jump into his lap and never let him go.
* * *
Dom: Are you in the mood for some breakfast?
* * *
Gigi: Sure.
* * *
That had to be the world’s biggest understatement of all time.
* * *
Dom: Want to meet me here? My treat.
* * *
Gigi: See you soon.
* * *
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I took the shortest shower in the history of showers, not even waiting until the hot water worked its way up through the old pipes of the house. Tying my still-wet hair back into a ponytail, I didn’t even bother with makeup. If the man didn’t know his own mind by now, the right shade of lipstick wasn’t going to make it up for him. He knew me, better than anyone else, and he knew exactly how I felt about him. What remained to be seen was what, if anything, he wanted to do about it.
He was standing outside the waffle house. In a plain black T-shirt and jeans, he just about took my breath away. So hard and muscled, confident but not cocky, sure of himself yet not egotistical, I felt like I always had. He was the magnet and I was drawn to him with a powerful force. He looked up at me with his smoldering gaze. I walked over and, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he took my hand in his.
“You like pancakes or waffles?” he asked, leading me into the restaurant. Only an hour before it closed, the usual line curling out the door had abated.