The Exception(103)

“You’re lame,” Heather said in mock disgust as we stopped in the kitchen. Heather found her keys while I slipped on my sneakers. “Now let’s go get some coffee!”

We left the house, jumped into Brian’s car, and made our way into town. It was a beautiful morning in Chicago and we rode with the windows down. We grabbed coffee at Starbucks and then found a little bakery with all kinds of fresh goodness, ordering a dozen different things because we were indecisive.

“Will Brian care if I eat in his car?” I asked, peering into the bakery box that was sitting on my lap. “Because I’m not sure if I can wait until we get to your house.”

Heather laughed. “I’ll make it up to him, don’t worry. Give me one of those,” she said, pointing to a piece of coffee cake in the box.

The car was filled with that fresh baked scent as I opened the lid and handed Heather her slice. I grabbed a caramel topped doughnut with nuts and took a bite.

“I may move here just for the food,” I said through a mouth of confection.

“I can’t argue with that.” Heather wiped her mouth off on a napkin I handed her.

I took a deep breath, swallowing passed the lump that had formed in my throat. “Speaking of that …” My eyes darted to hers before looking back at the doughnut. “If I wanted to stay in Chicago, could I stay with you?”

Heather’s eyes flew to mine and I felt my cheeks heat.

“I’m not saying I want to. I just …” I searched for the right words to explain what I was thinking. “I don’t know, Heather. Things are just such a mess. They were a mess before I got here, I think.”

She sat her cake on the middle console. “You can always stay with me. You know that. But can I ask where your head is right now?”

I smiled sadly. “I wish I knew. I just feel like everything is out of control. I couldn’t control the fact that I had to come here, you know?”

I watched the traffic signal turn red and Heather slowed the car, coming to a stop. She looked at me.

“The last time I talked to you, you were worried that he was pulling away. Does this have something to do with that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel like if I don’t watch it, I’m going to be the same person I was before. No control of anything. At the mercy of a man and his life. Always worried about something going on, about things happening that I don’t know about. And I want to make sure I don’t get back to that.”

“And you feel like if you know you can stay with me, that will help ease your nerves?”

Nodding, I said, “I’m just trying to remind myself that I have options.”

She laughed as the light switched to green. “I’ll be your backup plan. That’s fine with me. Just don’t go deciding anything too quickly, okay?”

“Okay.”

We rode in silence the rest of the way home, Heather giving me some space to think, which would have been great if I could have concentrated on anything. I would start to figure something out and my brain would go back to Cane. In Arizona. With Simon.

And the internal anxiety attack would begin all over again.

We finally reached Heather’s. We got out of the car and made our way to the house.

Something on the stoop caught my eye and I zeroed in on it as we approached.

“What’s that?” Heather asked, taking a couple of steps ahead of me and reaching it first.

I held my breath as I got up to it, a beautiful bouquet of colorful roses sat on the steps, a white card sticking out of the foliage with my name on it.

Heather unlocked the door and I picked it up, my heart fluttering in my chest.

I kicked the door shut behind me and sat the flowers down on the coffee table, Heather standing back and watching with a smug smile on her face.

Finding the card in the midst of reds, yellows, oranges, and whites, I opened it.





My eyes teared up. I held his note in my hand and looked up to Heather.

“I don’t care what you say. He is a keeper,” she said matter-of-factly. “He may not be perfect, but aside from Synyster Gates, no one is.”

I laughed, sniffling back tears. “He isn’t perfect. Not close. But damn it if he doesn’t try.”

“Trying,” Heather said, her voice softer, more serious, “is half the battle, my friend.”

She gave me a wink as she walked out, leaving me with my flowers … and my thoughts.

I snapped a picture of the flowers and sent it to Cane.

Me: They are so beautiful.

Within seconds, his response came.

Cane: You are more beautiful than those flowers.

Me: Thank you, but I don’t know if that’s possible.

Cane: Those flowers won’t be beautiful two weeks from now. You will be beautiful forever.