Without another word, I left him standing there, set my glass on the kitchen counter and went to grab my coat from the bedroom. When I came back out, he was waiting for me in the hallway.

“Please don’t go,” he said, his expression tortured. “Let me try again.”

“Don’t make this difficult, Cole.” I buttoned up my coat, my eyes blurry with tears. “It will embarrass us both.”

“Everything okay?” Blair appeared behind him.

“Everything is fine,” I said. “I’m just getting my coat on. I’m taking off.”

Cole took me by the shoulders and spoke quietly but ferociously. “Listen to me. I love you. I want a life with you, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have it. Somehow I’ll find a way to prove it to you.”

At that moment, I desperately wanted to melt into his arms and tell him it would be okay, but I knew that wasn’t the answer. If I did, nothing would ever change. “I hope so, Cole.”

He took his arms off me, and I shouldered past him, heading for the door, already digging my keys from my coat pocket. Blair trailed me all the way down the steps to the door.

“Cheyenne, wait!”

I turned to face her. “I’m leaving, Blair, I have to.”

“I know.” She threw her arms around me and held me tight. “It’s going to be okay.”

Crying openly, I hugged her back.

“Blair?” Griffin called from the top of the steps. “The oven timer is going off.”

She released me. “I better go. I’m sorry if any of this is my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have made you come over.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Then I pushed the door open and slipped into the icy night air, the tears freezing on my cheeks.

I hurried down the street, jumped into my car, and drove home. Thankful my mother was out with friends, I went straight upstairs, put my pajamas on, and got into bed, wondering for the millionth time why I couldn’t just give up on Cole Mitchell.

But then I pictured those blue eyes, and felt his arms around me, and remembered his words tonight.

I love you. I want a life with you, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have it. Somehow I’ll find a way to prove it to you.

I crossed my fingers and hugged my pillow close, desperately hoping he wouldn’t give up.

I wouldn’t either.

Thirty-Two

Cole

It had taken monumental fortitude to let her walk past me, but I knew using physical strength to force her to remain there until I somehow found the right words to win her back was not a good plan.

After she’d gone, I stood there alone in the hallway, wondering how I’d managed to fuck up so colossally in five minutes.

I’d just fucking gotten here! I was still wearing my goddamn coat!

“Hey. You okay?”

I turned around to see Griffin standing there. “Hey. No.”

“I saw Cheyenne go flying for the door. What happened?”

“Fuck if I know, exactly. I walked in prepared to calmly ask her for another chance and promise to do better, then I saw her talking to that asshole from the Mavs. What the hell is he doing here anyway?” I asked angrily, like it was his fault I’d messed up with Cheyenne.

Griffin rolled his eyes. “Blair invited him. He’s a regular at the bakery. New in town.”

“Oh.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Anyway, when I saw them together, I fucking forgot everything I was supposed to say and got all territorial.”

Griffin shrugged. “It happens.”

“Did she leave?”

“I think so.”

“Fuck.” I leaned back against the wall. “I need to figure this out. What does she need to hear?”

Before Griffin could answer, the oven timer went off. “I need to get that,” he said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He left me alone in the hallway again, and I stayed there for a minute, trying to decide if I wanted to stay or go. After making up my mind to take off, I went to say goodbye to Blair in the kitchen.

“Hey,” she said, glancing at my coat. “Are you leaving too?”

“Yeah. I’m not in the mood for a crowd. I’m really sorry if I ruined anything. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“I know you didn’t.” She shook her head, her expression sympathetic. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Tell me what to do, Blair. Tell me what to say.”

“I can’t, Cole. I wish I could. But it has to come authentically from you or she’ll know it’s not real. Cheyenne can read you like a book, my friend.”

I nodded. “Right.”

“Hey. Come here.” She opened her arms and gave me a quick hug. “You’re going to figure this out.”

“Thanks. I just hope I figure it out before some other guy comes along and gets it right with her from the start.”

She shook her head. “Cole Mitchell, you know damn well you’ve been the only boy for her since she laid eyes on you. Now go convince her she’s the only girl for you.”

I went home and watched the ball drop with my mom and Mariah, but my mind was somewhere else. Something Blair said had stuck with me.

Cheyenne can read you like a book.

She was right. There was no use trying to hide things from Cheyenne. She could tell when something was bothering me just from looking at my face or listening to my body language. And I didn’t want to hide things from her. Even if it wasn’t in my nature to show people my scars, I’d learn to do it for her.

I’d do anything for her.

The next day, I made two phone calls.

The first was to Bianca DeRossi. “Hey, Bianca. Sorry to call you on a holiday, but I was wondering if we might get moving on that window seat we talked about. If you’re not busy this weekend, I’m off the next three days, and I’ll be moving some things over to the house. Let me know, thanks.”

Next, I left a message for Jessalyn Wells, asking her for the name and number of the therapist she’d tried to recommend for me.

Bianca called me back later that day, thrilled to get moving on the project for Cheyenne as well as walk through the house with me now that I owned it.

“How’s tomorrow at ten a.m.?” she asked.

“That’s great for me. You sure it won’t disrupt your Saturday plans?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The following morning, I was waiting for her at the new house when Jessalyn returned my call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Cole. This is Jessalyn Wells.”

“Hi, Jessalyn. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

“Of course. So you’ve decided to speak with a therapist?”

I took a breath. “Yes. I’m at least going to give it a try.”

“I think that’s great, Cole. Really great.” She gave me the name and number of someone in her office that counseled adults and had done a lot of work with group grief therapy. “Not that you have to do that,” she said quickly, as if she knew I’d been about to protest at the idea of talking in front of a group. “I just wanted you to know she has experience working with people who have lost loved ones.”