Nate and I could never go back to what we were. And though, when I got on that plane to Seattle, I mourned for the future we would never have, the bigger part of me knew I needed to focus on my road. My plans had sat idle long enough.
Reid and I had spoken once before I decided to take the job. He was in London recording a new album. That conversation lasted two days. And though it was on the edge of my tongue, I chose not to tell him about ending my relationship with Nate until I had some time for myself without the burden of my emotions in play. I kept it clean, knowing that any sway in conversation might ruin our newly rekindled friendship and lead to expectation I wasn’t sure I was ready for. We had years of separation between us, and I couldn’t help but be amazed at the man Reid had become. We talked about the band, our mutual love of music, my podcast and plans for it. He told me road stories of the people he met, and I couldn’t help but be envious, albeit slightly resentful that I hadn’t been a part of it all. But I couldn’t, not for one single second regret my time with Nate. He was a huge part of my journey, not a detour, and I knew that to be the truth in my heart. Reid and I left our conversation open-ended, the way our relationship had always been, and with wholeheartedly exchanged I love yous. He was a globally-known popular rock star with a bright future, and I finally had a chance to execute my dreams the way I’d always hoped. Our middle ground, as always was our love, admiration, respect, friendship, and above all, the music he promised me he would continue to make.
I fell in love with Seattle.
A few months into my new residence in Washington, and at the urging of my sixth sense, I decided to plant roots.
I spent my days working as an editor for a city paper called Seattle Waves—a job I’d been trained to do and do well—and my nights working on my podcast. My rhythm came naturally. Within those few months, I had cemented myself in my new surroundings, stomping the sidewalks with purpose, doing the legwork, and working off the twenty pounds and then some I’d gained taking the long routes. I spent some of my nights familiarizing myself with the clubs. I went organic, back to the groundwork of watching shows of the up and coming to keep a fresh perspective, while simultaneously interviewing veterans for my podcast. I set the bar high and kept competing with myself, coming out on the other side a better journalist for it. I was climbing mountains in my profession, but breathing easy while doing it. My footing was exact, and with my heart in the right place, my obstacles were few. It was both expected and surreal to be on top of my game, and on my own terms.
I knew Nate was watching. He told me so in a few emails. I had surprised us both, but in his last email, he made a roundabout comment that I had made the right decision. And though it stung, I agreed with him.
I kept my eyes down as I typed myself into my new life. I loved Seattle for several reasons, not to mention the introduction to my new best friend: fall. Real fall, where the weather changed with the dates, the leaves turned in color, and the Seattle landscape took my breath away. Though I missed my family and my friends, Seattle felt like home.
Despite my dreams to be a nomad, and the fact that I still put my suitcase outside my door every New Year’s Eve in hopes of an eventual passport stamp, I decided to buy my first house. With the small amount of success through my podcast, and getting a few ads from local vendors as well as a large, nationally recognized brand, I managed to scrape up enough money for a down payment. I spent weeks looking for the right place, working with a realtor, and searching online. And at 11:11 p.m., two months to the day that I had moved into my teacup-sized apartment, I got the notion to look for the latest listings.
Because no matter how hard I tried to steer life my way, life decided to reveal its own plans.
And they were nothing short of miraculous.
It was on that night that I found my house, a large A-frame that looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkaid painting. A cottage-style dream with multicolored pavers that led up to a house with enough bedrooms for the seven dwarves. I jumped on it. Taking the morning off at my paper, I made a beeline for it. Everything inside me told me it was mine.
I was full of daydreams about working the massive backyard as I raced through the streets to claim it. It was a little out of my price range, but I was determined to make it my own.
You can’t put a price on your dreams, and I learned over the years that sometimes dreams have a way of paying for themselves. Excited for my new adventure, I floored the pedal up and down the steep roads that led to the small town outside the city. And as I neared, my nerves began thrumming up a familiar rhythm as my heart thudded with certainty. The minute I hit the private drive, my sixth sense kicked in, telling me I was right to follow the beat. A tidal wave of goose bumps covered me as the awareness hit.
Look up, Stella.
And I did.
Turning Page
Sleeping At Last
Reid walked me through our front door, his lips fused with mine, his hands in all the right places as I moaned in approval. He liked me vocal . . . most of the time. “I still can’t believe you were standing there!”
“Again?” he groaned as he pushed my T-shirt over my head. “You want to hear this again?”
“Every day. Every day,” I said, sucking on his bottom lip. “Forever.”
“It was Rye who was looking at the house,” he said as his lips took mine to silence me. I pulled away with wide eyes.
“You were just . . . there!”
“I told you to believe me.”
“Yeah, but you were right there! That’s not a coincidence, Reid. You were supposed to be in London!”
“It’s a small world with us in it, baby.” He grinned at me, his fingers working the button on my jeans. “So, let me get this straight. The Sergeants getting signed by Sony or the fact that you won those drums, or any of the other crazy shit that happened didn’t give you a clue?”
In front of the house, the other half of me, my future, was standing on the lawn, peering up at the expansive cottage with Rye’s three-month-old daughter next to him in a car seat. It only took seconds before his spine pricked with the same awareness and he turned to find me standing outside of my SUV, keys in hand and my jaw on the cobblestone walkway. His expression was priceless: a mix of shock and relief. Though he continually said he always knew, neither of us could have prepared for that moment.
“I almost had another stroke when I saw that baby in the car seat on the grass next to you,” I whispered.
“So you’ve told me a million times. Naked. Wife. Now,” he ordered.
“Still, you were standing at my house!” I said with breathless anticipation as he spread me out on the bed.
“Our house, and you started a bidding war. This fucking thing cost us twice the price, thanks to Rye.”
“Reid,” I groaned in frustration, “it was a miracle!”
“No, the miracle was that I didn’t strangle you the minute I found out you were no longer engaged and still hadn’t come back to me.”
The hurt was still there. A flicker in his eyes that had faded over time and lay limp, unthreatening, beneath the promise of always and the years of new memories we shared.
“I was working my way back to me, back to you,” I murmured. “I was giving myself some time.”
He hovered above me, naked and hungry. “Time’s up, wife,” he spread me beneath him and kissed a hot trail from my knee to my thigh.
“You bought it out from underneath me.”
“Just to get a proper first date,” he said, looking up at me while his tongue traced my sensitive flesh. “I had to make sure you didn’t run off again.”
“Leverage,” I said, tapping his forehead. “I was so mad.”