Starting Over (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

L
ife is all about the moments that make up the big picture. Some
times those moments can be as big and vast as a clear blue sky on
a
bright, sunny day. And sometimes those moments can be so tiny and
unremarkable that they slip through your fingers before you realize they
will come to mean something to you greater than you ever imagined.

I’ve learned the hard way that I need to take those moments as they come and try to shape them into what they’re meant to be. Because a lesson learned once doesn’t give me the right to make the same mistake over and over. No matter how silly or trivial the mistake is, I need to fix it right then and there and move on.

Take Josie and me, for instance . . .

After having one of the craziest times of our lives—a lot of that crazy belongs squarely on my shoulders, which I can now admit with no hesitation—we can look back as we face the new year ahead and laugh. Because it’s kind of funny when I think about it.

Especially that day a couple of weeks ago at her school. It makes Josie and everyone else in my family crack up when they bring up the tow truck and how I was put in drop-off area jail for a day. No, not a real jail, but with my car gone, it certainly felt like that.

And a lesson was learned there. Not the obvious one that I shouldn’t park in the drop-off area, but another, more important lesson: listen to my daughter when she is clearly right.

Thankfully, after she got home that day, we had a very long talk and aired everything . . . and I mean
every
little thing out in the open, no holds barred. As a result, we’ve grown even closer and our relationship has changed for the better.

The other lesson, which I’m still working on, is that I need to learn to be more selfish. This is a tough one because of the obvious issue of being a parent, and by default, when you are a parent, it’s almost impossible to think in those terms. But I’m learning.

The first course of business was asking Josie how she wanted to spend the holidays. It was with a very careful and wary voice that she asked me if it would be okay to spend some time with her dad and his family. At first, I can’t lie, it hurt . . . but I got over it because I could see that it was something she really wanted.

So after a long telephone conversation with Matthew, which surprisingly went really well, I agreed to let him stop by in the afternoon on Christmas Day. In addition to that, I agreed to his request to allow Josie to spend a couple of nights with his family to ring in the new year together, making this the first one we’ve ever been apart.

When she packed up her bag to spend the next two nights at his house, she was so excited. But by the time he came to pick her up a couple of hours ago, her face had fallen. My daughter was worried about me, and the toughest part about this realization was having to tell her that I would be fine . . . and I will . . . I am.

I’m not fine. Not one bit. I feel like climbing the walls.

It’s not because of Josie being gone . . . well, maybe just a little bit.

It has more to do with being alone. As in
alone
alone, without a significant other around to share my life. Because in the back of my mind, I know there is someone out there for me who I completely blew it with. And if I have an ounce of the courage that my own daughter had in facing one of the biggest challenges in her life when she met her father, then I should be able to do something about this.

With midnight quickly approaching, I pace back and forth in my living room while
Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve
is on mute in the background. Honestly, the show kind of sucks since Mr. Clark kicked the bucket and went to that big American Bandstand in the sky, so why I bother to still put it on every year is beyond my comprehension at this point.

Then the plan hits me out of nowhere. It’s a crazy one, but whatever, I’m just going to go with it. New year, new me, and a new plan. Because for some reason, it is suddenly of the utmost importance that
this
year be the year I kiss someone at midnight.

And not a relative. And not on the cheek.

I want a full-on slow and sensual, hot and sweet, rough and gentle kiss at midnight from the one man who I know can deliver: Cameron.

Without another minute to spare and giving myself no time to change my mind, I mentally hit the clock on the twenty seconds of utter bravery again to get my ass out the door and into my car. I may have to reset it a few times before I get to Cameron’s house, but that’s okay too.

I
drive like a bat out of hell down my street, blasting the satel
lite random-mix radio station and singing along as it plays AC/DC’s
“Back in Black,” getting myself all pumped up. Then the song switches over to “All Cried Out” by Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam. I’m singing along at the top of my lungs for the first few bars until I stop because it dawns on me that the words are so freaking depressing. My God, are they depressing and
sooo
not the right thing to be listening to right now. So I turn the radio off.

It’s just as well, since I’m about five minutes away from Cameron’s house anyway.

This time I don’t pull over, I don’t hesitate, I don’t stop anywhere but in his driveway and put the car in park. Taking a deep and cleansing breath, I hit the reset button on my twenty seconds of insane courage and step outside into the breezy and slightly cool Miami night and slam my car door shut with way too much enthusiasm, only to remember there is a fatal flaw in my plan.

I didn’t account for Cameron not being home.

His car isn’t in the driveway, and as the realization hits me, my heart sinks and the wind in my sails is completely gone . . . just like a snap of my fingers.

I don’t cry often, if ever, really. Maybe once or twice a year . . . three, tops. I’m a little bit of a freak that way. That’s not to say that I don’t let things get to me, and I may get a little emotional from time to time.

But with this development . . . it’s like a dam breaks inside of me that I can’t control.

I lean back against my car door and let the tears loose that have been lying in wait underneath the surface. It’s a full-body, racking sob that is so heavy it’s quiet. That’s how I know it’s going to be bad and a long, long cry.

I feel so defeated and wish that I would have come sooner instead of waiting all these stupid weeks to get back here to his door. But it’s not meant to be, I guess. I have to accept that and move on.

You’re an idiot
, I think to myself. Then, through my sniffles and wiping my eyes, I say out loud, “Or you can just come back here when he’s home.”

“Or you can stay,” Cameron’s voice says from somewhere behind me. “I prefer the latter, if you want my opinion.”

He scares me so much that I yelp out loud and nearly jump out of my own skin.

I ask him in complete shock, “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” I can see the hint of a smile on his face in the darkness. He slowly takes a step or two closer to where I am, then stops a foot away. “The better question is, what are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Is it?” He pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket and then says, “I’ve got plenty of time.”

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Two minutes to midnight.”

I comb my fingers through my messy hair, which I’m just now realizing that I didn’t even bother to brush. Then I look down at myself; I’m wearing a pair of duck print baby blue pajama bottoms with a white tank top and a gray cotton cardigan that has holes in the pockets, since I’ve had it for years.

“Okay, two minutes . . . I can do this in two minutes.”

“What is it you can do in two minutes, exactly?” he asks, chuckling at me.

“This . . . Cameron, I’m sorry. You were right and I made a stupid mistake. I have been miserable and have missed being with you and spending time with you and getting to know you better. I have been putting myself through hell for no reason other than I was afraid to let myself feel more with you than I ever have before, and I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want to be able to wake up next to you—obviously, when I can . . . you know, for now, or however this shakes out, that’s not really important—anyway, I want to wake up next to you after having slept in your arms all night. I want to be able to make love to you as often as I want and not feel guilty about the time I spend with you away from my family . . . really, Josie, but that’s another story that I don’t have time for if I want to make this fit into two minutes. Where was I . . . ? Oh, right! I want to see every single one of your geeky T-shirts that make me smile and make you look insufferably cute . . . and sexy, by the way. I want to draw every single aircraft and spaceship ever created by George Lucas for you so you can hang them up on your walls.” I take a quick gulp of air before I pass out from loss of breath from talking too fast. “And last but certainly not least, I want to be able to start over with you and fall in love with you if you’ll forgive me for being an idiot, of course.”

Cameron stares at me without saying a single word, with precious time running out on the clock.

“What time is it?” I ask and almost leap the last bit of space between us so that I’m a breath away from him. “I need to know what time it is.”

Cameron takes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen. Grinning, he turns it around so I can see that it’s one minute to midnight, then puts it away again.

“Yes! I made it!”

As if a domino effect is taking place, the neighbors on his block, one by one, start to cheer and count as they also prepare for the ball to drop in less than a minute. But he still hasn’t said a word. And it occurs to me that perhaps he doesn’t want any of it . . . or me. And this was all a waste of time.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Cameron,” I say, slightly embarrassed, and take a step back. “I thought that you would be okay with this, that you wanted to start over. I guess . . . I guess I didn’t account for this happening in my plan. I’ll just go home and—”

“Vanessa, shut up, because you’re right, I don’t want to start over.”

“I’m—”

He puts his finger to my mouth to keep me from talking. “I wasn’t finished and we have maybe five, ten seconds tops now, so let me talk.”

I nod underneath his finger, but he doesn’t take it away. He was right too, because now all around us I can hear his neighbors yelling out: “
Five, four, three, two, one
!
”

He wraps his hands around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. Then his one hand skims up my back and around the front until he’s cupping my face. Leaning forward another inch, he brushes his lips against mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. He whispers, “I don’t want to start over . . . I want to pick up where we left off.”

Then he kisses me . . . and it’s perfect: slow and sensual, hot and sweet, rough and gentle. Just as I imagined it would be.

Cameron pulls back, his dark eyes looking straight into mine, with no hint of hesitation and nothing other than complete adoration in them for me. And with the corners of his lips curling into a genuine smile, he says two more things to me before bringing me inside his house to really celebrate.

“Happy New Year, Vanessa. You had me at George Lucas.”

EPILOGUE

TWO YEARS LATER

M
y mom is the most amazing person I know. When she asked me to be her maid of honor a while ago, I was the one who was honored.

The only problem is that I don’t really like speaking in public, so I’ll keep this short and sweet and to the point.

It’s been my mom and me for a very long time; just the two of us. Then Mr. Thomas came along . . . oops, sorry! I still have a hard time saying Cameron,
or
stepdad.

Anyway,
Cameron
came into our lives and changed everything . . . for the better. Especially for my mom. The one thing more than anything that I’ve noticed is how they always bring out the best in each other and how they’re always finding ways to be cute together when they think nobody is paying attention.

Well, I’ve got news for you two: I’ve been paying attention.

And the thing I’ve taken away from all of the cute stuff and how they are with each other is that they are so in love and perfect for each other, and I only hope that one day I’ll find someone who treats me as good as Cameron does my mom.

Until then, I want everyone to raise their glasses to toast to the new couple . . . and yes, Mom, this is only sparkling cider, so don’t worry.

To Mr. and Mrs. Cameron Thomas . . . but especially to my mom, who I hope to be like when I grow up, because she is a force to be reckoned with.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was written mostly during one of the most stressful times in my life, so like Josie’s little short but sweet speech at the very end of the book, I’d like to give a special thank-you to a few people:

My editor at Montlake Romance, Maria Gomez . . . thank you for believing in me, for getting my humor and style of writing, and for being so understanding when I needed you to be.

Jessica Poore, author relations person extraordinaire at Montlake Romance . . . thank you for always responding to any little thing I ever ask of you and for being my kind of people because you love J. J.
Abrams and Benedict Cumberbatch.

Melody Guy, who I’ve now had the pleasure of working with twice and hopefully will again sooner than later. Thank you so much for all the time and effort you devote to my words and making sure they’re the best they can be.

To my closest friends and in no particular order: Claire Contreras, Sara Queen, Stephanie Brown, Dionne Simmons, Victoria Carballo, Mirelle Abraham, and finally, Lisa Chamberlin. All of you continue to be there for me in more ways than I can ever dream of, so I thank you for allowing me the honor of calling each of you friend.

To my little people, Belinda and Christian . . . thank you for being MY little people, and I love you both to the moon and back and then back and then back again and again . . .

And finally to MY Cameron, Tyler, and Alex all rolled into one: Kyle . . . “thank you” will never be enough, but I’ll say it anyway . . . thank you, baby, and I love you, always.