Grounds for Romance (The Coffee Loft Series: Fall Collection)

21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Devon

T wo words from Zara do more for me than the half dozen pep talks I received from my friends. They give me hope.

“Hey.” I press the giant head against my hip, my elbow holding it in place. “I didn’t break it this time.” Her lips flatten at my failed attempt at humor. This is no joking matter.

I sense the movement behind me. Stacy directs the hired actors to the waiting bus I rented in the parking lot.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

She chews on her tongue, her eyes filled with confusion. “But you did.” Her whispered admission rips at my heart. She’s right.

“When we met, I couldn’t reveal to anyone who I was. I had to stay in character and be someone else.”

“And I fell for that someone else.” Her arms cross in front of her, another barrier for me to overcome. The more I talk, the worse I make it.

“Zara, I—”

“I get what you did here today, Devon. I really do. You and your Hollywood friends scooping into our little ole town and rescuing the damsel in distress. Can’t you see you’re still playing a role? I have no idea who you are. Still.” Her words strike like fists. Each one pounds me further and further away from her.

But I won’t go quietly. “This is me, Zara. The real me. The one who cares about you. The one who made a commitment to help you with the pitch and despite me ruining us, I wouldn’t let it ruin your dream.”

The muscles in her forearms clinch. “You’re still missing the point. You don’t get to decide that. You knew how important this pitch was for me. But at the end of the day, it’s my pitch, not yours. I must stand on my own two feet and show the world I can do this. On my own.” She stomps a foot, and I see the head of steam building. I’ve been wrong, again.

“You called my sister but not me. You didn’t give me a heads up. This could have turned into a disaster.”

I don’t dare mention the half-dozen unreturned phone calls because, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. My grand gesture was always planned as a surprise. Another secret I kept from her. “Never. You’re too talented. No matter what scraps life tosses your way, you find a way to turn it into something beautiful—you always have.” I pray she can see herself the way I do.

“So, you decide to raise the degree of difficulty to test me?” She steps forward and smacks my arm. “What the hell was that last move? A few days ago, you couldn’t walk twenty feet in the café without dropping something. And now this? Can you see how this makes me question everything you say or do?”

She backs me into a corner, and I only have one play. “I care for you, Zara. I’ve never met anyone like you in my life. You’re fierce, passionate, and talented. I’d like a chance to show you the real me. I’d like another chance at an us.”

“A second chance? A third chance? What number are we up to?” she asks the question of herself. An indictment of what I’ve created. “You think a few runway poses can stitch up the seams you’ve torn apart between us?”

“It’s a start. And if any two people can stitch things back together, I like our odds.”

She turns away from me. Arms crossed again, her gaze stares out to the distance. “You’re going to be in a movie with Xenia. You’re going to be a Hollywood star. Red carpet premieres and parties on expensive yachts. That’s your future.” I pace in front of her, the need to see the expression on her face overwhelming. She nibbles her lower lip, hesitant to continue, but she does. “You’re handsome. And talented. You could be with anyone you desire. Why an overcaffeinated designer who has never even managed her own clothing line?”

“Because just the way you see my future success, I see yours. Our jobs don’t define us. I see a kind, caring woman who loves her little sister. Someone who I know will be just as loving to the special man she allows in her life. Surely your future self sees this?”

My words finally reach her. She lowers her hands, glancing at me. “Devon, I…” she falters, and I hold my breath. “This”—she waves her arms out toward the arena—“is a lot to process in one day.”

“Time? You need time?” She already has enough stress on her shoulders. The last thing I want to do is add to it. “Of course.”

“No promises.” I choose to ignore the resignation in her voice.

“No promises, just a chance.” That’s all I can ask for; it’s more than I deserve.

“Don’t wait for me, Devon. If some Hollywood starlet makes a move on you on set…”

“It’ll never happen,” I cut her off before the image buries its way into her subconscious. “I only have eyes for you.” I give her the assurances she needs. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait for your call. I’ll wait for you to cast me. To be on the stage of life next to you. Because being with you will always be my most treasured role. The role I’ve always been meant to play.”

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