Be My Reason Read online

  I pluck a low-fat blueberry muffin from the rack for myself and a cinnamon roll for Emma, thinking how totally unfair it is that she never has to count calories like I do. And then I add more gooey fat-filled cream cheese topping to hers just for good measure. Then I head to the back of the kitchen and up the stairs to where Emma is undoubtedly tapping her foot on the ground waiting for my arrival.

  Chapter Two

  “Hey, Thelma,” I hear as I walk through the door to our upstairs apartment.

  “Thelma?”

  “Oh, come on,” Emma whines, as I round the corner into the small but impeccably designed living room that separates our bedrooms. “I know you don’t watch a lot of TV, but you have to know who Thelma is.”

  “Flintstone?” I raise my eyebrows at her in question.

  “Really, Lyn, you must get your head out of those business books and hang out on the couch watching old movies once in a while,” she admonishes me. “Thelma. As in Thelma and Louise. As in we are BFFs going on a road trip. Sound familiar?”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes as I place her breakfast on the coffee table and head over to my bedroom. “I’m taking a quick shower and then we can leave. I’ve already got my suitcase packed and ready to go so I won’t take long.” I shut my bedroom door as I hear her mumble something about Brad Pitt in a cowboy hat.

  In the shower I mentally go through the list of things I must not forget to take. My books and my notes top the list as I’ll be studying for finals in our hotel room when Emma is at the convention. Although I hate to admit it, being away from the bakery this week will be kind of a blessing. It will allow me to concentrate on studying for the last three finals I have in my on-line business classes before I graduate in a few weeks. I smile at myself. I will soon be a college graduate and although it took me twice as long as most people, I’m finally going to earn my degree in small business management.

  I quickly dry my hair, letting it stay in long, loose waves. I put on some mascara and lip gloss and dress in something semi-professional because I will have to accompany Emma to the convention today since our hotel room won’t be ready until after three o’clock.

  After we struggle to get our bags down the stairs, I can’t help but poke my head around the corner into the bakery kitchen and look longingly through the window to the front at the morning crowd that has started to trickle in. “Don’t even think about it, Lyn.” She grabs the strap of my bag and pulls me along. “We have to leave now if we want to make it in time for the keynote speaker.”

  I reluctantly follow her out the back door. “Tell me again why I’m going to a design and build convention with you when I own a bakery?”

  “Because you love me and you want to support your BFF who happens to be the best corporate interior designer in Savannah.” She smiles brightly with her chin up.

  “Oh, you mean there is more than one?” I tease.

  “Bitch.” She slaps my arm playfully. “Plus you know I won’t know a single person there so I need you for moral support and after-hours fun so I don’t sit and stare at the walls of the hotel room.”

  As we pack our bags into the trunk of her car and head out, I think about what she said. She doesn’t need moral support. My best friend does not know any strangers and with her looks, she would not be at a loss for people wanting to hang out with her. I think it is just an excuse to get me away from work for a while and ‘let loose’ as she says. I guess I’m okay with this, as long as she doesn’t expect me to ‘let loose’ the way that she does. Emma doesn’t date men. She sleeps with them and then moves on. She never seems to develop feelings for any of them and she seems completely okay with that. I, on the other hand, am quite the opposite. I couldn’t imagine going from one guy to the next and never having a connection with them. I’ve slept with two guys in my life and that’s one too many if you ask me.

  As we head toward the Interstate, we inevitably pass the dirt road the leads to The Bend, a place I haven’t visited in eight years and never plan to set foot on again.

  Emma looks over at me sympathetically. “What?” I snap at her.

  “Nothing. I was just wondering if it still bothers you to drive by this place.”

  Maybe I do drive out of my way sometimes to avoid it. Okay, if I’m being honest, I take the beltway in the opposite direction, twenty minutes out of the way, to the only other road that gets me to my parents’ house. “Not in the slightest,” I lie and take a few silent deep breaths.

  “Mmm hmm,” she mumbles. “That’s why you won’t open your eyes right now or look over in that direction. Oh, and your fingers are turning white from the way you are squeezing the seat.”

  “Hmmpf,” is all the response she gets from me. “I think I’m going to crash for a little bit.” I close my eyes and drift off, trying not to think of a certain dirty-blonde-haired boy who loved to play baseball.

  We make the four-hour drive to Raleigh in record time, only stopping once for gas and a drive-thru burger that will add two miles to my run tomorrow. We switch drivers at the gas station so that Emma can freshen up before reaching our destination. We arrive just in time for her to see the speaker she was talking about. But only if I drop her off at the front so she can run in while I navigate the massive parking lot to find a spot.

  “This thing lasts about two hours. Go to the main hall to browse the exhibits and I’ll text you after my session so we can meet up.” She hops out of the car and hurries into the huge convention hall.

  I drive down row after long row of cars to finally find a spot about a half-mile from the building. “Are there really this many designers and architects?” I say out loud to myself.

  After pulling into the spot, making sure to leave plenty of room on either side, lest Emma kill me about getting a ding in her ‘baby’, I pull out my phone and send a text to Michael.

  Me: Made it to Raleigh. Miss you already.

  I’m about halfway to the convention hall when my phone chirps at me.

  Michael: Glad you are safe. Miss you too. Bed will feel lonely tonight.

  Me: Only four nights. We’ll make up properly on Friday.

  Michael: Looking forward to it. On call, have to go. Call me later tonight. Love you.

  Inside the huge convention hall, I follow the signs to the conference wondering what I will do to keep myself busy for a few hours. I settle on people-watching. It is always good to help pass the time. Many of the people here are dressed professionally, which is why I’m wearing my black pencil skirt and light-pink fitted blouse to try and look like I belong. Emma once told me that interior designers are very big on appearances because if they don’t look like a million bucks, how would a client think they could design something that does? Who can argue with that logic? I have no trouble distinguishing the architects from the designers—it seems the architects didn’t get the memo on the dress code. They are mostly on the casual side, some even donning t-shirts and jeans.

  One such guy I see over by the hallway to the restrooms. I can only see the back of him, and what a nice back side he has. He is leaning in and kissing a beautiful redheaded woman, who herself is impeccably dressed. I look around to see if anyone else notices this inappropriate behavior but apparently I am the only people-watcher at the moment.

  I move across the massive hall, far away from Mr. Inappropriate-nice-ass and spot a table of baked goods. Oh, this I can handle. It is a small but tastefully done banquet table with displays of hundreds of bite-sized goodies such as cupcakes, petit fours and miniature cookies. I reach for a red velvet cupcake and roll my eyes at the fleeting memory of the night it became my favorite confection. I brace myself for the sweet vanilla taste with that hint of chocolate and gooey cream cheese frosting, then I silently curse when I pop a piece in my mouth and it doesn’t fulfill my expectations. Ick, this is bad. I should know. It took years for me to perfect my own recipe so I know a good red velvet cake when I taste one. And this is not it.

  Inspiration strikes me as I look at the sumptuo
us display. I should start catering. There are plenty of places like this in Savannah. Well, maybe not this big, but on a smaller scale. I have already planned on trying to find investors to help me expand my business as soon as I graduate. I would love to hire another person and perhaps get another location. Maybe catering could fit into this plan as well.

  I pitch the rest of the unfinished cupcake into the nearest bin and go in search of a bottle of water to wash the taste from my mouth. I see a drink station across the main hall and make my way over there, taking time to peruse some of the design displays set up in booths. Along the way, I once again see the back of Mr. Nice-ass as he is rubbing his hands up and down the arms of that bimbo. Uh, wait, no . . . new bimbo. This one is blonde. Damn, he is really working this place. I must get a look at his face and maybe introduce him to Emma. He is definitely her type.

  Mr. Playboy and Blondie disappear to God knows where, I really don’t want to know, and I decide to kill some time listening to my iPod and reading one of my textbooks. I get lost in the music and my studies for a while and am startled when Emma kicks at my toe, pulling me from my academic trance. I look up at her and she is all giddy. Emma, giddy? And she is standing next to a really cute guy.

  “Lyn,” she says, as I pull the buds from my ears, “meet Graham. He is a junior partner at an architectural firm here in Raleigh and he has agreed to show us around while we are in town.” Her eyes widen as she stares me down and I know she is silently willing me to go along with this. “He said there is this great place to eat called the Angus Barn.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lyn,” he says. “Emma tells me you aren’t in the business but that you own a bakery. That’s cool. And she said you are engaged. Congratulations.”

  He shakes my hand with a firm but gentle shake that doesn’t linger too long. Okay, points for that. He is cute, but not one of those gorgeous, model-types Emma usually goes for. He is tall, of course, since she prefers guys much taller than her five-eight frame, but still I would be surprised if he were over six feet tall. He’s fit looking but not too buff, has dark hair and a nice, round face with a good amount of stubble. Kind of looks like a big teddy bear to me, like someone you can cuddle up with and tell all your secrets to.

  “Um . . . thanks. Nice to meet you, too. So you two got a lot out of that keynote speech I see,” I say, smiling and shaking my head at my friend and her new boy toy.

  Graham laughs and says, “People mainly come to these things to make business connections. We could care less about the speakers and workshops, but we go because our employers expect us to.”

  “Graham and his partner have a lot of connections on the East Coast so I think it would be great for me to hang out with them some while we are here,” she says, looking down at me with puppy-dog eyes. Who is this creature and what has she done with my best friend?

  “Them?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Yeah. Graham is going to bring his partner to dinner.” She holds her hand up to stop my next words. “Don’t worry, it’s not a date or anything, it’s just work stuff.”

  “Lyn,” Graham adds, “it’s nothing to worry about. This is purely platonic.”

  I’m not worried. First, I’m engaged. Second, I know Emma would never try to hook me up simply so she could. It’s just that I’m not exactly comfortable with strangers and what could I possibly have in common with a junior partner in architecture?

  “Anyway, he doesn’t, um . . . date.” He blushes slightly.

  “Oh, he’s married?” I question. I guess we could talk about our significant others.

  He shakes his head.

  “Gay?” I ask, my eyes widening. Maybe we could talk clothes and shoes and who won best dressed at the Oscars?

  He shakes his head again. “Uh . . . he’s kind of a player. But you have nothing to worry about being that you’re engaged and unavailable. He will probably grab a quick bite with us and then head out to see whoever he picked up today.” He says looking embarrassed for his friend.

  “Sounds like a winner.” And a perfect guy for Emma. Maybe she should dump Mr. Polite-teddy-bear and go after his friend.

  “He really is great. Just misguided I’d say.” He shrugs. “Well, I have to get on to my next workshop. It was nice meeting you, Lyn and I’ll see you two later tonight.” He walks away and winks at Emma as she shamelessly watches every step he takes across the expansive room.

  I wave my hand in front of her face to get her attention. “What has gotten into you, Emma? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you drool over a man before. I may have to get a mop over here to clean up this puddle you’ve made.”

  She swats my arm and says, “He is seriously hot. And smart . . . really smart. He has great ideas about how design and architecture work together. He’s running a class on it later this week. That reminds me, I have to go change my schedule.” She sighs. “Shit, Lyn, I may be in love,” she teases.

  “Yeah, that’ll be the day. You’ve never even given a guy your phone number, let alone a second date.” I shake my head at the thought. I love Emma to death and she is seriously smart—as in she tested at the genius level in tenth grade—but she is the queen of love ‘em and leave ‘em.

  She looks at me like the cat that ate the canary.

  “What?” I ask her.

  “I may have already given him my number,” she says. Then she tucks her lips into her mouth and scrunches her eyebrows.

  She did not. “You did not!”

  “Yup,” she says.

  “Wow!” I’m dumbstruck. I nod my head and say, “I’m so proud of you Emma Crawford. What a big step for womankind.” I look around almost sad for all of the guys at this conference that won’t get to brag to their friends about the things they did with my BFF this week.

  “Ha. We’ll see. Right now I have to get to my next session. This one only lasts forty-five minutes and then I’m done for today.” She starts to walk away before she adds, “I’ll meet you right here after, okay?” I nod and open up my book again when my phone chirps.

  A text from Kaitlyn. I smile. I wasn’t going to check in with her for another—I check my watch—fifteen minutes.

  Kaitlyn: Just letting u know b4 u bombard me with ur worried texts and calls that everything is going great. Good morning crowd today. Delivery went well. No need to call, I got this!!!

  Me: K you are my absolute favorite employee. Remind me to take you to dinner when I get back. Hugs

  Kaitlyn: Lyn, I’m your ONLY employee so that doesn’t hold a lot of weight. U know I love u and I’ll take u up on that dinner. Later.

  Thirty minutes and two chapters later, eye fatigue sets in and I check my watch. It’s almost time to meet Emma. I get up to find the nearest bathroom. A few minutes later, after I wash up, I’m walking out to look for Emma. There are a lot of people standing around now and I realize the conference must be over for the day.

  I’m wandering through the people, slowly making my way over to where Emma left me before, when my eyes catch those of a guy who is looking at me from across the room. He looks familiar. What is it about him? He is totally checking me out. Yes, my athletic legs look good in this pencil skirt. Mental high five. His eyes travel further north. Oh, crap. I realize who he is. He is Mr. Playboy from earlier. The nerve of him, is two not enough? His eyes reach my face and he stares at me for a long moment and then his face pales—actually loses all color—and his mouth drops open as he runs his right hand through a mess of dirty-blonde hair.

  Oh God, no, no, no. My heart sinks. I try to catch my breath and my hand comes up to cover my mouth to muffle the shocking cry coming out of it. I turn in the opposite direction and walk as fast as my three-inch heels will allow. I hear him call from far behind me, “Brooklyn, wait!”

  Oh God, that voice. That voice that has haunted my dreams for eight years. I walk even faster. I’m almost at a full-on run when I see Emma appear in a doorway.

  Her smile drops immediately when she lays eyes on me. “What’s wrong, Lyn?”
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  “I have to get out of here,” I say, flying past her. I look over my shoulder and see that nobody is following me, but that doesn’t slow down my exit. I have to get out of the building. Now. The walls are closing in on me and I start to feel sick. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. So I run.

  “Lyn, wait!” Emma yells behind me. Her plea does nothing to slow me down.

  I reach the exit, plow through the glass door and am temporarily blinded by the bright light of the setting sun but I keep going, unsure if I’m even headed in the direction of Emma’s car. I don’t really care as long as I’m leaving behind the one person who had wrecked me, scarred me and left me gutted unlike any other.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been running when it dawns on me that my feet hurt. I look around and don’t know where I am. I glance back to see what is now a small building behind me in the distance and what appears to be Emma, still trying to catch up with me, her stilettos no match for my more practical wedges. I slip in between two large SUVs and crouch down to try to catch my breath and absorb what has just happened. Did I even see him? Did that really happen? Am I sure it was him?

  “Lyn!” Emma is frantic when she finds me cowering among the vehicles. “What the hell is happening? Talk to me,” she demands.

  I’m bent at the waist still trying to catch my breath. I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down between my breasts. I hold up a finger asking her to wait while I compose myself. I close my eyes and hope that what just happened was a hallucination or some weird phenomenon due to being in a strange city with unfamiliar people.

  Breathe, Lyn. I grab a chunk of hair on the right side of my head and twist it. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five. I’m starting to calm down. I do the ritual two more times.

  Emma is patiently waiting and I can tell she doesn’t know what to do. She looks ready to cry. I need to tell her what I think just happened. I’m not sure I can even say the words. I look up at her and feel wetness roll down my cheeks. I whisper the two words I never thought I would say again. “Nate Riley.” And then I spectacularly lose my lunch all over the shiny wheels of some poor guy’s new Tahoe.