Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(74)

No wonder she’d run.

No wonder she’d been spooked.

He’d become the very thing she’d most feared—someone who didn’t respect her ambition. Someone who threatened her dreams.

What kind of love is that? he asked himself.

She whimpered in her sleep and Preston felt a hot tear slip from the corner of his eye and slide onto the pillow.

“I can do better,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her head again. “I promise, sweetheart. I can do better.”

She sighed, flattening her hands against his chest, and Preston closed his eyes, his arms tight around his wife as he drifted off to sleep.

***

Elise woke up alone on Thursday morning, still fully dressed in her pink T-shirt and black shorts, her comforter wrapped around her body as steam wafted out of the motel bathroom. She knew where she was and who she was with, and had woken up with the heaviness of grief as her companion. Today was the first of two “Visiting” days when members of their church community would be stopping by her parent’s farm in a steady stream with food, to give comfort and company, pray together and remember Sarah Klassan with her family.

It would be a long two days, ending with her mother’s funeral on Saturday morning, led by the elders of her parent’s church.

She needed to shower after Preston and get dressed. She’d brought two dark-colored maxi dresses and a black cardigan sweater. Her family’s community didn’t wear traditional Mennonite clothes, but modesty—for both men and women—was still expected.

As she sat up, the bathroom door opened and Preston appeared in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, and despite the fact that her heart was heavy, she’d have to be catatonic not to note that Preston’s pectoral and abdominal muscles hadn’t lost a shred of definition in their two years apart. If anything, he appeared even harder-bodied than before. She suppressed a whimper as almost-forgotten muscles deep inside her body clenched.

“Good morning,” she said, finally lifting her eyes to his face.

A small smile played on the edges of his lips. “How are you?”

“Sad. Tired.” She cocked her head to the side and managed a very small grin for him. “Grateful for you.”

“I don’t know what to wear,” he said.

“Jeans. And a nice shirt. Dark pants and a nice shirt on Saturday. We’re not fancy.”

“We’re not fancy,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

“When I first met you, you would have said, ‘They’re not fancy.’ You wouldn’t have included yourself.”

He was right. “That’s true. But this is a part of me whether I like it or not.”

“Of course it is,” he said.

“And so is New York.”

“Yep.”

“And Hollywood.”

He nodded at her.

“And you.”

“Yes,” he said, “I am.”

“Is it okay if I call you my husband over the next few days? They won’t understand if I show up with a man who isn’t—”

“Of course you can call me your husband.” He crossed from the bathroom doorway to the foot of her bed, sitting gingerly on the edge and holding her eyes. “That’s who I am.”

Her eyes swam with tears, and she dropped her head, hunching her shoulders as her chin rested on her chest. His words were such nourishment to her starving heart, such a balm to her aching soul.

Reaching for her hand, he wound his fingers between hers and tugged a little, pulling her to him and enfolding her in his arms. She rested her cheek on his bare shoulder and closed her eyes, inhaling his smell—soap and warm water and clean man. Her lips rested close to the pulse in his throat and she imagined leaning forward to kiss it, pressing her lips against his life force and lingering there.

“I love you,” she whispered instead. “Thank you for being here with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

His arms tightened for a moment before he slid them slowly down her back and pulled away. He stood up and turned away, and Elise watched him bend over his suitcase, wondering if he would ever be able to return the words…if there was still room in his heart to love her. She hoped so.

An hour later, she and Preston pulled up in front of her family home, the Klassan farm, where several pick-up trucks were parked, and people were already gathered on the front porch. Not having been home during the two years she’d been in Los Angeles, Elise had no idea what to expect. Certainly she didn’t deserve a warm or effusive greeting, which is why—when her father leapt up from his rocking chair and jumped down the porch steps to embrace her—she lost control of the hard-won composure she’d finally found while showering and dressing.

“Elise,” he said, cradling her face in his rough, weather-beaten hands. “Elise, mein Liebling. You’ve come home.”

As he clutched her to his chest, Elise broke down in tears yet again, letting go of Preston’s hand and embracing her father—the prodigal daughter that had finally returned. She wept for their estrangement which had been tense, but never bitter. She wept for her mother’s loss and for her father’s strong, tan arms holding her. She wept because he welcomed her and loved her, and for so long she had pushed those she loved away, uncertain of how to live the life she wanted and include the people she loved. She wept because she was finally starting to figure it out…and it was too late for her mother, and she only prayed it wasn’t too late for Preston.