Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

I turn to the location page, and my lips downturn. “The saddest part of being trapped in Scotland is that Maximoff and Farrow will never choose it as their wedding location. It’s cursed. So now we’re back to ground zero.”

Daisy raises her brows. “Your binder is overflowing. That doesn’t look like ground zero.”

Lily nods. “You’ve got a lot of stuff going on there.” She scoops a handful of M&Ms from the snack bowl.

My mom has a coy smile as she passes around full wine glasses to her sisters. “You’ve enjoyed planning their wedding.” She doesn’t phrase this like a question.

“Of course.” I run a finger over the possible guest list (still to be refined). “Must be the Rose Calloway Cobalt gene in me. Planning and organizing.”

She sends me a pointed look like I am so wrong. “You do know that I planned Lily’s wedding, and I despised every second of it.”

My mouth falls.

I knew she organized Lily’s wedding, which eventually became her own wedding to my dad when Aunt Lily and Uncle Loren decided not to marry that soon. But I always thought my mom loved the planning process.

“But…you’re…” You.

“My gremlin.” She gives me a look. “Do you really believe I’d have a good time calling florists, venues, and delegating out every last inch of a party? No, that you got from your father.”

I’m intrigued. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m more like him and a little less like you.”

“You’re not more like him.” She sounds resolute. Definitive. “He’s hardly the type to celebrate love, let alone organize a party around the concept—unless it involves the very few people he does love.”

Lily nods in agreement. “Your big, overwhelming heart comes from your mom.”

Into a sip of wine, my mom says, “Even though mine is hidden behind a layer of ice.”

So I’m a bit of both. My mom and my dad.

The knowledge warms me like the feeling you receive when you finish a very good book. I flip another page and skim my fingertips over tablecloth samples, stapled in the binder.

My mom watches me. “Have you given thought to your passion?”

I look up with a bright smile. “Yes. I’ve realized I don’t need one.” I explain my epiphany that I had in Scotland, and they all seem happy until I add, “Once the holidays are over, I’m going to ask Dad to work at Cobalt Inc. in the finance department. I’ll enjoy it there for a while, then I’ll bounce around to another place to help the family.”

Daisy chugs her wine.

“You don’t need a passion,” my mom agrees. “You never have, but Jane…” Her yellow-greens drill into me like I’m missing a glaring sign smack-dab in front of my nose.

“I don’t…understand.” I frown.

“Tu as déjà trouvé ta passion. Regarde.” You’ve already found your passion. Look.

I follow her eyes to the binder on my lap.

My pulse is on an immediate ascent. “No, no…this is just a project for Maximoff and Farrow. It’s not…” I stop myself because my aunts and my mom wear these loving smiles.

My mom deserts her wine glass on the crate. “You just spent thirty minutes telling us everything from food options to table arrangements. And I wish we had a mirror, Jane, because if you saw yourself, you wouldn’t be questioning anything.”

Everything slows around me.

The air whistles and my skin chills. Is it possible for a love of something so deep to creep up on you without even knowing? Without even searching?

How long have I explored far and wide for a passion that I could turn into a career? And here it found me…triggering a yearning that I haven’t felt before.

My heart opens completely. To possibility. A future. Where I smooth chaos and solve puzzles and juggle madness all at once. And seeing, feeling the spellbinding happiness of loving partners on their special day.

The image…it fills me.

“I could plan other weddings besides Maximoff and Farrow’s,” I say, hopeful, letting that reality into the air.

My mom looks at me like I’m her daughter. Flesh and blood come to life. “You can do anything, gremlin.”

Anything.

I choose this.

“Thank you,” I breathe.

I’m not sure I would have been able to see what was in front of me without them. I touch my watering eyes. Lily is sniffling, already crying. Daisy passes her a tissue.

My mom wafts a hand at her face, drying her eyes before they well up. “I hate you all. I’m wearing fresh mascara.”

We laugh.

“Speaking of Scotland.” Daisy tosses a chocolate chip in her mouth. “Tell us everything that happened with you and the spritely hunk.”

Spritely hunk.

I love my family dearly.

How do I describe Thatcher? I’ve tried to before, but this is different. We’ve spent over thirty days stuck in a house together. We spent a night trapped in a car. I’ve broken up with him, made up with him, and he’s still embraced me fully, without compromise.

I love him.

I smile into a soft breath. That much has been clear. But… “I shouldn’t need him so much, and I find myself aching to be swallowed whole too often to be healthy.” Setting the beer aside, I hug the binder to my chest and bend my knees. “I’m scared to love him, but God, I do. So infinitely and terribly.”

It’s a truth I’ve never shared with them. One I’ve become much better at expressing aloud.

My mom leans forward and takes my hand in hers. Our eyes close, noses near, and I hang onto every word as she says, “You’re not two halves, Jane. You don’t lose when you love. You gain.” She draws closer to whisper, “You have all of him.”

And he has all of me.

Not yet.

I consistently pull back on Thatcher.

Realizations wash over me coolly. “All this time, I thought love is a compromise of equals. 50-50. But it’s not…is it?”

She leans back and gives me another pointed look. “With the right person, they’ll ensure you’re always whole.”

A dam bursts inside of me. Freeing all restraints, and a feeling flutters so wildly. I rise quickly. Hurried. “I have to go. I have to…” I can hardly release the words into the air.

“Go.” Her eyes twinkle and she waves towards the hatch.

My pulse beats and beats, and I scale down the ladder. Cold air nipping my neck and bare feet.

“Where is she going?” Aunt Lily asks, her voice carrying behind me.

“To make a grand gesture.” My mom has to be smiling. I hear it beneath her words.

“We’re following her, right?” Aunt Daisy asks, hopeful.

“Grab your coats,” my mom tells them as I drop down to the soft grass. Snow melted a few days ago, and I sprint.

Really, it’s a light jog.

I head down the driveway into the cul-de-sac and race up the neighborhood street. Gated and safe, no irksome bodyguard named Tony needed.

Cold slices my lungs, and I keep pace, reaching the long, winding driveway of the Cobalt Estate. My childhood home.

Naked tulip trees frame the driveway, and I take a single breath before ascending the path. Thatcher was invited to an Outlander marathon with Eliot and Audrey. Since he was off-duty tonight, he agreed to go. I love that he’s spending time with my siblings like they’re his own.

Sentiments whirl around me. Fuel me.

I run harder.

I’m out of breath as I reach the ornate fountain that guards a castle-like mansion. Icicles drip off the stone fountain, but its not frozen solid. The sound of rushing water calms my spinning brain, and I text Thatcher to meet me outside.

Fifteen seconds later, the door swings open, and Thatcher emerges, all six-foot-seven of him. Bold and quiet and assertive.

“Thatcher,” I greet deeply.

“Jane,” he says just as fully. He assesses me in a sweep. Lingering on my bare feet, pajamas, and lack of co

at in the winter. He’s already removing his brown leather jacket while he closes the door behind him.

I can barely contain what aches and pleads to explode out of me. My breath smokes the air as he approaches. Towering above.

I crane my neck to look up.

He stares down and places his warm jacket on my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I breathe, slipping my arms through the big sleeves that engulf my frame. I hug the jacket around me, his scent dizzying. “I just…” I inhale. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”

A sliver of space separates him from me. Tension beckoning us to draw skin-to-skin. Neither crosses the distance, because once we do this will turn into raw, desperate passion. Our lips together, bodies fused—and right now, words must come first.

He seizes my gaze, with me to the end. Ready for whatever grenade I toss, but this one won’t blow us to pieces.

And I gush, “I need you. I need you like the air I breathe, and I want you like ground beneath my feet. I’m not afraid—I’m not afraid, not even a little. You are the man who has respected all of who I am and protected every little piece of me.”