Forever Writing You : A Second Chance Romance, page 1
FOREVER WRITING YOU
A NOVELLA
WHITNEY G.
CONTENTS
A note from Whitney G.
One
Two
Growing Season
Three
Four
Five
Six
Six & a half
Seven
Eight
Nine
Growing Season
Ten
Eleven
Eleven & a Half
Growing Season
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
First Frost
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Final Frost
Final Blooming Season
Twenty
—
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
i
ii
iii
iv
v
vi
—
Sincerely, Carter
Prologue
Fourth Grade
Forget You, Ethan
Prologue
Back Then: 7½ Years Old
Also by Whitney G.***
For anyone who doesn’t have it all together…
SYNOPSIS
A.I.T.A: My ex-boyfriend (& first true love) is about to get married, but his fiancée is cheating on him. I'm tempted to send him a message and let him know. Would that make me an a**hole?
Looking back, maybe I should've posted my question on the internet first instead of acting on it.
Maybe if I'd just minded my business and let him go as I did before, then I could've focused on my own grief and the sad state of my life.
Then again, maybe he shouldn't have responded...
A NOTE FROM WHITNEY G.
Dear Awesome Reader,
Thank you so much for picking up Forever Writing You! This emotionally charged novella is officially one of my favorites, and I hope you love Dahlia & Everett as much as I do!
If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you love or hate this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)
Sincerely,
ONE
Dahlia
My Dearest Dahlia,
I’m entrusting you with my most precious possession in life, something that I know will be in great hands: Blooms & Letters.
My mother’s final words stared at me from her will.
With tears in my eyes, I held the thin paper up to the light, hoping the letters were an anagram for something else. Something that could help me accept she was long gone. Something that could distract me.
Like maybe, “the seven figures in my bank account.”
The letter “v” was nowhere in sight, though, and I could still hear my older sister squealing joyfully about receiving the account for herself.
The “stocks and properties your father and I invested in over the years,” would’ve been nice as well, but they were doled out to my older brother.
He’s already wealthy. He doesn’t need any more money…
“Blooms & Letters” was her gardening business.
Well, a “gardener’s paradise,” according to the locals.
Set on thirty-two acres in the heart of Eads River, Tennessee, it featured an oasis of evergreen trees, almost any bloom ever planted on this earth, and a custom delivery shop specializing in bouquets. Not to mention the cafe and wedding venue that were tucked under its century-old oak trees.
As the youngest child, I’d grown up pulling weeds and planting by my mother’s side for as long as I could remember, but I’d always hated gardening, and anything I knew about plants was learned against my will.
Tucking the paper into my glovebox, I glanced at the garden’s main entrance, where large condolence cards, mylar balloons, and drenched teddy bears adorned the brick steps.
“We will miss you so much, Kate!” “Your green heart & thumb will be missed!” “I know you’re busy planting the best garden heaven will ever see!”
Braving the soft rains, I grabbed as many gifts as possible before unlocking the front door.
As soon as I set everything down, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
Aunt Gertrude
Are you at the shop? Do I need to refresh your memory on how to open it?
I’m okay. I can handle it.
There are sixty orders that need to go out TODAY, and you must prepare umbrellas for this week’s walking tours.
Oh, and adjust the roof panels before this rain falls any harder.
I tossed my phone into a drawer, ignoring its continued vibrations.
My mother’s sister was more obsessed with this place than she was, and I wondered why she didn’t leave it to her instead of me.
Needing a distraction, I printed today’s orders and spotted a familiar name at the top.
Everett Anderson?
No, it can’t be…
That name belonged to my first and only love. The man who still held the keys to my heart, even though I’d been forced to change the locks.
Hoping this was simply a coincidence, I opened the complete request.
Dear Everett,
I’m sending you these beautiful Southern red roses because I want you to know that you’re the love of my life, and I can’t wait to get married next year.
I’m so happy we met on that random August morning for coffee, that a random “We can share the last cookie,” turned into so much more…
The way you kiss me, the way you hold me, and the way you fuck me runs through my mind all the time and never fails to make me smile. (or soaking wet :-) )
I’m looking forward to starting a new life and a family together.
Forever Writing You,
Carmen
My stomach dropped.
“Forever writing you” was our line.
Sure, we ended on such terrible terms that I still woke up some nights in tears and wished we could start all over again, but I’d never written those words to any other man I’d dated.
How could he ever say them to someone else?
Out of habit, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to my mother’s name.
Before I hit dial, I remembered.
She wasn’t here to answer…
Ignoring the tears that fell past my cheeks, I picked up a pair of scissors and snipped roses for Everett’s fiancée.
As I measured the stems, the rain fell harder and crashed through the grated ceiling.
Fuck…
TWO
Everett
The Hudson Yards’ skyscrapers stretched their gleaming silver arms and welcomed me home.
Well, “home” for the last weekend, anyway.
As I pulled into my condo's parking garage, a black and grey blur struck my windshield.
What the hell? I slammed the brakes.
“Mr. Anderson! Stop!” It was a journalist, and he was clinging to the hood of my car.
I honked my horn at him.
“I’ve been trailing you all week!” He shouted, pressing a hand against the glass. “I’m not leaving without you telling me something I can report.”
“I could’ve killed you…”
“But you didn’t.” He’d read my lips perfectly. “Are you going to give me something or not?”
Jesus Christ. I rolled down the window and motioned for him to move to the driver's side.
“How excited are you about finally settling down and getting married?” he asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on!” He prodded. “Your engagement is the worst-kept secret on all of Wall Street. When exactly are you tying the knot with Carmen Reese?”
“Not until next year.” I relented with a smile, letting him snap my photo. “Before you ask, no, you’re not invited.”
He laughed, and I rolled up the window.
Wary that he might jump again, I waited for him to step onto the curb before pulling into my condo’s private garage.
I wouldn’t miss this world of cutthroat reporting on my every move at all, and I was beyond ready to leave. I was retiring at the height of my powers, and I had nothing else to prove. There was nothing else I wanted in this life except a family of my own.
Well, maybe some peace and quiet as well…
Taking the elevator to the top floor, I walked into the empty living room, where a massive bouquet of red roses greeted me.
“That was quick!” Carmen, ran into my arms. “Did you get everything done?”
“I did.” I kissed her lips. “Thanks for being patient.”
“Always.”
Tiny drops of blood dripped from her fingertips as she pulled away from me.
“What happened to your hands?” I asked.
“I cut them on your brand-new rose stems.” She shrugged. “I guess the florist forgot to shave off the thorns since it was a rush order, but that’s okay. It makes them more real.”
I was going to suggest that she order from the best florist I’d ever known next time, but I held back.
Not today, Everett.
Not today.
“Mother, can you believe Everett is
“I wouldn’t, if I were him.” Her mother joked. “Why can’t you start your new lives together here? There’s far more to do here than in East River.”
“Eads River, mother.”
“Whatever.” She scoffed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that you two already purchased a house for me there, but…It’s such a small town. What type of name is Eads River, anyway?”
I held back a sigh.
The mere mention of my hometown made the hairs on my neck stand up. I still spoke to plenty of friends and family who lived there—still clung to the memories like my best possessions—but I’d done everything in my power to avoid physically returning.
Everything to avoid seeing Dahlia Foster again.
“Well?” Carmen’s mother waved a hand in front of my face. “Is there a reason you’re going there?”
“Carmen wants to move there, Mrs. Reese,” I said. “It’s only fair since it’s the best place for her to homestead, and I’m retired now.”
“Ignore her, Everett.” Carmen shook her head. “I’ve gone over this a hundred times before, and she’ll be fine. Besides, how crazy is it that the number one ranked place for what I want to do also happens to be where you grew up?”
“There’s another word other than ‘crazy’ for it…”
“It’s fate!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me into my office. Then she whispered, “Make sure the movers pack up this room by tomorrow morning. My mom loves to snoop around.”
As if on cue, her mother joined us and walked to my bookshelf. She ran her fingers along the spines, stopping when she reached my high school yearbook.
Pulling it off the shelf, she flipped through the pages.
“Oh, my wow.” She fanned herself. “You’ve always been handsome.”
“That’s why he was voted Mr. Popular.” Carmen showed her the page that featured the homecoming court.
I was donning a crown in the front seat of a cherry-coated convertible.
My best friend since kindergarten, Leo, was playfully holding my “ruling staff,” and Dahlia was smiling at my side while holding a lush lily bouquet.
I didn't need to look at the page to remember how her raven-black hair fell past her shoulders in perfectly coifed waves, how her coffee-colored irises shone under the field’s bright lights.
I still recalled how stunned she was that everyone voted for her to be Queen. How she never truly realized just how fucking stunning she was.
“Who is this girl?” Mrs. Reese pointed to Dahlia. “Let me guess, Miss Popular?”
“No, she didn’t win that one,” I said. “She got Most Likely to Bite Your Head Off, though.”
“Her name is Dahlia Foster.” Carmen smiled. “She was his first true love until she abandoned him for someone else.”
“Oh.” Her mother clucked her teeth and slammed the book shut. “Well, shame on her for cheating, but I’m glad she fucked up, so you could find him.”
“Come,” she said. “Show me the rest of this amazing penthouse you’re leaving behind for farmland and donkeys.”
Carmen laughed, and I followed them out of the room, locking the door behind me.
I didn’t want them to find anything else.
Later that night, I pulled a blanket over Carmen as she slept on the couch. I adjusted her mother’s pillow and ensured my pilot was still on track for our upcoming flight.
Shutting myself inside my office, I took out the yearbook and carried it to my desk.
I peeled back the cover, finding folded pages I’d once torn out in a rage, ones that Leo had prevented me from setting afire.
Unsurprisingly, they were the other superlatives that featured Dahlia and me: Cutest Couple, Most Likely to Get Married, Most Likely to Live in Eads River for Life.
On her own, she’d won “Most Likely to Stab Someone,” and “Most Creative.”
I flipped to the last page, where the inscription she wrote me on graduation day stood alongside floral stickers.
Dear Everett,
I don’t care what anyone says about “young love” and how it never lasts. YOU are UNDOUBTEDLY the love of my life.
As my mother would say, you’re my “evergreen,” and I’m yours, too. <3
Whether you stay here for college or go to the same one as me, I won’t go more than a day without talking to you. Or maybe we could keep writing since my mom makes us do all the calligraphy for her top bouquet customers?
(Yes, let’s do that :-) )
Forever Writing You,
Dahlia
Ishut it before the unresolved pain could swell and swallow me whole.
She taught me everything I knew about gardening, and we were far from evergreens.
We were limited perennials.
Our final bloom had fallen off and died seasons ago.
GROWING SEASON
BACK THEN
Dahlia
Snip. Snip. Snip!
I glance at the camera that watches the east side garden, wondering what the hell that sound is. It’s too loud to be a rabbit, and if a deer has somehow managed to jump our new eight-foot fence, I’ll have to let him enjoy a few blooms before kicking him out.
Snipppp. Snippp. Snip.
The camera rotates, revealing a Central High School varsity sweatshirt and…Everett Anderson.
He’s the most popular guy at my high school, and as much as I want to act like his cocky self doesn’t deserve it, he does.
It’s hard to look at his perfectly structured face without getting turned on, without envisioning what his full lips would feel like pressed against mine.
He keeps his ink-black hair short, but he always let a tendril fall over his left eye. His dimples deepen whenever he smiles, and whenever someone gets close enough—which I never do—his grey and blue irises could probably take their breath away.
I snap out of the trance with another “Snipppp!”
What the hell is he doing?
He cuts sunflower stems, and then he moves to another row, aiming his scissors at the neck of a red rose.
Rushing out of the house, I run down past the vegetables and catch him red-handed.
“Why are you trespassing here, Everett Anderson?” I exaggerate every syllable in his name.
“Dahlia?” He looks up, smiling at me as if this is some type of joke. “Aren’t you supposed to wear a shirt under overalls?”
“It’s laundry day.”
“Good to know.” He glances at my blue bra, and I make a mental note to always wear a shirt from here on out. “Am I bothering you?”
“Yes, and this is private property.” I pick up a nearby pitchfork and aim it at his head. “Get off or else.”
“Or else what?”
I make a stabbing motion with the pitchfork, and he laughs.
“If it’s alright with you, Psycho,” he says, “I’m picking some flowers for a bouquet, since my dad is coming home to visit me today.”
“You mean, you’re stealing?”
“Borrowing. I told your mom I’d pay her back when I get paid next week.”
I eye him as he plucks a few more roses, wondering why my mother didn’t mention this arrangement to me. Then again, she gives away flowers to high schoolers pretty often, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Why does your dad need flowers?” I ask. “Wouldn’t he prefer a tree or some specialty grass?”
“He’s a clothing designer,” he says. “He gets inspired by flowers.”
“Don’t get those then.” I drop the pitchfork. “I’ll show you where the best ones are.”
“You’ve decided to be nice to me now?”
“Only because I’ve also decided that you’re going to pay my mom back by helping me pull weeds.”
“Deal.” He stands to his feet. “How hard is it?”
“You’ll see…” I motion for him to follow me through our cutting station.
“Can I tell you something personal, Dahlia?” he says from behind.
“No.”
“I’ve always thought you were the prettiest girl at our school.”
