Sable Peak (The Edens, #6)

by Devney Perry

He strode into the room wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled up his forearms. It hung open, revealing a white T-shirt underneath that pulled tight across his broad chest. A silver and gold belt buckle gleamed beneath a flat stomach. His brown cowboy boots were scuffed and faded. Like the other Edens, he had dark hair and sapphire eyes. It was the playful grin that set him apart. The mischievous smirk on his soft lips. The sharp corners of his stubbled jaw and the twinkle in his blue gaze. This kitchen was full of beautiful people. He put them all to shame.

“Hey.” He dipped his chin, like he was tipping an invisible hat. “I’m Mateo.” That name locked into place for all time. Mateo.

He was the light. My light. The shining star that chased away the dark.

“I’m done waiting for you to see me.” I flew from the bar. I ran. And as I raced down Quincy’s sidewalks, I put my love for Mateo away. I shoved it in that locked box. And buried it down deep.

I’m done waiting for you to see me. I saw Vera. I’d always seen Vera. She was sweet. Strong. Her hair went wild sometimes and she’d get so annoyed she’d rake it into a ponytail with a huff that always made me chuckle. She loved cherry tomatoes. I hated them but always thought it would be weird to offer her food from my plate because that was something couples did and we weren’t a couple.

She was beautiful. Vera had a beauty not a soul would miss. “Will you give Allie a birthday kiss for me?” she asked. Sad. Tired. Embarrassed. But she’d still remembered Allie’s birthday. Because Vera loved my daughter. My daughter loved Vera. That meant something. That meant everything. I’m done waiting for you to see me. Something shifted beneath my feet like moving sand. Things in my chest, around my brain, rearranged. It was like a deck of cards being shuffled. There was before. This was after.

“You’re flying an airplane, Peach.” Peach? Where the hell had that come from? It had just . . . slipped out. Like I should have been calling her Peach for years. Like the way I’d started calling Alaina Sprout. One day she didn’t have a nickname. The next, she did. And Peach was Vera’s.

Clear and a million. Today, I was seeing clear and a million. “Will you teach me to fly?” she asked. Spend hours and hours with her, alone and above the world? “Absolutely.”

“And you’re mine. We are your family.” A tear cascaded down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb. “I love you, Vera. I fucking love you. I won’t leave you. And I won’t let you go.”

“How’s the weather, Peach?” “Better than I expected,” she whispered. “It started overcast and gray.” “And now?” She smiled. “Clear and a million.”