Page 145 of The Other Side

I open the door of my Range Rover, ducking in to plant a couple boxes on the backseat. I reach over to rotate my duffle bag ninety degrees, grunting when the weight of it sinks over the curve of the leather.

My fist yanks it back, and a couple papers slip from the open side pocket. I bend to snatch the stray sheets, my brows furrowing when I only recognize one.

The first I lift is the invitation letter for Brant’s dinner tomorrow night. The second is the back of a photo.

The back of a photo with Brant’s handwriting on it.

Remember how we got here.

Remember us.

Remember ... the other side.

I pinch my eyes shut, Brant’s words from that last day in Willowhart echoing in my eardrums.

He licks his lips, placing his palm over my closed one. His thick layer of skin alludes to the incredible man he’s about to grow into, and a piece of my heart floats away.

The summer wind carries it off, and my only hope is that someday, it’ll return to me.

The piece that’s hopefully reserved for us on the other side.

“I don’t ever want you to forget me, Callie. And even though we’re excited to see the other side, and we’re eager for a fresh start, don’t ever forget how we got there. Always remember us. This side.”

I throw myself into him, my arms rounding his neck. “I’ll always remember,” I croak. “I’ll never forget this side.”

My fingers flip the picture over, and my lips part as I stare at the watercolor filter over me.

It’s the photo he snapped when we visited the arboretum. My nose is tucked into the pink-purple petals, eyes and mouth beaming at the camera. At him.

He must’ve tucked this in my bag this morning.

There’s so much color. Colors that blend seamlessly. With gentle gradients and a delicate transparency through the watercolor. The garden frames me, and it’s no wonder that in ten whole years, this is the first time I’ve seen a grin that genuine from my face.

My heart glows with a halo of warmth, the heat spreading to my bones. I search the photo round and round, realizing that he never showed me the picture he took that day. I remember asking to see it, but he refused.

And maybe this is the thing about sides.

You can change location, but you’ll only get greener pastures if you water the plantation when you finally get where you want to be.

Turns out, the other side was within arm’s reach all along.

Chapter 43

Brant

I step on the asphalt outside The Larkwood Manor, greeting the teenager running valet. “Thanks, man.”

He nods, handing me my ticket. I place the stub in the sleeve of my wallet and slip the leather case inside my black trousers.

The heat of the evening sun strikes the exposed skin of my forearms. The building exterior is elegant and grand. A combination of classic architectural elements and lush landscaping.

I slip both hands in my pockets, my dress shoes tapping along the pavers. There’re stone columns adorned with mounted lanterns, and large, arched windows frame the entrance of the building.

My gaze locks on the center, and a flock of murmured voices brushes my back. I peek over my shoulder just as my hand reaches for the front door. I swing it open for several people to enter first, noticing the sea of long dresses and ties.

My free fingers absently adjust the meekly open collar of my white dress shirt. I was informed this was business casual, so I’m not too anxious about sticking out like a sore thumb.

I greet the black marble floor, and the woman in front of me half-turns.