Page 86 of One Last Gift

She reached out, traced the little silver chain with her fingers, remembering the moment he’d given it to her, outside Linda’s pub. Remembering how she’d thrust it back at him on that skiing holiday.

He was watching her, she realized. Watching her to gauge her reaction. So, without saying anything, she slipped off her coat, gave it to him. Then she turned around, holding up her hair so that he could get to her neck. So that he could fasten the necklace around it. She felt his fingers tremble against her skin as he clasped it in place.

She turned back around, tilted her chin up to look at him, and felt her lips settle into a soft smile. Saw his chest relax as he let out a breath—as, putting the coat to one side, he drew her to him, put his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back last time.”

He eased away from her slightly, gave her that crooked smile that she loved. “Say what back, exactly?”

She laughed a little. “Need me to say it out loud, do you?”

He shrugged, but she could feel it—the slight brittleness there. The worry he was trying to hide. “It would be nice.”

She reached up, framed his face with her hands. “That I love you. I love you, Sam Malone.”

She felt a breath loosen within him as he drew her close once more and she felt, really felt for the first time, how much it must have cost him, waiting for her, wondering. “Well, that’s good. Because I love you, Cassie. It’s always been you.” She let it slide through her, the fact of it, let herself breathe him in as they stood there, together.

“You’re here,” he said again, running a hand down her back like he needed to keep touching her. “You’re actually here.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was a bit shaky. She tilted her head, looked up into his face, met his gaze, firelight dancing in the blue. “Maybe I’m braver than you thought.”

“No.” He shook his head, kissed the top of her hair. “You’re braver than you thought.”

This time, it was she who kissed him, drew him to her as close as they could possibly manage. And this time, they did not stop.

Twelve Months Later

Chapter Forty-One

Cassie stood at the bottom of the Patagonian mountains, staring up at the epic, snow-covered peaks, which gave way to rough, grassy terrain nearer the bottom. Next to her, Sam held her hand, but neither of them said anything. They just stood, taking it in.

It was Christmas Eve, though the fact of that was almost impossible to believe with the warmth of the day, the sun beating down on them, and with no sign of celebrations around them. It wasn’t as unbearably hot as she’d expected it to be in the height of the Argentinian summer, though, and there was a strong wind tugging at her hair and whisking away the sweat from the walk.

“Do you think this is an OK spot?” Sam asked, his voice quiet. Cassie looked around. They were at the bottom of the mountains, gray rocks and small bushes surrounding them. A lake formed the backdrop, bright turquoise and glistening in the sunlight, and you could see mountains all around, the clouds circling their tops, land and sky taking measure of one another.

“I think so, yes.”

They set their small backpacks down, and Cassie took out her flask of water as Sam got out the handcrafted wooden star. A star, not a cross, because Tom had been the light in both of their lives.

Cassie hadn’t found out exactly where Tom had died, where he had fallen. She could have asked Toby—Sam was still in touch with him—but she’d found she didn’t want to know. This trip wasn’t about revisiting his last steps, but about celebrating his life, and honoring him in a place he’d always wanted to go. He had his grave, but this…this would be for her and Sam.

She watched as Sam dug a little hole, stuck the wooden spike in, with the star on top. It was unobtrusive, small enough that hopefully no one would mind, but it was something that would be lasting, that would show he was loved. And she liked the fact that the star was imperfect, the edges a little crooked. Because they were all imperfect, weren’t they? And that was OK. It was OK that they all—Tom included—made mistakes. It didn’t make Tom any less perfect to her, or any less loved.

She didn’t say anything out loud, but she found herself talking to him, in her head. Telling him that she’d done it—she’d gone through with it, completed the sale, and now that house in Wales was hers. She’d launched it both as a B&B and an events venue in summer, and she had her first wedding booked for the spring. Her first wellness retreat—the one in Tom’s name—would be this summer.

She glanced at Sam, who was standing next to her, staring at the star. He’d be talking to him too, she knew, and she wondered what he was saying. He’d gotten into climbing because of Tom, and now he was setting up his own center, working with disadvantaged kids, trying to give them an experience they wouldn’t get otherwise. He was so good at it, and he loved it. So, Tom had guided both of their lives, really. And he’d given them each other, in some ways. Cassie didn’t know if they would have ended up together anyway, if they would have found their way to one another eventually no matter what, but she didn’t dwell on it. The point was that they were together now.

She bent down to her backpack again, setting her water aside. She’d thought so hard about what to bring with her, what to bring for Tom. She’d been to his grave, of course, taken flowers, talked to him there. But here, in the place where he’d died, the place where he had been doing what he loved, she’d wanted to bring the right thing. In the end, she’d settled on photos. The first one was of Tom, Sam, and her as teenagers. In it, Tom was laughing, Sam was grinning, and she was making a face, clearly trying not to smile. It was something simple, but a memory of a time when he was happy, when the three of them had been together: two of his favorite people in the world, he’d said.

She set the photo down at the bottom of the star. And next to it, she stuck a photo of Amy and Noah. Amy was smiling down at Noah, propped on her hip, looking toward the camera with her eyes, trying to get him to smile. Tom’s family. Next year, they were all going to have Christmas together. Amy had promised to come and stay with Cassie and Sam in Wales.

Without saying anything out loud, Cassie and Sam found a rock nearby, and sat down together, taking a moment to just be. He put his arm around her. She was crying, soft tears running down her cheeks, the salt of them pooling in the corner of her mouth. She let herself cry, though, and he stroked her hair gently, saying nothing. He linked his fingers with hers, kissed the top of her head. He didn’t ask if she was OK, and she knew it was because he got it—because the answer to that was so much more complicated than a yes or no.

When she felt the wind caress her cheeks, dry the tears there, she let out a breath. Sam stood, pulling her to her feet. And it was only then that she felt able to put down the last photo, the one that made her feel the closest to him of all. A photo of the house in Wales—her house—taken just before she and Sam had left for Argentina. In it, the house was covered in an early snow, and the whole place was decorated for Christmas, for the Christmas event that she’d agreed to host for the village. Fairy lights on the outside, two little Christmas trees on each side of the green front door.

Sam had smiled when she’d shown it to him on her phone, before she printed the photo. He’d told her that it looked like the house was glowing, and though she’d laughed, she secretly agreed with him. You could see the dim lights from inside the house, and it was like it was happy to be in use again. Like it was grateful that she’d taken it on and made it shine once again.

She set the photo down for Tom. So he could see that she’d gone through with it. That she’d gotten to the end of the treasure hunt. And that she loved her last gift, more than she could put into words.

“Bye, Tom,” she said softly. She felt Sam’s grip tighten a fraction on her hand. “I love you.”

Then they began walking, back the way they came. Back to the little lodge where they were staying, and the old woman who had promised them a feast. Back to welcome in Christmas Day, and to celebrate the fact that they were both still here, still together.

“Thank you,” she breathed, barely loud enough to be heard. But the wind carried her words away, whisking them into the air. And she felt sure, for a brief moment, that Tom could hear her.