Page 1 of Your Love

Chapter 1

"One Thing"

Kerri - Age 24, 1994

How did I arrive at this point? The question repeats in my mind as I hide behind a grove of Loulu palm trees. Between the sweltering tropical heat in this beautiful island resort and the stress of knowing I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life, the sweat is dripping into every crevice of my body. My hair is indescribable. My underboobs are a swamp, and my once pretty, pale yellow sundress is glued to my body like a second skin. Basically, I’m sweatin’ like an Alabama governor in church.

I’m the definition of a mess—a disheveled heap of emotions and poor decisions. But I’m determined to move past the denial that has kept me rooted in place for the past several years.

I realize I’m grasping at a tiny straw in the giant hay bale of my unfortunate love life. I may be delusional, but I’m not stupid. This is a long shot, but part of me can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be the turning point in our story—one with more twists and turns than a rollercoaster.

Landry stands on the sandy shore, about fifty yards from where I’m crouched in my lovelorn stalker’s position. His giant figure is framed by the crashing waves and the endless blue sky. My heart aches at the sight of him, looking effortlessly perfect in beige shorts and a billowy white linen shirt that dances with each gentle gust of wind. His bare feet sink into the sand as he gazes at the woman before him, seemingly lost in her presence. Every move he makes is relaxed and calm, a complete juxtaposition to the storm brewing inside of me.

I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. I’ve come this far after jumping on a plane and turning up on this island paradise to speak with him before he marries another woman. I need to follow through with the promise I made to myself—to tell him how I feel, resolutely and finally.

Yet I’m stuck in place, unable to force myself to move from my hiding place. These cheap, beige sandals are glued to the ground, no matter how hard I try to take a step forward. My gaze remains fixated on the trio in front of me—Landry, his glowing bride-to-be, and a man I assume is the wedding officiant.

The man clutches a thick book in one hand as he begins to speak. Landry reaches out and takes her hands in his own, gazing into her eyes, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

No, no, no. This is all wrong. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’ve always been skeptical of love stories, dismissing them as unrealistic fantasies, especially after everything I’ve been through in the past. Until I witnessed firsthand what happens when two people make a vow to love each other through anything life may throw at them. Real, faithful love is transformative, healing even the deepest wounds. I’ve seen it with my best friends Ivy and Sascha, and I felt it for a moment with the man who stands close enough to hear the deep timber of his laugh float down the beach.

Landry and I had that love. We still have it, hidden deep under unresolved anger and disappointment. I believe it down to the smallest corners of my soul. It’s always been there, yet we’ve never entirely known how to handle it.

That’s not exactly true. I didn’t know how to handle it, using the excuse that the stars have never quite aligned—timing, circumstances, and fear have continuously kept me from accepting what was right in front of me.

But today, as the sun begins to set in a blaze of fiery oranges and pinks, everything feels different. It’s now or never, and I refuse to live my life with the regret of the unknown hanging over me, casting a dark shadow across my hopeful heart.

Without hesitation, I burst through the protective barrier of trees and sprint toward them. The name “Landry” escapes from my lips in a breathless scream as I taste the salty tears streaming down my cheeks. Adrenaline courses through my veins, pushing me closer.

“Landry, wait,” I yell. The trio turns toward the sound of my voice, and as I approach, I can see the look of bewilderment written across their collective faces.

I close the distance with tears streaming down my cheeks and a disheveled appearance that looks like I ran a marathon.

“Landry,” I say, my voice trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you doing here, Kerri?” he asks as Lauren, his fiancée, drops her hands from his and takes a step away. “Is everything okay at home?”

“Everything is fine,” I assure him. My fingers twist and turn, my knuckles white. My voice wavers as I glance at him with desperation-filled eyes. “This is the worst timing, but I have to talk to you.”

The joyful atmosphere of the ceremony is instantly shrouded in a dark, somber mood. It’s as if an ominous cloud had suddenly blotted out the sun, casting a shadow over us. I’m aware that I am that very cloud.

“Kerri, I’m in the middle of getting married,” Landry says in disbelief.

“I know, and it’s terrible that I waited until now to tell you. I’m so sorry.” I wonder briefly if I look like the lost soul I embody—a person torn between doing something I don’t want to do and yet must do. “This can’t wait any longer,” I say, shaking my head to push away the doubt.

Landry takes a deep breath, and for a moment, I’m not sure if he’s even going to allow me to say what I came here for, but then I see a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

The officiant is trying desperately not to look at the trainwreck before him. He scans the sky and the beach—anywhere but the scene unfolding two feet away from where he stands.

Landry gazes at Lauren, who stands by his side with her brow furrowed in concern and anger—her eyes shooting daggers at me. She hates me. I don’t blame her. The atmosphere is thick with tension and uncertainty. None of us know what to do next.

“Landry, please listen,” I say, breaking the silence.

He nods. “Okay, fine. But whatever you need to say, Lauren can hear it, too.”

I didn’t think any of this would go perfectly, but I definitely didn’t picture having to make my declaration of love in front of an audience of three. I swallow, hesitant and timid. “But, it’s more of a private conversation.”

Landry releases a deep sigh, attempting to keep his irritation from showing to no avail. “Well, this was a private event before you stormed the beach,” he reminds me pointedly. “This is the best you’ll get.”