“Holy hell,” Daisy murmurs when we exit the stairwell.
Holy hell is right. We’re on a narrow ledge, nothing but a small barrier between us and the night sky. The view is incredible.
“I didn’t even know this existed,” Daisy says.
“Many don’t,” Natalie replies. “It’s not exactly on the regular tour.”
We’re on the top of the world. The island is all lit up below us, the buildings looking like nothing more than toys. I’m relieved Daisy seems content to hang by the door. The thought of her leaning on the barrier makes my palms sweat.
Natalie gives us just enough time on the ledge to take a few pictures before she hustles us back down the stairs. Daisy keeps thanking her profusely. I’m relieved when we reach the enclosed observation deck on the next lower floor. It feels much safer down here.
“I’ll wait here by the elevator,” Natalie says. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I’m still holding Daisy’s hand, so I pull her over toward the windows. As we approach the glass, I see that Natalie has set up a small table with champagne and strawberries for us, just like I asked. We look out over the city. Behind the safety of the glass, I can much better appreciate how beautiful it is.
“You okay?” I ask. “Is it too much?”
Daisy turns to me, eyes wide. “It is too much,” she whispers. “How much did it cost to shut down the entire observation deck? You didn’t need to do all this for me.”
I shrug, worried now that she’s unhappy or freaked out. “I just know you love that movie so much. The one where they’re supposed to meet here.”
She smiles. “An Affair to Remember.”
“Yeah.” I laugh at the memory. “I know this isn’t the space you see in the movie, but there’s no way I could have gotten them to shut down the main observation deck for us, rock star or not. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
I shrug. “It’s your favorite movie. You made me watch it so many times. I used to pray all the time that my brothers would never catch me watching it. They would have crucified me.”
“But you did it anyway,” she says.
I sense that she’s tense, can feel the strain in her hands. She looks rigid, on edge. “Of course I did.”
“Why?”
“Because it made you happy. Because it was you.”
Her eyes widen further. “What does that mean?”
Can she really not see? Is it possible that after all of these years, all this time, she hasn’t realized what she means to me? Is that why she left for so long? “Come on, Daisy. You know what it means.”
She shakes her head, looking close to tears. “No, I don’t.”
It’s now or never. There’s a feeling I get in my gut right before I step on stage. It’s a mix of excitement and adrenaline, fear and utter joy. The first step is hard, walking out into the light, but I know, deep down, if I can just take that first step, the result will be so worth it.
This feels a little like that, the same adrenaline and excitement. But this fear is worse. If I mess up on stage, it’s one song. It can be fixed. I can get back in the game. But what if I mess this up? There’s no going back, no fixing the disaster that would occur should I break this. But I know that the result, should it work out, will be worth it. Because Daisy is worth it. Daisy is everything. So I take that step, out into the light.
“I love you.” My voice is stronger than I expected, no shaking or doubt. The words have been in me for so long, waiting to be freed. Waiting for her. Waiting for this.
Her eyes, so wide just a moment ago, slam shut, and she takes in a shaky breath.
“I have for years,” I continue. “Forever, probably. Look at me, Daisy, please.”
Her eyelids flutter open, and I see an unfamiliar look there. Panic? Before I can ask, she reaches up and touches my cheek, her fingertips so soft I have to sigh. Then she rises on her tiptoes and kisses me.
It’s strange how familiar it feels. It’s been years since we’ve kissed, and it was only a moment at that. So why does this feel like the most natural, normal thing in the world?
If normal means the absolute best feeling I’ve ever had. If normal means there are flashes of light shooting off at random in my brain. If normal means every nerve in my body is coiled tightly, arching toward her, aching for her touch, aching for more.
“Daltrey,” she whispers against my mouth. I feel the corners of her lips curling up into a smile. “Daltrey.”
“I love you,” I say again to make sure she heard, make sure she knows.
I want to hear her say it back. Please, God, let her feel it, too. But my lips decide they want to kiss her more than they want to hear her speak, so I press them against hers again, parting her mouth with my tongue, feeling as if my heart might explode from the sheer amazingness of it.