“You love the shiny lights and glitter though,” I tease.
“Only if you’re wearing the glitter.”
“Such a charmer, Mr. Whitley.”
We fall into silence and our breaths even out as we lose ourselves to our thoughts. To possibility. I think about the airport and wonder how we’re going to bring ourselves to walk away when we’ve just found each other again. It’s like someone loaning you a warm jacket when you’ve been freezing and just when you sink into it, believe its warmth is real, the person comes back and snatches it away.
“We’ll figure it out, Ships,” he murmurs, somehow knowing the direction of my thoughts. “It’s not like this is a new relationship or anything. I mean you forget that I used to know you back when you used to pick your nose.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and laugh but welcome his arms pulling me tighter against him and how his fingers automatically link with mine. And despite the humor in his comment, the worry returns. Because in his arms is one thing, but being apart is an entirely different situation.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that beautifully, complicated, stubborn, creative mind of yours.”
“I’m just silently freaking out about what happens next,” I whisper.
“Well, let’s see. What happens next is I have a table read the day after tomorrow in New York. It’s for the movie of that scene we were rehearsing. The director and the casting director will know from that table read whether or not they think I can play the part. As of right now they’re not entirely convinced I can pull it off since it’s so different from my norm. But to me, that’s the whole point. So that’s what I do next. I go there, kick some audition ass, and leave with the part. And you? You’ll go back home and see if business will pick up now that the wedding is over. And if business doesn’t pick up, then we’ll brainstorm other ways to get customers in the door. The bakery is your dream so we’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”
His continual use of the word we throws me. Triggers tears to burn in the back of my throat, and causes hope to slip on some wings and take flight.
“What?” he continues when I don’t speak. I can’t as I’m too overwhelmed from the emotion his words evoke. “You don’t think a full-page colored print ad of me naked, holding a tray of your cupcakes in front of my dick won’t help get the store some attention and sales?”
I can’t help but snort as the image fills my mind. “Only if I get to strategically place the flour handprints on your body for added effect.”
“You always were willing to take one for the team.”
“It’s a hard job, but somebody has to do it.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t object. Your hands on me are always welcome.” I wiggle my ass back into him, the feel of his hardened dick waking up all the parts of me still asleep.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, mind veering to how it’s even possible that I could still want him after the bouts of sex we had last night.
“So, see? We’ll figure it out as we go. We’ll talk and text every day. We’ll be honest with each other when something’s not working because we know damn well the alternative—not being together—isn’t a fucking option. And we’ll sleep at opposite places every weekend until we find out something permanent that works for us.”
“How do you make it all sound so easy?”
“Easy? Not by a long shot, Saylor. You’re not the only one on cloud nine right now, feeling like for the first time in ten years that someone gets you again. So don’t think just because I’m the guy here that it’s going to be easy for me to let you board that plane. You know me. I’m not good with words. Saying them or making sense with them. I never have been. So please believe me when I say this. I’m the one who walked away before, Saylor. I’m the one who fucked up and robbed both of us of this feeling every day over the last ten years. So, easy? Not hardly. But considering the alternative—not having you in my life—it’s definitely worth it.”
My heart struggles to beat as it’s so overwhelmed with love for him. I shift to turn around, needing to face him.
“No. Don’t turn around.” Hayes arms hold me captive from doing so.
“Why?”
“Morning breath.”
“Are you serious?” He’s such a guy. Shifting from heartfelt, swoon-worthy confessions to thinking about morning breath.
“Dead serious. I desperately need to brush my teeth but you feel so damn good like this, ass up against me, that I’m not willing to move just yet.”