“It’s been hard,” he acknowledges, “pursuing a career in something he doesn’t approve of. And not approving of…well, who I love. It just felt like loss after loss, you know? That I always admired him and wanted him to be proud of me. And I had to let go of that approval.” Blake gulps. “The girls were right. I’m an adult and I make my own decisions. And, by the way, they’re very happy. About you. When I told them.”
I smile, squeezing his fingers. “You told them about me?”
“I did. I saw them before going back to New York. To see them, and Dad.” He sighs. “Dad… Well, he didn’t want to hear about London. Or you.” He looks unhappy. “But the girls wanted to know all about it. About you.”
I lean into him, resting my forehead against his shoulder. His hand smooths my hair, fingers tracing the nape of my neck. Unable to keep from shivering, I burrow closer to him.
“That means a lot to hear it,” I confess. “I told my mum I fell for a man and I was devastated it didn’t work out.”
Blake tilts my head up gently with his fingers. His voice is uneven, raw. “I want things to work out between us. You mean everything to me.”
God, such dizzying words. Words that I’m desperate for, wild for. Wild for Blake. And yet I can’t let myself enjoy even that, because guilt strikes over the cost to him of falling in love with me.
“You mean everything to me too,” I murmur. “After you left, I realized I had to face myself. To let go of the past. To let go of what was, the life I once had with Eli, that held me back. That kept me from living now. But with you, I feel free. Like there’s a future ahead.”
Blake holds me tight. “That’s all you,” he whispers. “But I’m glad to hear it. Eli sounds like a tough one to follow.”
I chuckle softly. “He has good bits and bad bits, like anyone. I had to let him go. I have to live now.” I gulp. “Blake?”
“Yes, gorgeous?”
“You never said what you’re doing back in London.”
His laugh is low, intoxicating. “I needed to see you. ’Cause if I was away from you any longer I might burst.”
“And you knew I was away?”
“I didn’t know till tonight. I caught Gemma as she was closing up shop,” Blake explains. “And she reamed me out for not being in America because you were there looking for me. I thought she was joking, couldn’t be serious. She wassoannoyed.”
I start laughing as tears stream down my face. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes to wipe them away, trembling.
“Classic,” I gasp.
He holds me then, and we stand together like that for ages in the street, letting ourselves feel all sorts of things we didn’t dare feel before. We start kissing again, desperate and sweet and God, how I’ve missed him.
“We”—I manage between increasingly urgent kisses—“ought to go in.”
I blindly feel for my keys in my jacket pocket, having checked three times on the tube from Heathrow that I hadn’t lost them in my mad dash to America, which would lead me to either calling Gemma at a terrible time to let me into the shop or, more likely, crashing at Lily’s in North London.
We go inside, and upstairs. And there, we’re well away from any prying eyes, up in my tiny bedsit, exactly as I left it. In a secret world meant for two. Books still cascade, the space is too small for one person, never mind two. In the corner, my sofa bed is made up neatly as a bed.
Standing by the bed, our kisses grow urgent. Seeking something we’ve both craved, our emotions too near the surface to suppress after everything we’ve said, and everything we’ve done.
Blake slides my jacket off my shoulders. It drops to the ground. I return the favor with his biker jacket, helping him out of it and tossing it with more care onto my desk.
“You look so beautiful,” Blake offers against my skin, his hands roaming. Along my chest, my hips, my arse. His fingers trace the scarf still tied at my neck. “Love this.”
“Mmm.” Leaning into him, I’m all searching kisses, too raw to speak. I’m working on unbuttoning the many stupid buttons on his shirt. My fingers fumble in the low light.
“You’re shaking.”
“Guess so.” It’s been a lot, and I’m exhausted, and beyond overwhelmed.
And so very fucking happy.
His shirt eventually drops to the floor too. The light from the hall is enough to see the glory of his built torso, the hint of a V-cut, the washboard abs. My fingers trace his skin reverently. A homecoming, really.
Blake’s much more efficient at getting me undressed. Down to my boxers, I laugh, gazing at him, feeling unsteady. “You know what you want, hmm?”
