We all pause to have a break around the front counter with the coffees we brought. Behind us, shoppers are browsing. Even better, we’ve already had sales. If the closure sparked renewed interest in Barnes Books, so much the better.
Blake leans over to kiss my cheek and I laugh, chiding him good-naturedly. “You’ll make me spill my coffee. Again.”
“Oh, that’s not the only thing I’ll make you spill…”
“My ears!” Gemma clamps her hands over her ears, shuddering. “God.”
Blake pulls me into another kiss. I wrap my arms around him in response.
“’Kay, but you two areadorable.Somebody give me their phone for a photo,” Gemma demands. Blake offers his phone up, then pounces to kiss me thoroughly, my lips, my face, even my ear. Laughing, I fall into him, his arms around me. Somewhere in the chaos Gemma snaps a couple of photos.
“I wanna buy a green book…” Blake drawls between kisses.
I can’t stop laughing. What’s he done to me? I never thought I could feel so light and free again. A glorious reality.
“Adorable,” Gemma confirms, handing the phone over.
We look, and there we are, Blake’s arms around me, both of us laughing. And we look happy and carefree. More important, Ifeelhappy. And so does he. We’ve a new start before us. There’ll be days again when things are difficult, while we navigate life together, but today we’ll enjoy the simple joy of being together. This is a happiness that we’ve fought for.
“Do you mind if I post this on Insta?” Blake asks after we gaze at the photos, nuzzling me. His arm’s still around me as he expertly navigates his phone with one hand.
I smile, looking at him. His dark hair’s slightly messed up, sunglasses on his head, striking in a trim blue T-shirt that leaves little to the imagination and matches his eyes. “Go for it.”
Blake kisses me and posts our photo to an immediate cascade of hearts. Which is no match to the rhythm of our own hearts as we begin a new life together in London.
Epilogue
The day crawls. Each minute is a year.
By the time late afternoon rolls around, I’ve cleaned our new flat top to bottom, made a vegetarian lasagna, and bought sparkling wine to celebrate. A couple of hours ago, Blake texted to say he landed at Heathrow. He’d be home as soon as he could get through the crush of commuters.
And when the lock at last turns in the door, despite said commuters, and the usual snarls at getting around London at peak hours, my heart pounds. I jump up from where I’ve been sitting perched on the arm of the sofa, fidgeting with a book in a failed attempt at reading.
When Blake walks through the door, he’s gorgeous as ever. He’s tanned from generous California sun and his dark hair’s slightly tousled from travel. Next thing, I’m kissing Blake and he’s kissing me, and we’ve just kissed away almost two months of him being away. His mouth is soft, seeking mine. And he kisses me with reverence.
“I missed you,” I breathe against his skin when we finally straighten. He slides his arms around my waist. One of us somehow nudged the door shut.
“I missed you too, so much. Couldn’t wait to get home to you,” he murmurs.
I shiver at that, our new London home. Together.
Since the end of November, we’ve been living in a compact but perfectly formed red brick maisonette in Soho, not far from the shop. After all, two people can navigate around each other in a pocket-sized bedsit and sleep on a sofa bed for only so long. It’s Blake’s film money that makes this possible, and certainly not my bookseller’s income, though at last I now have one again.
Our new flat has a loft level that leads to one of two bedrooms. Throughout, we’ve hung framed film and band posters, plus a few photos taken of us together, including from Cumbria. There’s a kitchen with reliable plumbing. We even have a little dining table.
The second bedroom is part home office, part guest room, so Blake’s sisters can come visit from America. My dad’s guitar sits in the corner alongside Blake’s. Predictably, there’re books everywhere, with plenty of shelving.
“I can’t believe you’re back.” It could be that I’ve just conjured Blake from my imagination, but the kisses he’s given me provide assurances that he’s real. And I’m real. And that, in fact, this is all very real.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Blake says affectionately, nipping at my ear, his arm around me as he at last takes in the flat. Fresh flowers, the table set, even a couple of candles in jars. London shifts to twilight beyond the window, deepening blues with broken cloud.
“I’m glad. Want some water? Wine? You must be exhausted.”
“Water first, then wine. I was exhausted, but being back, I’m a new man,” Blake teases.
“Hardly recognize you,” I quip without missing a beat. “Some strange man’s in my flat.”
“Hey!” Laughing, he pretends to growl and sweeps me up for more kisses, and then we’re carrying on like people who’ve been apart for an eternity, which, to be fair, it’s been at least one, if not two.
