“He’s coming back,” Joshua said.
Violet went very still. “What?”
“He’s coming back. I told him to give you another chance.”
She reached for her hair, which was a tangle of snarls. “When?”
“He said he had some business and then he’d be back. Any moment, I assume.”
“I have to get ready,” she said. “Go eat your breakfast. Let me get ready.”
An hour later, Violet was scrubbed and brushed and wearing her best dress, which was nothing King hadn’t seen before, as she only owned two. The boys were clean too, the flat was tidy, and she was pacing with impatience. How long would his business take? What if he didn’t return? What if she’d done all of this for nothing and looked like a fool? Why had she ever listened to Joshua—
She heard a knock on the back door and dropped the towel she’d been folding the last five minutes.
“I’ll get it,” Joshua said.
“No, I’ll get it,” Georgie said, and ran ahead of Joshua. Both boys flew down the steps, sounding like a procession of horses.
Violet held her breath. It might not be King. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. But then she heard his voice, heard the boys greet him, and knew it was him. Her heart began to pound, and her hands began to shake.
“You’re behaving like an idiot, Vi,” she told herself. “He probably just came back for his clothing. He doesn’t want you after the way you treated him last night.”
But she heard his voice and then a heavy step on the stairs, and she knew he was coming up. She clenched her hands in her skirts and waited for the door to open. It did, and there he was, looking better than she remembered. His brown hair, which had grown a bit long, was swept back off his forehead. His green eyes settled on her right away, making her shiver with their intensity. His business this morning must have been to shave, because his jaw was clean of stubble, and she could see his full lips perfectly when he gave her that slow smile that always made a lump form in her throat.
He closed the door behind him.
“The boys,” she said.
“They’re busy downstairs.” His voice was deep and low. She heard no hint of anger or resentment in it. “I wanted to talk to you alone.” He had a paper under one arm, and he removed it and laid it on the table beside where she was standing, her back to the window.
“About last night,” she began.
He moved closer, and her throat closed up again. “Go on.”
“I shouldn’t have sent you away.”
He was standing close enough now that she could smell the familiar scent of him, the bergamot and wool and something that she couldn’t define but which was definitely him.
“Not without giving you a chance to say goodbye to the boys.”
King raised one brow in that infuriating way that she secretly loved. “True. But I don’t think that’s all you want to say. Is it?”
“You don’t have to leave,” she said. “You can stay if you want.”
“Very generous of you. But I don’t want to stay if you don’t want me here.” He reached out and took her hand. “Do you want me here, Violet?”
She swallowed. Why would that lump not go away? Why did his touch make her cheeks feel warm and her lungs refuse to fill with enough air? She fisted her hands and forced the words out. “I want you here. I want you, King.”
His hand tightened on hers. And now that she’d started, she couldn’t seem to close the dam again. Her words spilled forth.
“I want you to stay. I never wanted you to go. I was stupid. Scared I would lose you.”
“There’s my Miss Sunshine. Seems odd to send someone away if you don’t want to lose them, but I’m sure no one has ever accused you of being conventional.”
“If you’re angry with me, I understand.”
His free hand came up to cup her jaw, and she had the impulse to nestle her cheek in his warm palm. “I’m not angry. I don’t think I could ever be angry with you, Violet. I love you. Still. Always.”
