Bright Smile & London Eye (Walker Brothers #2)

14. Chapter Fourteen – Lexie

Lexie

“Aww, look at our little Lexie smiling,” Bailey teases me, tearing me right away from my daydream. “Love is in the air…” he says in a singsong voice while putting new books on his shelves.

Can it even be called a daydream if it's just memories replaying in your mind? Because that kiss on the shore of the Thames is burned into my brain, sending butterflies flying in my stomach and bringing a gentle warmth to my cheeks.

"Yeah," I admit, my smile growing even wider. “It is."

“Fucking finally,” Bailey groans, then runs over to my side of the store, leaning his elbows on my counter. “Tell me everything.”

“No, I won’t,” I tease him, also in a singsong voice, and clean up some crumbs. “I’m happy. That’s all I’m saying.”

"Not to speak ill of people gone by," Bailey starts, then bursts into a chuckle, "but I've never seen you looking this happy when you were with an ex who shall not be named."

"I'm not sure if I've ever been quite this happy with him," I admit, though it sounds more like a question and set down my towel. "Honestly, that might just be us looking at him with black-tinted glasses," I add with a sigh, "because in the beginning, I remember I was extremely happy, but that was way before our time."

I shrug, a sad smile playing at my lips as memories from back then pop up in my mind. Of all the times he waited in front of my classroom to convince me to go on a date with me. The times he waited up for me, no matter how gruelling his shift, so we could have dinner together.

“He used to be a perfect boyfriend,” I whisper, gulping past the emotion building in my throat. “I don't know when it changed. Maybe we became complacent. Still no excuse to cheat, obviously, but our lives slipped into a routine. Maybe it got to a point where I just couldn't imagine my life without him anymore. I was still happy nonetheless, but this feels like it goes… deeper, if that makes sense. My love for Derek feels superficial in comparison; this one goes to my core."

"I know what you mean. A more profound happiness," he agrees with a slow nod. "You might be right. It's the solidary hater in me —he hurt you, so I guess in my head, he didn’t deserve to have made you happy at any point."

"Speaking of happy,” I motion for him to lift his elbows so I can wipe away some stray crumbs, “how is it going with Olivia?"

Instantly, his cheeks flush a deep red, and he breaks into a goofy smile that he very quickly schools again.

"We’re not talking about Olivia and me here; we’re talking about you," he quickly changes topics. Yet I have all the answers I need: He’s happy. And honestly, considering the poor girl went through almost the same thing I did, she deserves her happiness too, and if anyone can give her that, it’s Bailey.

I can’t quite say the same for Derek, though. I might be empathetic, but I wouldn’t go as far as wishing my ex who cheated on me and won’t leave me alone well.

"We had a moment," I admit to Bailey, the involuntary grin making my cheeks hurt. "And we kissed."

"You kissed?" He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

"Mhm," I respond noncommittally, turning around to pretend to clean some more.

"So that’s it? Come on, you can’t leave me hanging like this. Is he a good kisser?"

"He is," I admit, "but that’s all I’ll be telling you."

"Boo, boring." He sticks his tongue out at me, and I subtly raise my middle finger at him, pretending to swipe a strand of hair behind my ear.

"So what are you going to do about Derek?" he asks, tilting his head curiously and leaning his chin on his palms.

"What am I supposed to do with him? It’s over."

"He’s still leaving you flowers," Bailey points out and I groan. Fuck. It’s been a few days since the last delivery and with everything that’s been going on, I just forgot about it.

Derek might not turn up here anymore, but he’s making his presence known. And it manages to annoy the fuck out of me, not that I’d ever admit it to his face. Bailey dutifully delivers the bouquets to the nursing home down the street, and I continue to trash the cards he sends along with them.

I can imagine what’s written in them and I don’t want to see it. I don’t need to read that he’s sorry or that he regrets it. I really don’t. Not when I’m ninety percent sure he’s writing the exact same thing to Olivia, or who knows, maybe he already has another woman warming his bed. It doesn’t even take him the end of a relationship to move on from it, after all.

"I don’t know what to do about him at this point," I admit, annoyance dripping from my voice. "Ignoring him obviously doesn’t work. But I don’t really want to see him again either."

"Maybe your new boyfriend can send some people to scare him off." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Haha," I say dryly, rolling my eyes. "He’s an actor, not the mafia, you know."

"But he’s famous and kind of rich," he points out, grinning gleefully.

"I know he is, but that doesn’t mean I want him to handle my problems for me. I’m a strong, independent woman and all that." I shoot him a dry grin. Damn right I am. I will solve my own issues. "And if talking to Derek one more time for ‘closure,’” I lift my hands for air quotations on that word, “is what it takes, I guess I’ll just have to put on my big girl pants and get it over with."

"Do you really think that will help?" Bailey asks sceptically. “It’s not like you could have been any clearer than you already were.”

"I honestly don’t know," I say, deflating, leaning my head on my hand, elbow propped on my now spotless counter. "I like to think there is an ounce of respect for me left in him and I just hope I can appeal to that.”

Bailey eyes me sceptically. “I don’t think I like your plan.”

"Well, you don’t need to. I don’t think he’s going to resort to violence or anything like that," I quickly assure Bailey, who nods along silently. "But I also don’t know him as a man who can’t take no for an answer, so I’m a bit comprehensive, you know?"

"In other circumstances, I’d say it’s hella romantic how hard he’s trying," Bailey points out, corners of his lips twitching, and as one, the two of us shake our heads in unison.

"Other circumstances," I echo with a shrug. "But this is just cruel. I mean, he’s the one who caused all this, and now he continues to pop up in my life. I’m just so fucking annoyed with him at this point. Every time he appears, it’s like pulling stitches off the wound I’ve tried to close, you know?"

"So we gotta swat the hand away," Bailey points out, and I burst into a giggle. "Alright, maybe it wasn’t the best metaphor. But you know what I mean. Just let me know if you meet up with him, okay?" Bailey takes my hand, giving me a pleading look. "Just in case."

"Sure," I say with a nod. "I’ll let you know. It’s not like I’m eager to meet him alone, you know?"

“I know,” he assures me and gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Later that evening, I hear a familiar rustling at the door. The apartment might be on the first floor, but the area from my front door to downstairs is not exactly soundproof, so just like always, I hear exactly when yet another bouquet is place in front of my door.

Exhaling a deep sigh, I throw my head back to stare at the ceiling.

Bailey was right. In different circumstances, this would be really fucking romantic. What woman doesn’t want a guy to fight for her? But he’s crossing the border to stalker-territory in a sprint.

Anger starts bubbling up in me.

You know what would also have been really fucking romantic? Staying monogamous and not cheating. It’s the small things, right?

Now, as romantic as the admittedly beautiful bouquets might be, it is too little, and it’s way too late. And I’m growing sick of dealing with them and with Derek.

I’m sick of still occasionally doubting myself for having left him. And I’m fucking sick of questioning why I wasn’t enough.

Anger, sadness, and self-doubt are battling forces within me, and I’m just so fucking tired of dealing with all of them day in and day out.

Taking a deep breath, I get up and run down. When we sent the delivery driver away without accepting the bouquet repeatedly, Derek resorted to coming over himself and just leaving them at my door.

And if he’s still there? I’m sorry, Bailey, but I’m drawing the line right there and then, backup be damned.

But when I open the door, he’s already gone. Like the coward he is.

Good for him.

Just as quickly as it came, all the anger and courage I got to confront him seeps out of me and makes space for sheer exhaustion.

I look down at the bouquet neatly placed on my doorstep, the same flowers and the same card as the past twenty times sticking out from the middle of it.

All at once, it overcomes me, emotions crashing over me like a fucking tsunami.

Like a sped-up movie, everything races through my mind: The years we’ve spent together, the future we had planned, the fact that he still remembers that daisies are my favorite flower, and the fact that I loved his handwritten notes.

Back when we were still in culinary school and stayed at each other’s place, he used to leave them all over the apartment when he had to leave before I had woken up.

Hell, I used to collect them all, keeping them neatly in a little box that went wherever I did. The one I left at his apartment, containing every single note I ever got from him, sorted neatly by date.

As angry as I am at him, I loathe how his actions tainted all of the good times we had as well.

Every time I look back to any point of our relationship, I can’t see the good anymore. Instead, questions race through my mind. Was he already cheating there? Why would he be cheating there? Did he go to someone else that same day?

Of all the ways we could have ended, this one really is the shittiest he could pull.

I angrily wipe away the tears forming in my eyes and pick up the bouquet. I’m sure the nursing home down the street is going to be happy about them, but I can’t exactly turn up there at eleven at night.

I’ve got to set an end to it. I’m giving him one last chance to back off by himself.

With a final sigh, I pluck the card out of the flowers. I throw them on my kitchen counter before setting the card on the table and stare at it.

I can’t open it.

With a groan, I jump up and find some leftover sparkling wine in my fridge, pour myself a generous glass, and start to gulp down the bubbling liquid, past the knot forming in my throat as I stare at the card.

This seems fitting to celebrate an ending, to have my own closure. And a new beginning at the same time.

Taking a deep breath, I quickly pry the card open, my eyes flying over his neat handwriting hastily.

"My love,

I know the chances of you reading this are very slim. But I will continue to try nonetheless. Not a day has passed that I haven’t beaten myself up over what I’ve put you through.

I keep remembering your laugh. Think I hear it in my apartment, even though you’re not here. And I miss you, sweetheart.

Please come back, Derek."

I shake my head in disbelief at him. A tear breaks free from my eye and rolls down my cheek as I burst into a sobbing laugh.

He’s got some fucking nerve.

Not a single ‘Sorry.’ Not one.

And the fact that he even asks me to come back? I just can’t believe it. The fucking gall of that man.

Slowly, I grip the paper with both hands and tear it in two. Then four. Then into even more tiny little pieces, until his laughable attempt at winning me back is confetti on my kitchen table.

It’s cathartic.

And I finally know what I’ve got to do.