42. Pope
FORTY-TWO
Pope
The hotel curtains leak morning light across the room, sharp enough that I know it’s later than either of us planned to sleep.
She stirs against me, rolling onto her back with a groan and then looking up at me with the most beautiful, sleepy brown eyes.
For a moment, I watch her, smiling at the sight of her. After months of waking up alone, having her here is almost unreal.
“You watching me sleep now?”
I let out a low laugh. “I just woke up, too. But I could watch you all day if you’d let me.”
“I can’t decide if that is creepy or endearing. You tracked me down in a new city and showed up at my apartment. Should I be worried?”
I pause, because she isn’t entirely joking. “Only if you plan to keep running.”
“I didn’t run, I was trying to survive. But you left me. You stopped talking to me. You were all but gone, even though we lived in the same house.”
“I was trying to protect you. I did that because I thought if I ended things, Chris would leave you out of this. My attorney told me that I had to end things to remove you from the equation.”
“I wish you would have told me all of that at the time. Because it felt like you were done with me, especially considering what I heard you say on the phone.”
I drop my head. Fuck, I’m such an idiot.
“I know now I should have talked to you. If I could go back, I would do it right. I loved you even then. I just thought pushing you away would keep you safe. In the end, you were still dragged through the mud, and I lost you, too.”
“It was a dark time, Pope. I’m not going to lie.”
“Sloan, I’m so sorry. I hate everything that happened. I fucked up.”
“We both fucked up. I’m a survivor, and I came through it on the other side. But it broke something in me. I need to know that if I trust you again, you won’t disappear.”
“I will do better. I won’t shut you out, I won’t stop protecting you, but I won’t keep things from you if you can trust me again. I’ll show you.”
“How am I supposed to make clear decisions when you touch me like you do?” She smiles, lightening the moment. I’m grateful for the small gesture.
Her smile is small, but real. It loosens the knot in my chest. I take it as the first crack of light breaking through.
“You’re the one who keeps ending up in my hotel bed.”
Her lips twitch, but it’s not a full smile. “Yeah, but last time I left with a hangover and a reasonable expectation I would never see you again. This time, I probably should’ve known better.”
The joke stings because it’s true. I shift onto my side, close enough to brush a knuckle along her arm, but not pushing. “This time is different.”
She turns her head, studies me like she’s weighing the odds. “Is it?”
I don’t blame her for asking. The last time she trusted me, she ended up on every gossip site in Palm Beach, ripped from Lennon’s life, and fired from the job she’d built her future around.
“If you’ll let it be,” I say quietly.
Her hand skims down my chest, slow, testing. The heat sparks instantly, and when her lips brush mine, I feel myself start to tip into the old rhythm—fast, hungry, thoughtless.
I break the kiss, breathing hard against her mouth. “If this is going to work, it can’t just be about sex. Not this time.”
Her eyes search mine, wary but curious. “And what exactly do you suggest instead?”
I trace a line along her arm, keeping it gentle, deliberate. “Spend the day with me.”
She blinks, like that’s the last thing she expected.
“In Palm Beach, I never gave us that,” I admit. “It was stolen nights, closed doors. I want something different here. Show me Charleston. Or—” I hesitate, the words foreign on my tongue, “—we could do something touristy. Carriage ride, coffee, whatever you want.”
Her brows lift, amused. “You? In a horse-drawn carriage?”
I shrug, letting a smile tug at my mouth. “If that’s what it takes to prove I’m not just here to get you back in bed, I’ll risk the humiliation.”
The corner of her lip curls, the smallest crack in her defenses. “Coffee first. Then we’ll see about the horses.”
We fall into step as we step out of the elevator in the grand hotel. The morning is sticky with salt air and the sound of gulls overhead.
“I was going to suggest we head back to Indigo,” I say. “It worked out pretty well for me yesterday.”
Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile. “Funny thing is, that wasn’t even my spot. I’d never been there before. My go-to is Kudu.”
I glance down at her, surprised. “Never been there, and you just happened to show up while I was sitting out front?”
She shrugs, but there’s a softness in her expression. “Guess so.”
The corner of my mouth pulls up. I don’t say it out loud, but it feels like more than a coincidence. “Then I want to see your go-to. Is it close?”
“Probably a ten-minute walk,” she says, nodding. “It’s close to my place, too, so I can freshen up after coffee for whatever tourist activity we fall into.”
I small and nod, surprisingly looking forward to all of it.
She veers toward the hotel’s bike rack just out of the large double doors. Crouching, she checks the chain on a blue cruiser with a basket tied to the front.
“Is that your bike? Did you ride it here last night?” I ask, eyebrow raised.
“Of course.” She pats the seat. “I ride everywhere around downtown. Easier than finding parking.”
I shake my head, amused. “You’ve been here how long, and already you’re a local?”
“Six weeks,” she says, her chin lifting, proud. “And yes. I love it here.”
There’s no hesitation in her voice. No trace of the woman I left behind in Palm Beach, gutted and untethered. She’s standing on her own now, and it makes me want to earn my place in her world instead of bending hers into mine.
I nod toward the cruiser. “Why don’t you ride it back to your place, change, take your time. I’ll grab us a table at Kudu and wait. Text me when you’re ready. Tell me what to get you.”
Her eyes flick to mine, cautious, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m full of shit or being genuine.
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
Her lips twitch. “Okay, if you’re offering, I will. I need to get out of this dress. I’ll be there in fifteen. Oh, and I’ll take a large latte, please.”
She’s off, and I watch her gracefully pedal the bike down the road and disappear down an alley.
I pull out my phone, type in Kudu Coffee . Never thought I’d be this eager to sit alone in a café. But for the first time in a long time, waiting feels like part of the point.
The place is buzzing—baristas shouting names over the hum of conversation, the scrape of chairs against concrete floors. I’ve staked out a corner table, her latte already in front of me, steam curling from the lid.
My thumb skates over the rim, restless. It’s been years since I’ve waited on anyone. Usually, I’m the one people wait for.
The door swings open, and she steps in.
For a second, the room tilts. Fresh clothes, hair pulled back, skin still flushed from her shower.
There’s nothing glamorous about it, but Christ, it hits me harder than anything she’s worn in Palm Beach. This is Sloane, unvarnished, unguarded, alive.
My body reacts before I can stop it. There’s a tightness in my chest, a pull low in my gut. All from the sight of her walking across a coffee shop.
Her eyes find me, and she slows. Not warily, but not rushing either. It’s like she’s reminding both of us she hasn’t decided what to do with me yet.
I stand, sliding the cup toward her as she approaches. “Large latte. At your service.”
She arches a brow, accepting the cup. “You make a good coffee boy.”
“Only to you,” I shoot back with a crooked smile. Truth is, I’d wear the title if it meant keeping that look on her face.
She shakes her head, settling across from me, sipping slowly, watching me over the rim. For a while, it’s easy talking about her job, the new program she’s working on, and the way she can walk to work from her apartment.
She doesn’t say it outright, but I hear the pride in her voice. She’s exactly where she needs to be, and for the first time in months, I experience relief when it comes to Sloane. Everything that happened didn’t break her.
Even if she ultimately decides not to give me another chance, I can at least know she’s going to be okay.
Her lips press together like she’s fighting a smile she doesn’t want to give me.
She sets her cup down, keeping her eyes on mine. “Do you realize this is the first time we’ve ever sat across from each other in public?”
I arch a brow. “If you remember correctly, our first encounter was very public. Hotel bar, crowded room.”
“That was before we knew each other,” she counters, keeping her tone even. “Before secrecy became the rule.”
She’s right. After that night, it was after hours, sneaking out in the middle of the night, stealing touches when Lennon was gone.
Hiding. Always hiding.
“You’ve got a point there. That’s why staring now, we do it right.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes sharpen, studying me. “But I can’t tell if you’re here because you actually want me, or because you hate losing.”
The words land sharply, but I don’t flinch. “Both might’ve been true before. Not now.” I lean in, steady. “I came because I want you.”
For a second, she watches me, biting her top lip like she’s weighing whether she believes it. Then she pivots, her voice softer, seemingly deciding to keep it lighter for now. “Tell me more about Lennon and this adoption.”
“Crazy, huh?”
Her lips press together, her eyes shining, but she doesn’t let it linger there. “When I was with you, it was always temporary. You made it clear his aunt would take him eventually. Now you’re adopting him? What changed?”
I lean forward, no hesitation. “Temporary wasn’t enough. He deserved more than to wait for someone else to decide if he mattered. I decided. I petitioned. I think Camila meant well, and I know she loves him, but every day I could see him shrinking, feeling like none of us wanted him.”
She studies me like she’s trying to reconcile the man she left in Palm Beach with the one sitting across from her now. “You’ll really be his father.”
“I’ll always be his brother. But now I’m choosing to be the father-figure he’s never had, too. We’re a team,” I say quietly.
Her brow creases. “And how are you going to manage that? You don’t exactly have the kind of life that leaves room for school runs and bedtime stories.”
“I’ll keep a nanny. Of course I will. But—” My mouth twists. “None of them will measure up to you. You set the bar too damn high.”
A flush rises in her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. And for the first time since I walked back into her life, she lets the genuine smile break free.
Her throat works as she swallows, blinking fast.
“He misses you,” I add quietly. “We both do.”
Her voice trembles, barely audible. “I miss him, too.”
I don’t press. I let the words hang there, proof that even after everything, some part of this still belongs to both of us.
She clears her throat, fingers tightening around her cup. “Okay,” she says, her tone brisker now, like she’s saving herself from sinking too deep. “If we sit here much longer, I’ll be late for the rest of the day I don’t have planned.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “So what’s next? You’re the local, you tell me.”
She stands, slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Walking. Downtown is meant for wandering.”
I fall into step beside her as we push out into the street, the late-morning sun bouncing off brick facades and wrought-iron balconies.
She sets the pace, weaving us past shop windows and art galleries, pointing out a bakery she swears has the best croissants and a boutique that doubles as a bookstore.
I don’t interrupt. I just listen, watching how alive she is here, how settled. Palm Beach had felt like hiding. This feels like belonging.
She glances sideways at me, catching the look. “What?”
I shake my head. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before you start giving tours.”
Her lips curve, a spark of humor back in her eyes. “I’m considering a moonlighting gig. You willing to ride in a horse-drawn carriage with me, Mr. Boardroom?”
“Only if you promise not to tell anyone.”