Chapter 44
HOLLY
TUESDAY. THREE DAYS BEFORE LONDON.
Packing is hell. There’s no poetic way to put it.
It’s dusty, frustrating, and emotional in ways I hadn’t braced for. Every drawer I open reminds me how long I’ve lived here, and how much I’m leaving behind. Old receipts, faded photos, takeout menus from restaurants that went out of business ages ago.
At least I’m not dealing with furniture or tenants. Not yet, anyway. Dexter agreed to keep an eye on the apartment. “I can’t imagine anyone else living there,” he said.
Neither can I, but I didn’t say that.
Shelby’s house has space for me and the baby, but figuring out what to ship across the Atlantic feels like a logistical nightmare. Kenzie steps over a pile of flattened boxes. She dangles the shapewear (the same pair Dexter barged in on), and I wince and give her a cringey little nod. “Toss it.”
I stand in the middle of my bedroom, clothes and various other items strewn about.
It looks like a tornado has just blown through.
“Okay, let me ask you this,” Kenzie says, stepping around a box, “If some random shark had bought the building instead of Dexter, would it have changed anything?”
“No.”
She raises a brow. “Really.”
“Yes, really.”
Kenzie drops the shapewear into the pile with a little too much attitude. “And what about everything else? The fact that he still hasn’t called, even though you’re leaving in three days?”
I shrug, focusing on separating keep versus ship. “Some urgent last-minute changes for his work came up, and he hasn’t been home much since. Anyhow, we talked. He said what he needed to say. So did I.”
She watches me. “So that’s it?”
I grab the tape. “What do you want me to say?” I ask, a little harsher than I mean to. “That I’m still pissed? That it’s a mess? I am and it is. But none of it changes what happened.”
Kenzie backs off. “All right. No need to bite.”
“I’m not biting. I’m packing. Then I’m suing Hollywood.”
She snorts. “Why?”
“Because they’re full of crap. All those romantic movies sell you lies. None of it’s real. That’s why I love Titanic. At least it’s honest. It’s true, it’s sad, and it shows how love actually goes. Real life doesn’t come with the happy endings they put on screen.”
“Oh, that you-jump-I-jump-moment gets me every time,” Kenzie says, swooning.
“It’s the ultimate trust. It’s basically saying, I’m with you.
No safety net. Side by side, till the end.
And! Oh! The kiss. I lose it there. On the bow.
Right after the do-you-trust-me moment.” She presses her hands to her chest.
“The kiss?” I shake my head. “No. For me it’s right before the kiss. The moment she lets go of the railing.”
“That… didn’t register. I’m watching for the kiss.”
“He helps her up and just stands there behind her so she can let go on her own. He doesn’t push.
He doesn’t take over. And he certainly doesn’t ‘help’ by buying the dock.
That’s the moment. She opens her eyes, lifts her arms, and forgets the edge, the drop, all of it.
And she starts flying, with the ocean breeze tousling her hair. ”
She glances at me. “You cry?”
“Every time.”
“Okay, girlfriend, but the kiss is doing a lot of work here. Important detail. They kiss, stare out at the endless ocean and that’s it. Life solved.”
I pull the tape across the box and press it down, something catching in my throat. “Yeah okay. That part too.”
“You know, maybe it shows you don’t measure love in years, you measure it in meaning. That’s how I see it.”
I toss the tape back onto the counter and reach for the next empty box. “Exactly. It meant everything, and it still hurt like hell,” I say and swallow, not looking at Kenzie.
Later, we escape the chaos of my apartment for fresh air and carbs. The pizza place is the same as it always is, greasy and comforting, and I look around, wondering when I might be here again. We stay longer than we should, eating too much and pretending we’re not counting down the minutes.
Everything feels a little heavier now. The bakery Kenzie and I used to stop at on Mondays. The coffee spot Dexter likes. Even the random sandwich place across the street. This city holds so many memories. Yet while I’m sad to be leaving it behind, I’m excited to make new memories.
Kenzie offers to blow off her date and stay longer, but I wave her off. “Go. You’ve earned it.”
She hugs me, promises to help tomorrow, and disappears into the rainy night.
Dexter has been respecting my request for space, and I appreciate that.
It makes it easier to focus, to pack, and to think straight.
He’s been coming home late, mostly after midnight.
I stopped waiting after night two (I nearly pulled a muscle at the peephole).
We’ve texted a few times here and there, polite, short, never anything deep, mostly about logistics.
No calls, no dinners, no unannounced drop-ins. He’s busy, and so am I.
And that’s probably the safest way to survive this.
So when I’m dragging a box into the hallway by the elevator, I don’t even hear the footsteps behind me. Not until a hand brushes mine.
“Hey. Let me.”
His voice. I stiffen mid-step. And when I finally turn, he’s already taking the box from me.
“Pregnant women aren’t supposed to lift.” He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world that he’s here.
“It’s just sweaters,” I reply, a little breathless. “Not even five pounds.”
“Still counts.” He sets the box down near the others I’ve already sealed and labeled, then straightens and looks at me.
I break the silence. “Weren’t you supposed to be out with the guys tonight?”
“I was. Changed my mind.”
He doesn’t move, just stands there in the quiet, hands in his pockets. Watching me, waiting.
“I could use another pair of hands,” I say finally, pointing inside my apartment.
He steps forward. “Done.”
We get back to work. Folding, stacking, taping. The silence isn’t cold, but it’s different. It’s careful.
“You get the numbers finalized for the pitch?” I ask after a while.
“Yeah. Reed wrapped them up today.”
He nudges the last of the big boxes into place in the hallway, then sits onto the edge of it. He pats the space beside him. “Come here.”
I freeze. “Why?”
“Because we’re exhausted. And I want to hold you.”
Heart pounding, I sit down and let him.
“Give me a hug,” he rumbles. “Tighter.”
I do. And it feels good, dangerously good.
His scent washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I still crave this, his arms around me, his rumbly voice in my ear.
He pulls me onto his lap, and for a while, it’s just the two of us and Lana Del Rey’s voice curling through “Young and Beautiful” drifting out here from the half-open door of my apartment.
“I’m gonna miss this,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Me too,” I admit, barely above a whisper, barely able to hold my tears back. I don’t want to mean it, but I do.
He tilts my face up, and I open my eyes.
He moves his fingers to lightly caress my chin.
I know what’s coming. His eyes search mine, brown and calm, catching a tiny trace of green in the dim hallway light.
They flick to my mouth, and for a second, the pull I feel is unbearable.
His fingers hold my chin. My breath catches.
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t close the distance.
Slowly, deliberately, he lets go.
“You need your rest,” he says, brushing a hand gently over my stomach.
I give him a small nod. “Don’t work all night.”
“Night, Holly.”
“Night, Dexter.”
We both stand.
I close my door, and I hear the sound of his door closing.
I sit down on my couch, feeling heavy, heart pounding. As if we’d kissed.