Chapter 53
HOLLY
Knock-knock-knock!
“All right, all right, I’m coming,” I call, keeping my voice light.
I pad down the hallway, bare feet on cool tile, ready to introduce myself to Shelby’s neighbor.
I swing the door open.
An elderly lady stands there, with white hair and an orange shawl draped around her shoulders.
She doesn’t wait for me to introduce myself, she already knows who I am.
“I’m Jane, Shelby’s neighbor. I promised I’d drop this in.
” With a kind smile, she presses a jar of homemade jam into my hands.
“Raspberry. I went a bit mad with it this week. Charles used to say one spoonful was one too many. He’s probably rolling in his grave right now.
” She pats my arm, declines my invitation to stay, and is gone a moment later.
I set the jam on the little cabinet by the door, just about to close and lock it, when from the corner of my eye I catch some movement outside.
A tall figure approaches from the dark, head lowered, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Something in the way he moves makes me still. Pale moonlight frames the silhouette, catching the collar of a coat, lines of a jaw, cheekbones.
The figure looks up.
I don’t breathe. And I don’t think.
I just stare and stare, heart pounding so loud it’s all I can hear.
“D-Dexter?” My voice catches.
No luggage, no bags. Just him and those dimples suddenly stepping up to the porch of my sister’s house on the outskirts of London.
“You came—?”
He doesn’t say a word. Am I imagining him? I blink.
My senses seem to be scrambled. Sight and sound aren’t working right. He steps closer, fingers warm under my chin, tipping it up. Before I catch up, he rumbles five words in that growly voice of his, and I just… melt, a complete puddle.
“If you go, I go.”
At first, I’m in disbelief. I think I must have misheard him. It feels too incredible to be true. It’s too much. Too perfect.
Stupidly, stupidly romantic.
I stumble back a step, shaken.
I stare at him. At this tall, beautiful, crazy man who crossed an ocean for me and who somehow always knows exactly what to say. The way he’s looking at me, so sure, so confident, it makes my whole body feel heavy and light.
He remembered. Not just Jack’s line, but the message underneath it I tried to explain to him years ago. The part of Titanic that was never really about romance. It was about Rose choosing herself. About stepping into her own life and deciding what was right for her, even when it scared her.
He’s not trying to stop me. He’s offering to come.
Just like Jack stood beside Rose instead of in her way.
Dexter opens his arms, wide, and holds them there. He doesn’t step forward. He stays exactly where he is.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
“If you go, I go.” His lips tilt up. “Wherever that is.”
I take one shaky step back. Then another. And then, I lunge.
I crash into his chest with a choked breath, arms flying around his neck. He catches me instantly, stumbling back a step, pulling me in so tight I can feel his breath caressing my cheek.
His jacket is so cold from the night air, icy against my arms, and he smells like rain and Dexter. Oh, Dexter. I don’t move. I cling to him, let him hold me, so utterly, unbearably, almost achingly glad.
He draws back, just slightly, until his eyes meet mine.
“There’s no ship. No fucking ocean,” he rumbles, dimple cutting in, “but we don’t need any of that to fly.”
Of course he was going to show up like this. Smelling like that. Saying things like that. Looking at me like that.
His hands shift, and one cold hand moves to the back of my neck, cradling my head.
He tilts his head and pulls me into a burning, searing-hot kiss.
My world spins.
My eyes close.
My soul feels lighter than it has in forever.
Everything in me comes alive.