Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“You’re staying?” he repeats, incredulous.
“Yes, Harrison. My pitch was chosen. I’m staying.”
Knowing he’s so excited makes my heart pull together a little closer. My smile is too big for my face right now.
“They said they were very impressed. The other pitches were great too. We’re going to blend some, but we will work with mine as a guideline.”
“That’s amazing, love. They made the right decision.” His voice is warm and certain. “We have to celebrate.”
I’ve been wanting to see him all day, but now that I’ve taken a breath, the exhaustion hits. I’m about to crash.
“Can we celebrate tomorrow? I think I need a full night of sleep to make up for this week.”
“No problem, love. Get some rest,” he says sweetly. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too. I’ll be all yours tomorrow.”
“I wish,” he says, his voice back to its deep natural state. “I’ll let you go. Goodnight, love.”
The odds are in my favor on the way home. The subway is mostly empty, and I get to sit and zone out for the ride. I nearly miss my stop, but some distant light inside me flicks on just in time.
I make it inside with enough energy to make myself a ham and cheese sandwich, change into my pajamas, and watch ten minutes of a baking competition show before I’m asleep.
My phone rings somewhere in the distance. Groggy and blanket-wrapped like a human burrito, I shuffle into the kitchen where I left it last night. I answer just in time.
“You woke me up,” I complain, Harrison’s face filling my screen. I climb back into bed and pull the covers up to my chin.
“It’s the afternoon!” he laughs. “I was starting to think your bed had swallowed you.”
Outside, the sky is gray. There’s barely any light coming in, and it’s sprinkling lightly. It looks like dusk, but it’s noon.
“That doesn’t sound half bad, to be honest.”
“Slight problem,” he begins. “My mom called to remind me about my uncle’s 60th birthday this weekend. I tried to get out of it, but she’s very stubborn.”
I throw the covers over my head to muffle my whine.
“I know. I’d forgotten all about it. I’m sorry, love,” he apologizes. “I’ll be back Wednesday morning.”
“That’s so far away!”
“You could come with me,” he offers. “It’d take the heat off from all the personal questions if you were by my side.”
“Come meet your whole family?” I deadpan. “Don’t be crazy,”
“They’d love you,” he says casually. I narrow my eyes. “Just saying.”
“It’s fine. We can celebrate when you get back.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“You better.”
“I gotta go. Don’t miss me too much.”
“I won’t miss you at all,” I lie.
It’s the perfect day to cuddle up on the couch with the fluffiest blanket ever to exist and watch movies until midnight. Unfortunately, it’s less appealing when you’re alone.
I commit to living out of my bed for the day. I only get up to shower, make lunch, and answer the door for my Chinese takeout delivery.
Emma calls just as I’m shoveling the last bite of chicken fried rice into my mouth.
“You haven’t texted me asking to pick you up from the airport, so I’m going to assume the meeting went well?”
“It did,” I say, trying for nonchalance. “My pitch was selected. And… they might use some of the photos I took at Hyde Park.”
“Jay, that’s amazing! I told you—photography is your gift,” she says, voice glowing. “And I’m glad you’ve decided to give him a chance.”
“That’s not why I’m staying,” I say, trying to convince both her and me. “I came here because of a guy; I’m not continuing for one.”
“You’re definitely not continuing for a guy,” she answers, very seriously. “You are continuing for a man.”
She’s right. Noah has nothing on Harrison. The way he’s been treating me is pretty unbelievable. Movie-level unreal. Is it so wrong to want to keep feeling like this for a little longer?
“You know what? Fine. I did. I’m an immature woman whose life revolves around love or something similar, and I’ve once again made a major life decision based on a guy,” I rant.
“But you know what else? I can’t bring myself to care.
And that’s okay. I’ll have time to worry about career decisions when I’m forty and have four cats. ”
“I don’t think you’re being immature. Actually, the opposite. Because when everything goes to shit and we’re old and wrinkly, the only thing we’ll have left that matters is who we love.”
“Thank you for making me feel better,” I smile. “That was very out of character for you to say.”
“Live and learn,” she says, hands raised, shrug in place. “Also, this is Joshua Harrison we’re talking about. If he lay on top of you, you’d be completely covered. He’s pure, raw sex appeal. Really, who could resist?”
I roll my eyes at her. She’s back to being her normal self.
The next few days crawl. I don’t know why I thought it’d be a good idea to count how long it’s been since I last saw him, but it’s all I can think about. By the time he’s back, it’ll have been more than a week. The more I think about him, the more I crave being near him. It’s a struggle.
I sit at my desk, nervously twisting the spiral binding of my notebook. The clock ticks like it’s deliberately unhurried, every minute stretching out into an eternity. It’s like it’s not moving at all.
I wonder at what point this give-and-take between us has turned into… need? I feel like if he had been gone any longer, I would have forgotten the way he smells, or how his muscles flex under my touch when we hug. And that’s just unacceptable.
At exactly noon, I close my laptop and speed-walk to the elevators. He hasn’t texted, but I know he’s waiting.
And sure enough—there he is. Right where he was last week. He’s leaning against the same wall, umbrella angled just right. Black slacks. Dark olive-green shirt, the top two buttons left deliciously undone. Black overcoat. Effortlessly devastating.
His face lights up the second he sees me.
And something inside me—something that’s been patiently waiting for almost a week and a half—finally gets freed.
My power walk turns into a run.
Our eyes lock, and the same need I’ve been feeling—there it is, reflected in his. I can’t resist. I leap.
He catches me mid-air, solid and steady.
I crash into his chest with a thud, but he doesn’t falter.
His arm wraps around me like I’m weightless, still holding the umbrella above us, keeping us dry.
The only sounds are my racing heartbeat and the soft rhythm of the rain bouncing off the umbrella, almost in unison.
He lowers me down slowly. I keep my arms laced around his neck, not ready to let go.
The height difference has never felt more annoying.
All I can do is look at him. I can’t tear my eyes away.
It’s just me and him. Like that night in the back room.
Except now we’re on the street, in the middle of London.
“This is nice,” he says, that lopsided grin doing unspeakable things to my insides. “I’ve missed you.”
“I haven’t.”
His smile widens. “I see that. You’re looking at me like you’re about to eat me alive. Should we go?”
I nod. He moves the umbrella to his right hand and offers me his left arm, keeping me away from the side of the road. I loop my hand through his elbow and lean into him.
“How was your visit?”
“It was good to be home. I try to go back when I can, but after the show ended, it got tricky. My mom was thrilled to have me under her roof again.”
“I bet. My parents live like ten minutes from me back home. My mom does this thing she likes to call Sunday Funday, where she’ll prepare a whole meal just for us to come over. I’ve never missed one—until now.”
“Do you miss them?” he asks gently.
“Of course I do. I miss a lot of things. It’s hard changing a routine you’re so used to.”
He nods. We come to a stop. I look up and realize we’re standing in front of The Anchor. Signs off. Door locked.
“Where’s Tony?” I ask.
“Dentist. Took the rest of the morning off,” Harrison says, pulling out a key. “Which means we have the place all to ourselves.”
The door creaks open. Inside, the lights are on, warm, and waiting.
So is the booth. Our booth. The one from the first day. On the table there are some take-out bags from Tacos Locos, and a few candles flickering softly in the corner.
“You…” I start, walking toward it. “...are so cheesy, Joshua Harrison.”
“Oh, shut up!” he groans. I glance back—he’s blushing. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“I’m teasing; don’t get your panties in a bunch.” I slide into my side of the booth.
“If only I could show you how much I’m not getting my panties in a bunch,” he says, taking the seat across from me. Then, leaning forward, he drops his voice a tone, like we aren’t alone. “I can be nice. But I can also make you beg… without even touching you.”
My mouth goes dry.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I manage, swallowing hard.
I need a deep breath to bring my blood pressure back to its resting state. “You look and act all tough, but sometimes, you’re just a giant teddy bear with muscles. Harmless.”
He narrows his eyes. “I might look harmless,” he says. “But only when I’m around people I care about.”
I blush and stuff half a taco in my mouth. He realizes what I’m doing and laughs it off. I’ve never been able to take any sort of compliments from guys. Not after my ex, anyway.
“I used to come here all the time with my friends when I was in college,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “We spent hours playing pool.”
“Pool was a big thing in my college experience as well,” I answer. Though mine came with obnoxious frat boys and bad decisions. Not a good memory, but still true.
“Really?” he says, raising an eyebrow. He better not question my abilities, I think to myself.
“Are you any good? I thought in America you played less skill-based games, like beer pong.”
I know he’s teasing. Unfortunately for him, I never shy away from a challenge. And I’m not above playing a little dirty.