Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Waverly
Chewing on my thumbnail—my bottom lip hurts too much to chew on it anymore—I keep glancing toward the other side of the street at the towering man doing…firefighter stuff in the empty garage section of the Hartley Ridge station house.
It’s not Jake. God, I wish it was Jake.
Do you?
Yes. I do. Would I say anything to him? I don’t know. Maybe? The fact my stomach is a churning mess knowing he’s out at a fire, potentially in danger, tells me I don’t hate him.
Ha! Of course you don’t. You love him. You can be angry with him as much as you like, but you’ve fallen in love with him, and now you have to cope with that.
I shuffle my feet, nudging my small backpack closer to my ankles. The bus stop is opposite the station house, and I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes trying to distract myself by photographing the family of magpies ambling around the park it’s next to.
Unfortunately, I’m not alone.
I scowl at the five men lounging on the park benches. All of them are trying to blend in. And failing.
I know who they are. When I collected my backpack from the hostel after trekking back into Hartley Ridge, all five were checking in.
Two of them accosted me before I reached my room with almost the same question: Hey, do you know Jake Conroy? Know where he is?
Two did the same when I left the hostel.
I ignored all of them.
No way will Jake come back to the station house if they’re here. Which means I’m never going to see him again. In ten minutes, the bus to Sydney will arrive, I’ll get on it and say goodbye forever to the most amazing what-could-have-been.
“Oi?”
I tear my stare from the station house, frowning at the man on my left. “Excuse me?”
He flashes what I guess he thinks is a smile. “Haven’t seen you around before. You new? You also tryna get shots of the fireman?”
I pull away from him. “I’m not a…whatever you are.”
He barks out a laugh and jabs a finger at my camera.
“C’mon sweet-tits, that’s a fucking expensive Canon hanging over your shoulder, and you’re waiting across the road from where Conroy works.
You’re exactly what I am. Someone who makes a buck out of photographing famous schmucks who want the fucking attention even when they say they don’t.
And this fucker? He wants it the most. Why else hide out? ”
“You realize your logic makes no sense, right?” I pour every ounce of disdain I have into my voice. “And if I did know where Jake was, no way I’d tell you. You’re worse than dirofilaria immitis.”
He narrows his eyes. “Than what?”
“Roundworm.” I snort. “You’re worse than a parasite.”
He sneers. “Smart little mouth on you there, bitch. Someone should teach you how to use it properly.”
I turn away from him and see the bus approaching. I let out a loud gasp, thrust my finger toward the other side of the park, and shout, “Oh my God! Look. There he is!”
The man spins around, raising his camera at the nothing I pointed at. The other men all jolt up from the benches.
Snorting, I walk toward the bus stop even as an invisible band squeezes my chest. So I’m going. Away. From Jake. Definitely an interesting way to end this journey. And not even a photo of the Giant Dragonfly to show for the rollercoaster of—
“Waverly Garwood.”
I grow still at the sound of my name, and a tingling heat sweeps over me.
“Waverly Garwood,” Jake says again. Closer this time. Behind me
Heart quickening, I turn.
He walks toward me, yellow firefighting pants smudged with soot, blue T-shirt stretched over a torso I know is heaven to touch. Behind him, on the other side of the park, the fire engine coasts along the street, and whoever is behind the wheel blasts the siren in a short, deafening burst.
I gasp. The paparazzi shout, stumbling over themselves, cameras aimed at Jake.
He doesn’t acknowledge their existence.
His stare is locked on me, an unreadable expression burning in his eyes as he destroys the space between us in long, steady strides.
I want to throw myself into his arms. I want to wrap my legs around his hips and kiss him until he apologizes and promises never to leap to goddamn conclusions again.
Until he swears he will love me forever, the way I know I will him.
Instead, I stand motionless, flicking the paparazzi agitated glances.
The click of their cameras pepper the air, a continuous assault on my senses. And Jake’s privacy. My stomach knots, and I want to shout at them.
Until Jake stops directly in front of me.
“You’re not getting on that bus, Waverly,” he states in a low murmur.
I tilt my head back to look up at him, the heat from his body licking at mine. “I’m not?”
He shakes his head. “You’re coming home with me.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Am I now?”
He nods. “And I will spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to show you how sorry I am for being an equus caballus’s arse.”
My lips twitch. “Yes,” I whisper. “You were a horse’s ass.”
His nostrils flare. “And until I show you how much I love you.”
My heart slams up into my throat. I try to swallow it back into place. “And how much is that?”
He gazes down into my eyes. “So much I’m going to do this regardless of who’s here taking photos…”
Smoothing his hands up the sides of my throat, he brushes my bottom lip with one steady thumb, brings his head down to mine, and kisses me.
The cameras click. A frenzy of clicking.
And I don’t care. Jake is kissing me. Jake loves me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body to his, surrendering completely to my love for him.
A heartbeat later, a rushing roar cuts the air, a fine mist of cool water sprinkles down on us, and the paparazzi let out enraged shouts and curses.
Laughing, Jake tears his lips from mine and grins at someone behind me. “Looks like the crew has our backs.”
I twist in his embrace and let out a happy laugh.
The fire engine is parked in the bus zone, two firefighters standing next to it, one holding a hose, blasting water almost—but not quite—at the lurking photographers. Pushing them back and away from us. Shielding us with a shimmering arc of water.
“Sorry, Conroy,” the biggest one shouts, his own grin broad. “Just had to do a quick check on the water pressure. Hope no annoying ghouls were too close. It’d be a shame if their cameras got wet.”
“All good, Gibbo,” Jake calls back. “Work’s work, right?”
He turns his smile to me, fine water droplets resting on his hair, eyelashes, and cheeks.
“Any chance you’d like to spend the rest of your life with me?
” he murmurs. “I can’t guarantee daily Giant Dragonfly sightings, but I can guarantee I will love you with every fiber of my body from now until the end of time. What do you think?”
“I think that sounds perfect,” I murmur back.
He arches an eyebrow. “Want to give the pap some amazing photos?”
I grin. “Hell yeah.”
And we do.