Chapter 17
SOSIE
Keats stops at the top of the stairs, pulling me up with him as if there was no way he’d leave me behind.
Maybe my huffing and puffing behind him from dashing through the kitchen to avoid the other party, then racing up the stairs in heels, tipped him off that I might need assistance.
Either way, I’ll take his hand, even if only offered as a sweet gesture.
Caught between two events that neither of us wants to be a part of, the dark hallway is quiet, isolated from the world, leaving us alone together, even if only for a few seconds.
I lean against the wall with our hands still holding tight to each other.
My breath comes fast, so I loosen the coat I’d snuggled around me to get more air into my lungs.
My breathing doesn’t even with the gap between us tightening.
“We didn’t even say hello,” he whispers.
"No." I can only manage a half-hearted smile under the circumstances because a hello isn't what I missed about him. This closeness is. The heat from our proximity starts to consume me, and his musk brings back a trail of memories with it, reminding me of kissing him until my lips swelled. A hope I don't deserve rises like the sun, illuminating the horizon like a new beginning. “We didn’t.” The words are breathy, wanton for him in ways I shouldn’t feel, but I can’t pretend he doesn’t affect me.
It’s not only my body that betrays me, but my soul longs for this man I’m not sure I’m allowed to have.
With so much of our past controlled by others, what happens to us when we’re given back the power to decide?
Do we fall together or apart?
Is this our time to figure it out?
I can’t help but hope it is.
Resting one hand high above my shoulder, he tilts his head to the side for his eyes to latch onto mine. The tip of his tongue slips out to drag along his bottom lip while his gaze lowers to my mouth. When a heaviness in his lids causes them to dip closed, he scrapes his teeth across his lip.
The internal anguish he seems to be fighting is painted across his features.
Brows pulled tight over narrowed eyes. One heavy exhale that tickles across my skin.
Even my swallow is too hard. My heart racing, but I dare to reach forward, resting my palms on his chest. His eyes open, and his expression eases when he sees me again.
“You’re real,” he whispers no louder than a taken breath, and when he leans in even closer, my eyelids flutter closed as the butterflies in my stomach awaken.
I want his lips on mine again so badly, to feel the passion we once shared again, even if only for the briefest of kisses.
I can feel the heat of his breath on my forehead, my own catching in my throat in anticipation.
But when I expect to feel him press to my skin, I don’t.
Opening my eyes, I can see his lips were so close to landing before he stopped himself.
His eyes are still closed as if he’s debating, but when he takes a sharp breath, he pulls back, and says, “I’ll give you a proper hello later.
I promise.” It’s a promise of more to come, but I can’t stop missing the kiss that almost was. “And hey, we won’t stay here long.”
“We can stay as long as you want.”
A smirk plays at the left corner of his mouth when he pulls back, looking at me with something wild in his eyes. I feel the same inside. Looking up at the ceiling, he chuckles in disbelief. “Trust me, this party isn’t what I want right now.”
It’s not where I want to be either, but celebrating his achievement is worth the pause in whatever is building between us.
He suddenly pushes off the wall, stealing my breath with the quick motion. Walking toward the door, he glances back, reaching for me. “Let’s get this over with so we can go.”
He treats me like I belong here with him . . .
As if we were always meant to be together . . .
I take his hand, looking up when I’m practically tucked under his arm, and say, “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Trusting you with what?”
I glance at the door, not sure what to expect on the other side. “With this part of your life.”
The back of his fingers graze my cheek, his eyes taking me in one last time before he turns and opens the door. I stay behind him, letting him take the lead. It’s his event, and I don’t want the spotlight. Or scrutiny. I’m not sure what to expect.
He shuts the door behind us and asks, “You alright?”
“Don’t worry about me. What kind of Stansbury would I be if I didn’t know how to entertain others?”
The party is smaller than the one downstairs.
It’s quainter and more social; people can talk and mingle.
In fact, there aren’t enough people to avoid detection, but there are plenty who allowed us the moment of privacy at the entrance.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to entertain anybody, Sosie.
” The edge to his tone pulls my gaze to his.
“You’re not on display here. You’re my guest. I can stay with you. ”
“I didn’t mean it to sound—”
“Keats,” calls the woman he was with downstairs.
With a toothy smile and her hair slicked back, she rushes from one side of the room to where we’re standing.
“Everybody is so excited about securing your book to publish.” Her eyes fall on me, and she smiles.
“Taylor Murchison. I’m this brilliant writer’s agent. ”
He releases my hand subtly, but the cold drifts across my palm that had been warmed by his.
We probably shouldn’t have walked in like we were something we’re not, so I try not to let it turn what’s been so good into a negative.
Keats runs his hand through his hair and grins. “She’s paid the big bucks to say that.”
She says, “My fees are standard for the industry. The compliments are free.”
We laugh together, but then he says, “This is Sosie Stansbury.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand.
With his coat still swallowing me, I feel the heat of her attention, though it’s not because of anything she’s done.
Do I explain who I am and why I’m suddenly here at his side?
That there’s an invisible drawstring that pulls Keats and me back together every couple of years?
Yeah, that won’t make sense to anyone who has not experienced it.
It’s best to keep my mouth shut and let Keats take this one.
Especially because that also makes me sound like a one-night stand.
Oh my God.
Am I a one-night stand?
That’s not all we are, at least not to me. It’s not like we’ve had the opportunity to define what simmers between us. Although he doesn’t seem to see me that way, that is what we are at the bare minimum. Though I’ll never be convinced we aren’t more even if we don’t have the chance to prove it.
“You too, Sosie.” Glancing at Keats, she says, “I need to steal you away for a few minutes.” Looking at me, she grins. “The CEO of the publishing house is anxious to meet him.”
Keats looks at me as if I determine the outcome. “Go,” I say, giving him a playful shove. “I’ll be fine.”
He searches my eyes. Finding what he was looking for, he grants me a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
They maneuver through the room chatting like old friends.
It makes me wonder how long that friendship extends.
I look around, feeling much like a fly on the wall left to observe before slipping his coat from my shoulders.
I drape it over my arms in front of me as Keats is surrounded like a celebrity.
While he shakes hands and makes small talk, Taylor brings him a drink. It’s not the act. It’s that she knows what he likes when I don’t. He drank champagne with me because that’s what would piss off my father. What does he drink when he has a choice?
What’s his favorite food?
Flavor of ice cream?
Book he’s ever read?
Movie?
His middle name and where he grew up?
I know so little about the man, though my heart is so attached to him.
It’s been six years since we first met, and Keats has lived an entire life that I wasn’t a part of or know anything about. I don’t even know if he has a girlfriend. My stomach sinks from the thought. Please don’t let him be dating anyone.
From this vantage point, I’m given a new view of the man he’s become, both the insight into who he is and the way his body has changed.
Keats is tall, always was, but his frame is broader than it used to be, his jaw harder and more defined.
More handsome, which is hard to imagine is possible.
I remember those strong arms wrapped around me, like his coat was, and how, feeling small tucked against his body, it was only a size difference and had nothing to do with condescension like the other men in my life.
Only seconds separate our glances from connecting, not a minute passing without a smile exchanged or an entire silent conversation spoken through our gazes. He’s so easy to read that I start to think he’s a book that was written just for me.
With him, I feel like that girl I once was, basking in his presence—carefree and determined to make my life my own at the consequence of not giving a damn.
But I gave a damn with him. He was once a dreamer with a rebellious streak like I was.
That night was fun for him, but it was everything to me.
No other man has come close, not close enough to share what Keats and I have. Had.
His pedestal is too high, a standard that nobody else can measure up to or reach. Has that been fair? No. But I’ve tasted something real, so deep, and authentic that less than that just won’t suffice.
But this time, when I’m hit with the intensity of those incredible brown eyes of his, I feel every inch of the woman I’ve become—sexier, stronger in mind, and more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before.
He’s the only person I’m willing to break my own heart to see succeed. I did that once, and watching him now, I know I’d do it again, if needed.
Where does that leave me? Moving forward with my plan or seeing if there’s another chance for us?
Either way, they are complications that he doesn’t need, not when his hard work is finally paying off.
And what I do know of Keats Matthews is that he hates a fuss being made over him as much as I hate being the center of attention.
He still stands with confidence, listening and nodding.
When his eyes find mine, he smirks like he might need saving.
I laugh in response, ready to step in to throw him a life preserver when Taylor announces, “May I have your attention?”
She steps out of the spotlight, encouraging an older man to take over. He starts with a speech about profits and this year’s successes before introducing Keats as next year’s superstar author.
I clap along with everyone else, but my emotions overshadow the moment.
My heart squeezes, and tears fill the corners of my eyes in pride of seeing him get the accolades he deserves.
The flood of emotions I have for him stands in stark contrast to the numbness I feel otherwise.
How is it possible to feel so much for a man I barely know and so little for myself?
I’ve been an expert at putting on the mask society expects of me, but navigating the pride I have in Keats comes naturally.
Taking a deep breath, I’m steadfast in my resolve to leave the shame behind.
There’s no more living in that house or working for my father, celebrating birthdays that don’t exist, or allowing the friendship I had with Gregory to get out of hand again. There’s no life at all for me there.
He's done this all on his own. I can do that. I must prove to myself that I can.
Keats says a quick thank you to the others.
I spy a hint of color on his cheeks, reminding me of the boyish charm he showed when he accepted his diploma years earlier.
I hold his coat to my chest, dropping my head to inhale his scent, and smile that nothing has stopped him from going after what he wants.
Not even me, so I can’t regret giving him up.
That choice paid off. He wouldn’t be here signing a deal if I had gone against my father and followed my heart.
Another round of applause drags my eyes up from the coat I’d been clinging to.
Being near him again is overwhelming, my emotions spinning with pride over his accomplishments.
But mostly, I feel like such a girl when my knees weaken just looking at him coming toward me.
Without missing a beat, he slides his hand along my neck and then slips the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “Why are you teary-eyed, Sosie?”
I hate that he uses my name when I feel so desperate to be the person he once knew, to hear him call me Spark again. I know it’s too soon for my Poet to do such things, frivolous even, at this stage. The desire still stands, though.
Bending my head down, I tap the back of my hand under one eye, then the other. “It’s silly,” I reply, looking up at him again.
“Seeing tears in your eyes is never silly to me.”
Nudging his shoe with the toe of my heel, I pull my grin to the side of my mouth to restrain it from filling the room from his sweet words. “They’re happy tears. I’m happy for you. Congratulations. Sounds like it’s quite the deal.”
A self-deprecating smile zips across his lips. He glances between us, then slowly looks up at me, and says, “My book went to auction.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “The winning bid was a seven-figure deal.”
I lean to the side to catch his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“I am.” This is the first time I’ve seen him shine with his own pride. Naturally, it’s not even a brag, but something that sounded like he just needed to share with someone. How lucky am I to be that person for him? The luckiest.
I throw an arm around him, shamelessly holding myself against him. “You deserve this and so much more.”
There’s a space where time clicks by before his arms come around me and his head dips to the top of mine to rest his cheek for the briefest of seconds.
It reminds me of how much damage has been done, and sharing a few minutes doesn’t resolve any of it between us.
Conversations need to be had. Confessions need to be aired.
But maybe it doesn’t have to be tonight.
When we part, his smile speaks of freedom, as if our days and minutes aren’t numbered, and when he laughs, it sounds like we got away with a crime. Maybe we did this time. Perhaps the third time’s a charm.