29 EVIE
E VIE
I wasn’t with them every single night—not at first, anyway. I went back and forth a lot, so we were often apart for periods of time. We hated it, the constant goodbyes. But the reunions were wonderful.
He surprised me once.
He showed up at my apartment door unannounced, leaning against the doorjamb, all smoldering eyes and wicked grin, before scooping me up into his arms. As usual, he took my breath away.
I stood speechless for a few moments, then threw my arms around him.
He backed me up against the door, hard, with one hand behind my head to cushion the force and the other pulling me against him.
“You are killing me,” he whispered.
“What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t stay away,” he muttered against my mouth.
“But you have a show. You’re supposed to be in Pittsburgh.”
“Not for twenty-four hours.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’m not complaining.”
I quickly closed the door, and we stumbled over one another, unwilling to split apart.
“Welcome to my apartment,” I said, barely removing my mouth from his.
“Nice place,” he said, without looking, as his hands pulled the dress over my head.
We were like this. Addicted beyond reason. It’s an extraordinary feeling when you have it, but it turns your whole world upside down in the most beautifully delicious and frightening ways. Still, I hope you’ve experienced it at least once in your life. Because it’s worth it.
A while later, in a sleepy daze, he twirled his hands in my hair. “What are you doing here?” I whispered through a sleepy smile.
“I was halfway there and I hopped off the bus, wrangled a car, and took a turn.”
“Seriously? You just drove a six-hour detour to get here?” I couldn’t believe he’d done that, just to see me.
“I like driving. It’s where I do my best thinking. I’ll leave in the morning and get there in time. It’ll be fine. Assuming I can stay here, that is.”
I grinned from ear to ear.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I sat up, pulling my fingers through my thoroughly knotted and tousled hair in an attempt to smooth it.
A moment later, he jumped up and walked to the bathroom, returning with my hairbrush in his hand.
“Here, sit up.” He propped himself up against the headboard and set me between his legs.
He ran the brush through my hair in long, slow, soothing strokes.
“So this is where you live? Can I have a tour?” he asked.
I giggled. I could pretty much give him the royal tour of my studio apartment without ever leaving the bed.
“Well, this is the bedroom.” Wispy white curtains served as a wall to separate the wrought-iron bed from the rest of the living space.
“I’m thinking of hanging my new Mayluna posters here above my bed.
What do you think?” I teased, pointing at an exposed brick wall.
“Uh, I’d rather just be here in person.”
“And the living room.” I gestured with a flourish toward the sitting area, which consisted of an ivory sofa with nail-head trim and an antique steam-trunk coffee table, upon which sat a stack of books and a small vase of wilted flowers.
He jumped out of bed, slipping on a few pieces of clothing along the way, and went to the table. “Ha, I knew it!” he said, holding up a well-loved, dog-eared copy of The Bell Jar .
“What? You did say the last book I read at the beach. So technically, you were not correct.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so.”
“Excuse me, we were in the middle of a grand household tour.”
“Yes, carry on, please.” He gestured grandly for me to lead him to the open kitchen that looked out into the living room.
“You already found the bathroom, and now we’ve arrived at the kitchen.” I suddenly noticed the time. “Speaking of ... Are you hungry? I don’t think I have much here, some fruit and cheese. An avocado or two.”
He smiled. “What is that again?” He pointed.
“An avocado?”
He laughed then. “That’s hilarious. The way you say that. ‘Avocado.’” He did a ridiculous attempt at an American accent.
I gave him a look. “Okay, is this the part where we start making fun of each other’s accents?”
He pulled me closer, kissing me. “It’s cute.”
Every time I’ve said “avocado” since that day, I’ve thought of that moment, standing in my kitchen. Silly, I know. Avocado.
“Well, anyway, we can go out if you’d like.”
He lifted me up onto the counter. “I like being in your space. And you couldn’t get me to leave tonight for anything, including food.”
We dined on the few items that we found in the kitchen—sandwiches, fruit, and a bottle of white wine I’d been saving for a bubble bath. And yes, a perfectly ripe avocado.
As night settled in, we left the lights off, lit a few candles, and curled up on the sofa, listening to the sound of the rain outside the open patio door.
I wore a loose pair of cotton drawstring white pajama pants and a sheer pale-blue shirt that hung loose off my shoulder, and he wore just his jeans, the top button undone.
I rested my head in his lap and closed my eyes while his fingers twirled in my hair.
A few minutes later, I realized I’d dozed off.
When I looked up, I saw that he’d been watching me, and I covered my face, laughing.
“I like watching you sleep. You look peaceful.” His voice was tender.
“It’s a rare thing, that’s for sure. But you seem to have this effect on me. I’ve slept better lately than I have in years.”
“I put you to sleep. Excellent. Just the effect I hope to have on women.”
“No, no. That’s not what I mean!” I said, laughing with him. “I just don’t sleep well. I never have. Even when I was little. But with you, it’s different. Like you said, peaceful.” I nuzzled into him. “I curl up with you and drift right off. Seems you’ve cured my insomnia.”
“Again with the compliments.” He picked me up and carried me into the bed.
“I still can’t believe you left the tour for the night. I would’ve seen you in a week, you know.”
“Too long.”
I let out a sigh. “But this isn’t good; you know that, right?
You should be there. You all have worked so hard for this.
I know it’ll be fine for a few months while we’re doing this project, but then what?
The last thing you need is some girl back in the States, holding you back from enjoying the ride of a lifetime. ”
“I want you in my life, Evie,” he said after a moment. I looked away, knowing he meant it now but also knowing that it would be much harder once he was back in the momentum of his world.
“Look at me.” He held my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “I want you in my life,” he repeated. “In all of this with me—wherever it leads. And if that means only seeing you when we can or between shows or whatever, fine. You’ll come to see me; I’ll come to see you. We’ll make it work.”
As the clock ticked on, I fought sleep, desperate to not waste a single minute with him, but I was losing the battle. Finally, he wrapped me in his arms and whispered in my ear, “Go to sleep. I’m here.”
It was like a lullaby. There was something about him, about his presence, that soothed me. The dark was less dark with him by my side. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, absorbing it as I settled against him to sleep.
The next morning, he stood close by, watching me dress, looking at me like I was some kind of exotic creature that he was studying.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said to my reflection in the mirror.
No one ever said things like that to me.
Or looked at me that way. Sometimes, even now, when I’m getting ready for the day, seeing myself in the mirror with tired eyes or putting on my makeup or turning this way and that in a mirror and judging myself harshly, I’ll see him like a ghost behind me. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
It seemed like things were going wonderfully.
We were on our way back from getting coffee when it happened. When my two worlds collided right on cue, just as I was beginning to think happiness might have finally come my way. I remember I had been smiling. Until I wasn’t.
Carter was still back at the car when I rounded the corner and saw the figure standing outside my apartment, and I stopped breathing.
“Hello, pumpkin.”