Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
That evening, Landry knocked on Peter’s apartment door. When he opened it, she held out the box in her hands. “I come bearing gifts.”
His gaze darkened with pleasure at the sight of her, sending a delicious shiver up her spine.
“Pizza and you? I must have done something right.” He leaned in to brush a slow, lingering kiss against her cheek.
The spicy scent of pepperoni wafted between them as he lifted the box from her hands.
“Smells great,” he said, then shot her a teasing glance. “Tell me you didn’t steal a slice on the way over.”
“I had to stop myself.” She sighed dramatically. “It was a real test of willpower.”
He chuckled, stepping back to let her in. “Such admirable restraint.” Then he held out his hand. “Come here.”
She followed him into the kitchen, but before he could set the box down, she slipped her arms around his neck. The warmth of him seeped through her shirt, igniting a low burn beneath her skin.
“I can resist pizza,” she murmured, pressing her body against his. “But I can’t resist you.”
“Good to know,” he said, his voice a deep rasp that sent her pulse skittering.
His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head up, and then his lips were on hers, coaxing, tasting, consuming. The kiss was thorough—so devastatingly thorough that she melted against him, trembling, wanting.
Could he hear the frantic pounding of her heart?
He pulled back slightly, searching her face. And in that moment, something inside her locked into place.
As if this—he—was inevitable.
Heat smoldered in his golden eyes, and she felt the answering flicker deep inside her, the slow, steady flare of desire.
“How hungry are you?” she whispered.
His lips quirked. “For pizza?”
A teasing smile curved her lips as she ran a deliberate finger up the warm skin of his arm. Beneath her touch, his muscles tensed. She wanted to explore every inch of him, to map the taut, coiled strength sliding beneath her fingertips.
Landry moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, catching the way his gaze darkened.
“I was thinking…” she murmured, tracing a slow circle over his bicep. “Maybe you could give me a tour of your bedroom before we eat?”
“You’ve seen it before.” His voice had dropped to a husky growl. “But I’d be happy to show it to you again.”
She tilted her head, her lips brushing along the sharp edge of his jaw. “Yes, please.”
An hour later, they returned to the living room. The pizza was cold, but wasn’t that what an oven was for?
“I’ll heat up the pizza,” Landry offered, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
Peter leaned against the counter, watching her with an intensity that sent another wave of heat through her.
“I kind of like the rumpled professor look,” she teased, eyeing the way his usually neat shirt was askew, the top few buttons undone.
“I like the way you look in that shirt,” he countered, eyes flashing with wicked amusement. “Even better without it.”
She arched a brow, her fingers toying with the fabric of the shirt—the only thing she was wearing. She’d left the top few buttons undone, just enough to keep things interesting.
“Careful, bud,” she said, shooting him a wink. “At this rate, the pizza will get cold all over again before we eat it.”
He laughed, the rich, deep sound vibrating through her. “You call that a threat?”
“Just keeping it real.”
His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, his breath warm against her ear. “I like real.”
The air between them thickened, the pull of him intoxicating. Her fingers slid up his chest, savoring the heat of his skin beneath her touch.
The lovemaking had been real. The chemistry between them was real.
But it wasn’t just about passion.
The realization hit her hard, knocking the breath from her lungs.
This was more than desire. More than just an incredible night.
Love for him surged through her, sudden and undeniable, like a tidal wave crashing over her.
And with it, the terrifying certainty…
If she ever lost him, it would break her.
The next morning, Landry’s eyes darted around Peter’s apartment, her stomach twisting with urgency she hadn’t felt a moment ago.
“What are you looking for?”
His voice was low, roughened by sleep and something softer—something that made her pulse stutter.
Before she could answer, he stepped behind her, his arms winding around her waist, pulling her against the solid warmth of his chest. His breath traced the sensitive skin at her nape, and she felt herself melt into him, just for a second.
She tipped her head back, allowing herself that small indulgence. “My phone.”
The words came out halfhearted. When she was in his arms, the need to leave, to get to work on time, felt distant.
“I put it on the charger,” he murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss beneath her jaw, a slow, lingering touch that sent a shiver racing down her spine. “On the desk.”
She exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself, to shake off the pull of him. “I should grab it, then head home to freshen up.”
“Should?” He turned her gently in his arms, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing the shell of it. “Do you always do everything you should?”
A laugh escaped her, but it was breathless, unsteady. “Most of the time.”
She forced herself to step away, knowing full well that if she didn’t, she’d be back in his bed before she could stop herself.
As tempting as that was, she had responsibilities.
Landry walked to the desk, plucking her phone from the charger and dropping it into her bag. But just as she was about to turn back to him, something on the desk caught her eye. A stack of papers and the logo for the University of Artois.
She froze.
“Are you planning a trip to France, too?” Her voice sounded casual, but something sharp and uneasy curled in her chest.
For a moment, confusion flickered in his expression, then understanding dawned. His gaze grew watchful. “I am. My next job is there.”
The world beneath her shifted, tilting dangerously.
“What do you mean? I thought you liked Collister?”
He stepped toward her, his voice calm, steady. “I do, of course. But I’m a visiting professor.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I thought you understood. My position here is temporary. A visiting professor is always only temporary.”
She hadn’t known. Landry raised a hand as if to brush her hair back, but when she saw the faint tremble in her fingers, she let it drop.
“I didn’t realize,” she admitted, her throat tightening. “When do you leave?”
“Two weeks.”
The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped her in a slow exhale. Two weeks. The words echoed in her head, a relentless drumbeat.
Peter moved closer, his voice low, urgent. “I’ve been thinking.” He took her hands in his. “Come with me to France.”
Her heart stuttered.
“You’ve been wanting to travel, Landry. This would be the perfect opportunity.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Because in the chaos of her swirling emotions, she wasn’t sure what to say.
“Why are you going there?” she finally asked. “What’s there for you?”
She thought of all he had here. His students. His friends. Her.
“The area where George’s B-17 went down is called Pas-de-Calais. It was a major target for Allied bombing raids.” His gaze never left her face. “The university I’ll be teaching at is in Arras, right in the heart of it all. It’s the perfect location for my research.”
She was struggling to process his words, the ache in her chest making it hard to focus.
“Research?” she repeated, her voice hollow.
“Caroline designed a government building while she was living there. She stayed in that region for nearly two years,” he explained. “As far as I can tell, it’s where she finally accepted that George was never coming back.”
Landry swallowed hard, something tightening in her throat. “I can’t imagine loving someone so much and then losing them.”
The words barely made it past her lips. The truth was, she could imagine it. Because in two weeks, she was going to lose Peter.
Peter nodded, his eyes warm but filled with something deeper, something that made her breath catch.
“Then I tell myself that she and George shared something in their short time together that most people never find in a lifetime,” he murmured. “When you find that kind of love, you hold on to it with both hands.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and she felt it like a pull, a tether wrapped tight around her heart.
Her head spun. She knew what he was saying. What he was asking.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Then he’d be gone. The man she loved would be thousands of miles away.
Unless I go with him.
The thought both excited and terrified her.
Peter reached for her, his hands framing her face, his touch gentle but firm. “You don’t have to give me your answer now,” he whispered. “Just promise you’ll think about it.”
It was all she could do to nod.
She had the sinking feeling it would be the only thing she’d be thinking about.
“I gave Peter my answer last night.”
Landry’s voice was steady, but inside, her heart still felt like it was trying to hammer its way out of her chest. For the past week, the decision had consumed her—shadowing every waking thought, invading her dreams. And Peter…
True to his word, he hadn’t pressured her. But she’d seen the question in his eyes every time they’d been together. The hope.
“I told him I wouldn’t be going with him.”
Mila’s eyes widened. “I thought you were leaning toward saying yes.”
“I was.” Landry blew out a breath, running a restless hand through her hair. “But something just didn’t feel right.”
“What didn’t feel right?”
The deep voice belonged to Vern, who had just walked up behind the counter, his sharp gaze flicking between them. His attention lingered on the espresso machine for a second, as if deciding whether it was the source of the problem. “Is that acting up again?”
“Landry has decided not to go to France,” Mila blurted before Landry had a chance to answer. “She told Peter last night.”
Vern’s eyebrows lifted. “Huh.”
Now that Peter was coming in so frequently, even Vern had noticed what was going on between them. He’d seemed pleased that his coffee shop had brought them together.
Landry forced a small, halfhearted smile. “Yep. You’re stuck with me.” She aimed for light-hearted, but the words fell flat.
Vern wasn’t buying it. His head tilted slightly. “Why not go?”
It was a fair question. She’d asked herself that very thing a hundred times.
Mila crossed her arms. “Yeah, why? You’ve always talked about wanting to travel. This is your shot.”
Landry hesitated, struggling to put the swirling mess of emotions into words. How could she explain something she barely understood herself?
“I do want to go to Paris. I want to travel, explore, experience it all…” She sighed, frustration tightening her chest. “But I want to do it for me. Not because I’m following someone there.”
The words felt true as they left her lips, yet the ache in her chest didn’t lessen.
“Does that make sense?”
Vern rubbed his chin, his expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, he shook his head. “Not to me.”
Mila exhaled, her brow furrowing with concern. “Is it because your mother freaked when you told her you were thinking about it?” Her voice lowered slightly, as if Donna Fisher might materialize out of thin air and hear her. “Because you know she’d never be on board with it, no matter what?”
Landry’s stomach twisted.
She glanced at Vern, who, for once, wasn’t hurrying them back to work. No customers in line probably had something to do with that.
“I haven’t heard any of this.” Vern leaned back against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest, eyes sharp behind his glasses. “What did Donna say?”
It was easy to forget sometimes that Vern and her mother had gone to high school together.
Landry let out a heavy sigh. “What you’d expect. That I’d be crazy to run off with someone I barely know. Oh, and she threw in how irresponsible it would be to blow all my savings on a trip to France.”
The lump forming in her throat had nothing to do with her mother’s words. It had everything to do with Peter.
What her mother didn’t understand—what neither of her parents could truly understand—was that Landry did know Peter. She knew him in ways that went deeper than time, deeper than logic. She knew his heart. His soul.
And yet, she still hadn’t been able to say yes.
Vern and Mila exchanged glances.
Landry straightened, shoulders stiffening. “None of that had anything to do with my decision.”
Mila lifted a skeptical brow.
Vern made a noncommittal noise. “I’ve known your mother a long time. She’s always been a smart woman and a good person. But fun? Not so much. She was never really interested in things the way some people are—books, music, sports, movies. It just wasn’t in her nature.”
Mila and Landry exchanged wide-eyed glances. Finally, Mila broke the silence. “Um…okay. So Donna has always been a bit of a buzzkill. Why are we talking about this?”
“I’m not saying she was a buzzkill,” Vern protested, then caught himself. His expression softened. “All right, maybe I am. But that’s not my point.”
He glanced around the shop, his gaze skimming over the antiques, finally landing on the letter box. His voice grew quieter, more thoughtful.
“What I’m saying is, your mother is giving you advice that would make sense for her, but that doesn’t mean it’s right for you.
She found happiness here in GraceTown, and that’s a good thing.
I found happiness here, too. So did Caroline.
But you know what? That didn’t stop her from finding it elsewhere as well. ”
He turned back to Landry, his gaze steady, filled with quiet conviction.
“Caroline traveled. She trailblazed. She found love and heartbreak. That’s life, kid. You don’t find happiness by staying where it’s safe—you find it by living.”
The bell over the door rang, signaling a new customer. Vern straightened and reached for a clean coffee cup. “Time to get to work.”
But as Landry turned toward the espresso machine, her mind wasn’t on the order she was about to take. It was on Peter. On the life she might have just let slip through her fingers.