28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Five months and nineteen days later…
“Mom! I’m leaving!” I shoved my wallet into the top pocket of Bertha, shaking her wildly so all my stuff sank down far enough to close.
“Hold on, I’m coming!”
I gritted my teeth, listening to her footsteps patter overhead as she ran around her bedroom. I followed the sound to the stairs as she scurried down them. In her arms were two small, badly wrapped Christmas gifts.
I sighed. “I don’t really have room.”
“They squish,” she said. “Here, give me your bag.”
I cringed as I watched her smash them in. Thankfully, almost everything inside was clothes, so she couldn’t do too much harm.
“There, see? Have a great trip.” She grinned as she pulled me in for a hug. “And give my love to Emil.”
Upon discovering his existence—which had been met with a betrayed, “But you promised !”—my mother’s attitude had flipped during our first video chat with him. Her eyebrows waggled at me when she was out of frame, adding in a mouthed, “ He’s so cute! ” and “ HOT .” I fought back fits of laughter. Emil was confused, wondering why everything he said was suddenly so funny.
“I will,” I said, throwing Bertha over my shoulder, smacking a kiss on her cheek, and running for the door.
The five months apart had felt like eons. Our phones were our lifelines, speaking every day, planning the next possible getaway where we could be together. Even so, life kept up its invisible pace. I updated him on my first official position in Houston for the last four months, which had been a whirlwind of emotions. Balancing between patients, colleagues, and the politics no school could prepare you for was overwhelming, but I couldn’t deny I loved it. I told him all the details, from workplace drama, to showing off my apartment, to giving him a tour through my neighborhood.
He gladly returned the favor, speaking passionately about his apprenticeship with Marko, a local architect, telling me about Asja applying to art schools far and wide, how Amin had caved and hired on a second sales assistant to fill in Emil’s new part-time schedule, and that Dani sent kisses. He grumbled through the last bit.
We were both living the versions of our lives we’d always dreamed of, but the pictures were incomplete. When I wasn’t working, I daydreamed about him and relived our adventures with something akin to reverence. Time hadn’t faded the magic, but imaginary Emil wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted to touch him, feel his heat, lose myself in him in every sense.
So the first thing I did when I bolted through the arrival gate at Heathrow Airport was to run and jump into his waiting arms.
“Oof,” he grunted, but he was holding me just as tightly.
“Hey,” I whispered in his ear.
“Hello,” he muttered into my neck. He shifted to let me down, but I moaned in protest.
He chuckled. “Do you want a kiss or not?”
Those were the only words that could peel me away from his embrace.
My toes touched back to earth, but I was lost again as I gazed into the galaxy of his eyes. The warm brown at the center, green tinting the edges. I’d tried to replicate the details of them in my memory, but had fallen utterly short of their intricacies. They drifted down to look at my lips, and I smiled.
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
It was the first kiss of many during our trip from the airport through the city. I stole one while we waited for the underground. He stole one back as the car filled, and we were forced tightly into a corner. Neither of us minded. Discreetly, his hand moved up as he shifted us into a different position. Comfortable it was not, but with the extra inch of closeness, it was certainly preferable. His fingers grazed the skin beneath my jacket, and I sucked in a breath.
He murmured something in Bosnian, his voice husky. I didn’t have to know what it meant, only how it felt. His hands paused at my waist, and I looked up at him heatedly.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered.
The trip between the station and our hotel was a jumbled blur of want and need, building into a cacophony of anticipation. When he finally kissed me properly, with no audience to hold back for, I melted into it. The press of his touch invited me home. My hands worked at his clothes, aching for the feel of his skin, beginning a dance that lasted the rest of the night until we ordered room service and lay in each other’s arms before drifting to sleep.
The morning dawned with birdsong and the glow of a promising new day.
I stretched with a groan. My arm flopped to the side and hit something solid and warm.
I flipped over. Emil glared at me through sleepy eyes.
“You’re here!” I practically tackled him in a hug. He circled his arms around me and rolled so I sat on top of him.
“Where else do you think I’d be?”
“I thought I’d dreamt it.” I ran my fingers through his tousled hair, down along his jaw. This was the Emil I’d been waiting for, flesh and bone and all mine .
“A common mistake of yours, I remember.” He squinted. “Your dreams must be much better than mine.”
“Why? Do you not dream of me?”
“I do. But it’s not enough. If yours are as good as the last twelve hours, did you really need to come all this way?”
I lowered myself slowly so my chest brushed against his before we pressed together. My hands folded beneath my chin as I stared up at him innocently. “Would you like me to demonstrate how in-person outweighs the cons?” My lashes batted flirtatiously.
Please, please take the bait.
“Tempting,” he said, his fingers stroking lazy circles across my back. “But I have other plans for today.”
I rolled off him. “Where are we going?”
His firm hand gripped my hip, pulling me flush against his torso. “It’s a surprise.”
Excitement lurched through my stomach. “Really? Where to?”
“By definition, a surprise would mean I can’t tell you.” He nuzzled my hair, pressing a kiss at the base of my ear. “What do you think?”
My voice shook when I spoke. “I think I would be happy to stay just like this for eternity.”
“But?”
I pulled away. “No buts, remember.”
“I remember.”
“So,” I tried instead, “I trust you. Lead away.”
It wasn’t until the afternoon that I realized what was happening. Following a stroll through the Portobello Road market, we passed Buckingham Palace to gawk before continuing to the Houses of Parliament. From there, we wandered past shops and beneath theater marquees as Emil led me to the huge roundabout of Trafalgar Square. The impressive lion statue-guarded fountains framing the path up to the National Gallery stared out at us, and it hit me.
“This is our list,” I breathed. The things his grandfather had seen, the exact places I’d mentioned to encourage Emil to come with me on the trip in the first place, all so he could see London. And, here and there, were also the ones we’d added ourselves when we had imagined visiting together, before being torn apart.
Emil’s grin as we passed through security said it had taken me long enough, but he raised my hand to his lips. He guided me to the right while my neck craned to stare at the gorgeous vaulted ceilings, which were surrounded by rich, deep-hued walls of burgundy and forest green. We went straight into the Van Gogh room, where we circled the space until landing in front of his beloved sunflowers.
“You got me flowers,” I teased.
His smile dimmed. “I should have.”
I punched his arm lightly. “These ones last longer.”
“Is that so?” He seemed appeased.
“And they’re pretty .” I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact I was seeing this in person, the brush strokes somehow tactile even without touching them. It was truly a humbling experience, and it continued as we explored other marvelous rooms: Monet, Vermeer, Rembrandt, Michelangelo, Turner. In spite of my nonexistent art history knowledge, the names were astounding, the works bewitching. We could have easily spent the whole day there, but eventually we had to move on.
Tit for tat, we alternated checking off our bucket list items. At least, as many as we could fit in until our stomachs were grumbling, and our feet were too sore to carry on. We stopped for takeout, pausing to eat along the Thames, before wandering to our hotel in no particular hurry.
After we had showered and changed into our pajamas, I grabbed my jumble of presents from Bertha and dumped them onto the bed. A cascade of green-and-red paper topped with smooshed bows littered the fluffy comforter. Emil laughed, then mockingly checked his phone.
“Santa Claus came late,” he teased, flashing the screen with the date in my face. It was true we’d spent Christmas at home, but that didn’t make our holiday now any less special. We were making our own traditions—time zones and calendar dates be damned.
I shook my head stubbornly. “No, he made accommodations just for us.”
He humored me with a indulgent sigh and then stood, grabbing his own packages from the dresser we shared. When he turned around, my attention latched on to the perfectly wrapped gifts in his hands.
“What. The. Heck?” I sputtered, playing with a bow as big as my face. “How are these so nice?”
“Magic,” he whispered as he slid onto the bed and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Santa had a special helper named Asja.”
“That explains it.” I grabbed the closest and was about to rip into its gold-and-green paper when I hesitated, biting my lip. “How do you guys do Christmas at home? Do you take turns?” Or demolish them simultaneously as fast as humanly possible, which was how the Roth house operated.
“Hmm,” he murmured, turning a present my mother had wrapped over in his hands. Then he considered me. “What was the phrase you used once? Last one is a moldy egg?”
My snort was like a shot at the start of a horse race. We flew through the packages, taking breathers to ooh and aah and chuckle over our haul.
He burst out laughing at the hat my mother had horribly knitted for him, all lumpy and uneven, but he still popped it on his head. I’d gotten him two things. The first he opened was a box of Cards Against Humanity to torture him with. He read the back of the box, then his eyes grew wide with fear. Mission. Accomplished.
I saved the best for last, pushing the skinny gift toward him across the bed. He seemed a little apprehensive after the card game, but he relaxed when the top of the supple leather blueprint tube appeared beneath the ripped paper. He ran slow fingers over the spot where I’d had his name embossed.
“There’s this great leather worker downtown,” I explained, “and he made it by hand. I wasn’t sure if you already had one, but I passed his shop on the way to work, and I just thought of you.”
He rested the tube beside him gently. “It’s perfect,” he said as he leaned forward and cupped my cheek. His lips pressed against mine, and I could sense the gratitude transferring like energy passing between us. “Thank you.”
Asja had sent me a small painting of Stari Most, an original showcasing her talents, Emil explained. His mother and Omar gave me a box of goodies, including baklava. My mouth instantly watered. With it was a card from his whole family. Even Mia had scratched her name at the bottom.
The last two left for me were from Emil, and I stared into the first box for a moment before pulling out a pair of earrings. They were the kind you threaded through your ears, and they had a single elegant, teardrop-shaped bead at one end.
“Do you like them? I wasn’t sure they would be your style, but after the necklace in Split, they seemed similar.” The lift of his shoulder said women’s jewelry was beyond him, but I couldn’t love them more.
“They’re gorgeous.” I tipped them out of the box and went to the mirror to put them on. I looked at him through the reflection. “What do you think?” I shook my head and the silver tendrils danced.
His expression warmed. “Beautiful, as always.”
Even now, the compliment made me flush. I skipped to the bed where I opened the second gift, which was a mosaic, spiral lamp I’d seen dangling outside so many shops in Mostar.
“Oh, I loved these!” I gushed.
“I know,” he chuckled. His gaze flashed to my trusty companion near the door. “But it’s a little oversized for Bertha.”
I waved a dismissive hand. “I packed light, and I’ll have more room now with your gifts out.” He lifted a brow, but let it go.
“You did pack something for going out, though, yes?” he asked instead.
He had pressed the point so hard once during a call while I was packing, I’d rolled my eyes.
“Yes,” I said, playing it straight. “I put my lacy negligee in. That works, right?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, alarm flashing across his face before the fear froze, and his eyebrows dropped. “Ha ha,” he mocked.
He was getting faster.
With a roll of his eyes at my devilish smile, he suddenly turned serious. He leaned back, reaching for the drawer in the nightstand, and pulled out an official-looking blue file folder. I frowned. Paperwork and Christmas glee didn’t align in my book.
“One more gift, though this one comes with a warning,” he said, shoving the drawer closed as he straightened.
Definitely not Christmassy words.
“Okay.” At my core, worry formed with the sudden change in mood, like a slowly expanding bubble.
His mouth quirked into a small smile. “It’s not bad.”
“Okay,” I said again, my tone still wary.
He held out the folder. I gripped the bottom, but he didn’t let go.
“The warning is that nothing’s confirmed,” he explained, his expression pointed, attempting to temper my expectations. “It’s out of my control still, but I’m trying.”
The conviction in his voice finally did the trick. My anxiety bubble popped and vanished.
“Okay,” I said tenderly, and he released the folder.
In it sat an application. And behind it, another. And another. I checked the information in the headers and a pattern grew.
“You’re applying to architecture programs in the US?” I breathed.
He swallowed. “And scholarships,” he clarified. “Marko is writing up a recommendation, along with a few others for character references. It’s a long shot—a very long shot—but…”
“But it’s possible.” Warmth trickled along my skin, excitement tittering through my veins. “Are you sure? Mostar, your family… ”
“Will still be there when school ends,” he said. “And with a degree, we could go pretty much anywhere, wherever we decided to be.”
And with that, he gave me the best Christmas gift of all. A future with him, no more questions, no more maybes, a solid foundation. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t set in stone yet. I could feel it in my gut. This was it, where our diverged paths met at last.
“Unless you think it’s a bad idea…” he started, but I cut him off as I dropped the folder to the side and stopped his words with a kiss.
“I knew you were Santa,” I whispered when we broke apart. “You got my letter.”
He stared at me, confused.
“You’re what I wanted,” I said, cupping his face between my hands, “this year and every year.”
His lips parted, and I kissed away his surprise until he truly believed it.