by Noelle Adams
He shows up fifteen minutes after I text him.
“Hi,” I say, smiling rather sappily as I open my apartment door and see him standing there with his thick hair, tailored trousers and Oxford, and smiling blue eyes.
“Hi.” Then he takes a step into the apartment, takes my head in both his hands, and takes my breath away with a hard kiss.
I wondered if we might feel a little weird and hesitant, having sex again after everything that happened. Not that it wouldn’t be good. Just that it might take us a little while to feel comfortable with each other again.
It doesn’t take any time at all.
As soon as his lips meet mine, my body comes alive in a way it hasn’t since London. I grab for him eagerly. He kicks the apartment door closed before he pulls me fully against him. And we’re kissing uninhibitedly as we stumble through the living room and toward my bedroom.
We fall onto the bed, and Richard wastes no time in getting rid of my clothes. He’s hot and hard and openly passionate. He’s already aroused—I can feel the bulge in the front of his pants—and his eyes are hungry as they run up and down my naked body. Needy. Almost desperate. Like he’s been starving without me.
I suddenly realize that he has been. He doesn’t just want me. He doesn’t just love me. He needs me.
As much as I need him.
My eyes are burning with emotion as I pull his handsome head down into another kiss. He explores my mouth with his tongue for a while and then trails kisses down my neck. Lifting his head once to check my face, he asks dryly, “Are you going to cry?”
“No, I’m not going to cry!” I huff at him out of principle, despite the fact that the pressure in my throat and behind my eyes makes it clear that tears could come at any moment. “Why would I cry about sex?”
“I thought you might be so overwhelmed with joy that you couldn’t help it.” His tone is still bone dry, but his eyes are very tender.
“I am overwhelmed with joy,” I admit. “But I’m not going to cry about it.”
“Okay.” He gives me a quick kiss and then nuzzles the crook of my neck. “Then I might cry for both of us. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be this happy.”
He’s sucking on the pulse in my throat—doing delicious things to my senses—but he’s also hiding his face from me. I use both hands to pull him up so I can see him.
He’s not about to cry, as far as I can tell from his face. But he is nakedly emotional as he gazes down at me. I try to say something and can’t. The words are caught on the lump in my throat.
“Are you sure about this, Gillian?” he asks in a hoarse whisper. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
I nod for a while before I can manage to speak. “I’m sure. I love you, Richard. More than anything. And I know for sure that you love me. I think part of me always really doubted it. Doubted that a man like you could feel something like that for someone like me. But I know it now. I can trust that now. I can give you everything. And everything’s what I want from you.”
“You have it.” He kisses my mouth. Then the side of my neck. Then a spot just next to my ear. “You have all of me there is to have. If you want it.”
“I do!” I pull his face toward me so I can kiss him, and this time we don’t stop.
We’re kissing as he caresses me to arousal and when he positions himself at my entrance and when he pushes inside me as I wrap my legs around him. We’re kissing as we rock together with so much urgency it’s almost clumsy. Nothing controlled or practiced about it. And we’re kissing when my body shakes through an orgasm and keeps breaking with pleasure as his motion gets hard and jerky.
Richard doesn’t break the kiss until he’s just on the edge of coming. He turns his head to the side as his body tightens like a fist. But he’s gazing down at me as the release washes over him. I see it in his eyes, his face. I feel it in his body.
I feel all of it. His love and need and complete devotion.
It’s mine.
He’s mine.
Richard must have seen and felt the same thing in me because he’s shaking again with emotion when his body softens above me.
I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight. As tightly as he’s holding me.
We stay like that for a long time, naked and tangled up together. I stroke his back and his hair. He occasionally presses kisses against my neck and shoulder. Finally he lifts up enough to meet my eyes.
I smile at him rather sappily.
He smiles back. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.”
“This is...” He clears his throat. “This is it for us. Right?”
“Right.” I smooth down a mussed section of his hair. “This is forever, as far as I’m concerned.”
I can see him release a little breath. “Good. Because forever is what I want.” He pauses, licking his lips. “I wanted to tell you something.”
“What is it?” I have no idea what to expect.
“My name.” He drops his eyes and then raises them again, looking just slightly sheepish. “My real name. Before I changed it. It’s Canterbury. Richard Canterbury. I’ve never told anyone in the world that before.”
For a moment I’m genuinely afraid I might melt into a puddle of pure sentiment, but I manage to keep it together enough to say, “You can be anyone you want to be, Richard. You can call yourself whatever you want. I love the man you really are.”
“That’s who I’m going to be,” he murmurs, slightly hoarse. “For the rest of my life. With you.”
EIGHT SATURDAYS LATER, I’m walking into Richard’s coffee shop at eight thirty in the morning with my laptop so I can work from there for a few hours.
It’s not too busy yet, but Richard is helping out behind the counter. He usually does in the mornings.
Melanie takes my order, and I walk over to the far end to wait as Richard fixes my mocha (since I’m in the mood for something sweet today). He brings it over with a smile, leaning over the counter to kiss me.
“I thought you were going to sleep in today,” he says.
“I tried. But I really want to get this project done, so I couldn’t relax. Give me a couple of hours to work before you come over to join me.” My current client is rather annoying, so I’m trying to get the work done quickly so I can get the man out of my life.
“Got it. Two hours without bugging you.” He gives me a little quirk of a smile. “But it would help if you wouldn’t look quite so irresistible.”
I roll my eyes at him since I don’t look irresistible at all this morning. I’m wearing leggings, an oversized top, and I went one too many days without washing my hair, so I had to pull it into two braids to hide how bad it looks.
He leans over to kiss me again, murmuring into my ear, “You always look irresistible to me.”
So I’m smiling like a dope as I take my mocha back to the corner table by the window where I always sit (except a few irritating times when the table was already taken by someone else).
I work for a couple of hours and end up getting quite a bit done. When I’m at home, I can find about a million things to do other than work, but here there’s really nothing but looking around or talking to Richard. Since Richard is staying away from me as I requested and there’s not much action here today, I have no choice but to focus.
I’m feeling good about what I’ve done so far when I glance at the time and am surprised that it’s almost eleven. There’s a line now waiting to order, but someone else has come in to work behind the counter. I look around and see Richard across the room, wiping down a table he’s just cleared.
He must have sensed me watching because he looks over just then, flashing me a smile. He comes over to sit at the other chair at my table, still holding on to his cleaning cloth.
“You seemed to be working pretty well,” he says.
“Yeah. I got a lot done. I think I can finish this by Monday.”
“Good. Dump that guy as soon as you can.”
“I will.
I really don’t like him at all. He’s already sent me three more emails this morning. I’m usually better at spotting bad clients and not taking their jobs. I’m not sure how this one snuck up on me. I’ve usually got a pretty good intuition for assholes.”
Richard chuckles, looking warm and relaxed and satisfied. Happy. It does my heart good to see him like this. “Well, I don’t know about that. You didn’t spot me, did you?”
“You are not an asshole!” When I see him about to object, I talk over him. “Maybe you used to sometimes act like one, but you were never one at heart. Don’t try to argue with me. I know you better than you know yourself. I always have.”
He chuckles again and shakes his head, his eyes very fond as they rest on my face. “Okay. Fine. I might suspect you’re too generous in your assessment of my character, but I’m not going to complain.”
“Of course I’m too generous. That’s what you do with someone you love. Just like you’re too generous with me.”
“I am not too generous with you. I only think you’re the most brilliant, beautiful, remarkable woman in the world because you are.”
I laugh out loud at that and reach over to squeeze his hand.
He doesn’t let my hand go, so we’re holding hands across the table when I see a couple come in that I recognize. “Oh look,” I say. “Sean and Ashley are here.”
I wave at them when they look over. They’re obviously here on purpose to see us, since this isn’t their neighborhood, so Richard pulls two chairs over to our table so they can sit with us when they’ve got their coffees and pastries.
Ashley is starting to show a bit now. She and Sean are both ecstatic about their first baby. The four of us chat for a while, and I watch Richard interact with Sean. He likes the other man a lot. I’d be able to tell even if he hadn’t told me. I suspect Sean might be the first real friend Richard has had in decades.
It’s really good for him. He needs friends. He’s obviously very happy with me, but he needs more than that for a fully lived life.
Richard has found the coffee shop very fulfilling. He likes the work he does here. The business is thriving. He’s not making nearly as much money as he used to, but he’s making more than enough for what he needs. He works hard, and he enjoys it. When he wakes up in the morning, he looks forward to the day.
So do I.
I was happy before. I had a good life. But I’m even happier now. I still sometimes feel invisible. I’m never going to be the person that people immediately notice or think about.
But I can’t feel completely invisible when someone loves me like Richard does. Even now, chatting with Sean and Ashley on a Saturday morning in a busy coffee shop, he’s pulled my chair close to his so he can put his arm around me.
He sees me, and I know he always will.
Epilogue
A YEAR LATER, I GET a champagne flute in the mail with a note scrawled on a cream-colored card saying to be at the bar of the Florida hotel where I had first met Richard at eight o’clock on a Saturday evening.
I’m in Seattle working when I receive the package. Since there isn’t a specific date written on the card, I assume Richard means the upcoming Saturday.
As soon as I open the package, I get a shiver of excitement. Expectation.
I do try not to presume too much, but this gesture seems significant. Another champagne flute? The same hotel where I met him for the first time?
We live together now. A few months ago we found a bigger place a few blocks from Richard’s coffee shop, and we moved in together. So it’s not like he needs to arrange to meet with me in this particular way anymore.
Richard must be planning something good.
So I change my Saturday morning flight that was originally taking me back home to Boston and arrange to land in Fort Lauderdale instead.
I also lecture myself about not getting too excited. What I think is going to happen might not actually happen. And if I’m disappointed about that, I might not be able to enjoy whatever it is that Richard does have in mind. So every time a certain possibility flits through my mind, I push it away by the force of my will.
Whatever is going to happen is going to be good, so I’ll just have fun with whatever it is.
That’s why on a Saturday evening in the middle of winter, I’m walking into a hotel bar, wearing heels, a pencil skirt, and one of my favorite tops, the one that shows off my figure the best.
A couple of guys look my way as I enter, their eyes lingering as I move to the bar. I’m never going to be the brightest star of any night sky, but people do occasionally notice me. Maybe what everyone says about confidence making the difference is true. Maybe that’s what’s changed things over the past two years. Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe I’m not so attuned to being invisible now, so I can recognize when other people see me.
I guess I’ll never know which one it is, but I’m pretty sure if I stay on my own at this bar for long enough, someone is going to come over to talk to me.
It makes me happy. Gives me a thrill. Even now. Despite the fact that I have absolutely no romantic or sexual interest in any man except Richard, and I can’t imagine that ever changing.
It’s still nice to feel attractive. I mean, to people other than Richard. I always feel attractive to him.
I ask the bartender for a glass of prosecco—embracing the symbolism of the memory—and look around the bar. There’s no sign of Richard. I’d half expected him to be waiting here for me.
But I’m sure he has some sort of a plan. The man is still the best strategic thinker I’ve ever encountered in my life. So I sip my fizzy wine and wait.
I only have to wait five minutes.
Just as a man in the corner who’s been eyeing me starts to shift like he’s going to get up and try his luck with me, Richard walks into the bar, wearing a black business suit, a blue-and-silver tie, and a pair of Italian shoes more expensive than anything he’s put on for months.
I blink as a wave of pure attraction washes over me. It still hits me out of the blue sometimes. How incredibly handsome the man is. How he oozes warm charisma and primal sex appeal. Half the eyes in the bar follow him as he walks toward me, a glint in his blue eyes and a smooth swagger in his stride.
He’s playing this up on purpose. I give a silly giggle as I wait for him to reach me.
“Good evening,” he says in his soft, husky voice.
I giggle again. “Hi.”
“I’m glad you showed up.”
“Did you think for even a second that I wouldn’t?” The corner of my mouth twitches deliciously.
“I figured you would. But I’m glad to see you anyway. It would be pretty embarrassing to do all this and have you be a no-show.”
“What is this exactly?”
“Just an evening together.”
“Uh-huh.” The skepticism is clear in my tone.
“You don’t think I’m going to spill everything right now, do you?”
“Well, I had a few hopes that you might. I’m a little bit curious.”
“A little bit?”
“A lot.”
He chuckles and leans over to murmur into my ear. “Then there’s no reason to wait. It’s the same suite where we spent our first night together.” As he speaks, he slides a key card under my hand, which is resting on the polished surface of the bar.
My lips part as he gets up and leaves the room without another word.
My heart is racing like crazy. I close my fingers around the key card. I wait a few minutes, sipping my prosecco and trying to settle my excited jitters.
Then I slowly stand up. Straighten my skirt (since it got hiked up a little from sitting on the tall stool). Look around and see that the guy who was about to approach me is watching me now in resigned disappointment.
I walk out of the bar, find the elevator, and head up to the twentieth floor.
It’s suite 2020. That’s where I spent my first night with Richard. The key card opens the door. The entrance is familiar
. So is the room when I walk in.
Richard is standing by the small table with his hand around an expensive bottle of champagne.
It’s been a long time since he and I have been in a hotel room together. Months. I had a long job in Dallas a few months ago, and he flew out to spend one weekend with me. A few months before that, we spent a week in Sweden and Norway, a birthday gift for me since I’d never been to Scandinavia and wanted to go. Otherwise, Richard hasn’t left Boston much this year.
I still travel a lot for work, but he doesn’t anymore. Maybe it’s because in his previous life he was always on the move. Now he mostly wants to stay at home. He’s never had roots before, so he’s working on putting them down. He’s made a few friends. He works hard at the coffee shop. He’s gotten to know the staff at the local grocery store, fruit stand, and bakery.
He’s so happy in his new life, and so am I.
“Did you shake it up?” I ask him now, nodding toward the bottle of champagne. “Just for the full repeat experience.”
“No, I did not.” He’s narrowed his eyes slightly. “We don’t need a repeat of that particular detail. I should have known you’d turn my whole life upside down when I couldn’t even open a bottle of champagne that night without making a complete fool of myself.”
“You didn’t make a complete fool of yourself. I may never have followed through with having sex with you if it hadn’t been for that little incident. It proved to me you were real. You were human. And I needed to know that, since otherwise you might have been the hero from a romantic story.” I walk over to him as I speak.
He leans down to kiss me softly. “Then I’ll take it. Did you bring the champagne flute I sent you?”
“Yes. Of course.” I set my bag on the bed and reach in to take out the box he sent me. I had put it back into the original packaging so it wouldn’t get cracked on the journey. When I open the box and pull out the glass, I hand it to him. “Should we rinse it out before I drink champagne from it?”
