Jensen paused before speaking, blinking at me a few times. “I was never the fling type.”
“You seemed to do it quite well, if memory serves.”
A smile pulled at one side of his mouth. “Pippa, ask me why I’m here.”
“I believe we’d already established you’re here for work. The London office, remember?”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Did we establish that?”
I frowned. Hadn’t we? This was all becoming rather confusing, talking about time zones and work hours and . . .
“Fine,” I said, giving in, voice flat. “Why are you here?”
“I flew here to see you.”
Pop.
Black.
While my mind tried to shuffle these words into sense, he simply watched me, his tiny smile lingering before turning slightly unsure.
“You . . . What?”
He smiled wider, nodding. “I came here to see you. I realized I wanted more. I came to see if you might . . . want more with me. I’m in love with you.”
My legs straightened, shoving me upright and standing of their own volition, and before I knew it, I was awkwardly stepping over his lap and tripping down the aisle to the lavatory.
The flight attendant gently called after me: “We’ll be taking off shortly . . .”
But the flight was still boarding. And I had to . . .
move
walk
breathe
something.
I slid into the loo and was beginning to close the door when a hand reached out, stopping me.
Jensen looked at me, pleading.
“There’s barely room in here for me,” I whispered, putting a hand on his chest.
He stepped forward anyway, deftly swapping our positions so my back was to the door.
“Just . . . give us a second,” he said to the bewildered flight attendant.
Sliding the door carefully closed behind me, he lowered the lid on the toilet before sitting and looking up at me.
“What in the bloody hell are we doing in here?” I asked.
He took my hands, staring down at them. “I don’t want you to walk away from me after I tell you I love you.”
“I’ll be sitting next to you on the entire flight,” I countered lamely.
He winced, shaking his head a little. “Pippa . . .”
“I came home from Boston and was miserable,” I told him. “I quit my job, moved back home, and set about making my life something I would want to rejoin after vacation.”
Jensen listened, watching me patiently.
“I couldn’t decide if you ruined me, or . . . or found me,” I said. “I went on dates”—he winced again—“and didn’t enjoy any of them.”
“I haven’t been out with anyone since you,” he said.
“Not even Softball Emily?”
He laughed. “Not even her. It wasn’t a sacrifice.” He reached up, cupping my jaw and staring directly into my eyes. “And maybe Hanna and Will would say that’s par for the course, but I did date, before. I just hadn’t met you yet. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”
He was looking at my face when he said this. And he hadn’t said anything about my hair.
If he’d noticed that it was lavender, he’d given no indication. He didn’t even do the casual—but obvious—scan of my bracelets stacked up my arm, or my chunky necklace or my red combat boots.
And I think that’s when I knew. I was done for. Those thickly lashed green eyes; the smooth, flushed cheeks; the hair he’d let grow long enough to fall over his brow; and now, the way he saw me for me, not as a series of eccentric parts and bright colors . . .
My brain tried one last argument. “You’ve come to London for the grand gesture because you’re lonely.”
Jensen studied me, reaching with one hand to thoughtfully scratch his jaw. “It’s true.”
The two short words hung heavily between us, and the longer they lingered, the more I realized he could find someone else if it was only about wanting companionship.
“It’s too late?” He stared up at me, lips slowly pulling into a skeptical half smile. “I feel like we haven’t really had a chance yet. We were both trying to make it casual last time.”
“I don’t know what to think about all of this,” I admitted. “You’re not the impulsive type.”
He laughed, taking my hands. “Maybe I want to change things a little.”
“Before . . .” I began, gently, “you really only wanted me when I was convenient.”
Jensen looked around at the tiny bathroom we were crammed into, on the flight he had booked only to see me. His argument was superfluous, and we both knew it, so he looked back up at me and grinned. Playful. Relaxed. Exactly the man I knew on our wine trip. “Well, here we are. Not exactly convenient,” he added with a teasing smile. “And I love you.”
The words burst out of me: “I’ve slept with a lot of blokes.”
“What?” He laughed. “So?”
“I’m shit with money.”
“I’m great with money.”
I felt my heart reaching out, trying to claw its way out of me. “What if I don’t get a job in Boston?”
“I’ll move to the London office.”
“Just like that?” I asked, my heart a mass of flapping wings in my chest.
“It isn’t exactly ‘just like that,’ ” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve spent the last month being miserable and debating every reason why this doesn’t make sense. The problem is, there are no more compelling reasons remaining.” He ran his index finger across one raised eyebrow. “I don’t care about the distance. I’m not worried that you’ll leave me without explanation. I don’t care that we’re such different people, and I’m not worried that my job will get in the way. I won’t let it. Not anymore.”
Pausing, he added, “I made partner on Friday.”
I felt the air around us go still, and the tiny space seemed to shrink further. “You what?”
His smile was tentative and sweet. “I haven’t told anyone yet. I . . . I wanted to tell you first.”
Clutching his shoulders, I cried, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He laughed. “No. It’s crazy, I know.”
But being so close to him and feeling this crushing hope was terrifying.
“Pippa,” he said, looking up at me, “do you think you could love me, too?”
“What if I couldn’t?” I whispered.
He stared up at me, unspeaking. It wasn’t cockiness in his eyes, and it wasn’t defeat, either. It was some surety, deep in his heart, that told him he wasn’t wrong about us.
I know how hard he had worked to trust his emotional compass, and I would be damned if I extinguished that trust.
“If I said that, you would know I was lying,” I said.
His chest fell a bit in an unsure exhale. “Lying?”
I bit my lip before clarifying, “Because you know I already do.”
His entire face transformed with a smile. “Sorry,” he said, “you’re standing a little far away, I couldn’t quite—”
Bending down, I spoke the words against his mouth again before kissing him.
Strangest thing: The kiss felt familiar, as if we’d done it a thousand times before. Which I suppose we had. I expected it to be some revelation, to somehow feel like a committed kiss.
Saying the words out loud hadn’t changed a thing—it had just acknowledged what was already there.
BEAUTIFUL EPILOGUE
Jensen
The plane touched down, and I woke Pippa with a gentle shake. She startled: jerking upright, inhaling sharply, and looking around her.
I watched as it all came back to her in pieces: getting on the plane, seeing me, our talk in the tiny airplane bathroom, the declarations, getting kicked out of the bathroom for takeoff, and then the mostly wordless cuddling in our seats. She’d fallen asleep about an hour into the flight, leaving me to think through all of it.
&n
bsp; I liked to be prepared.
If she didn’t get a job in Boston, we could move to England.
Or she could move here with me, find something else to do over time, without any rush. But Pippa was pretty independent and spirited; I wasn’t sure how she would respond to my suggestion that she let me earn the money and she could take care of making our lives interesting.
Then again, part of me suspected that was Pippa’s dream job: Adventure Incorporated.
“Did I drool on you?” she asked, voice a little hoarse from sleep.
“Only a little.”
She grinned. “I improve with every shared flight.”
Cupping her jaw, I bent and kissed her once, briefly. “This one was pretty great.”
We moved off the plane, along the winding hallways to baggage claim to retrieve her suitcase.
“Tell me your schedule,” I said, putting my duffel bag on top of her roller bag and leading her toward the parking garage.
“What day is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “Tuesday?”
“Yes.” I glanced at my watch. “Tuesday at 4:49 p.m. local time.”
“I’ve got an interview tomorrow at ten, and then two on Thursday. I think.” She pulled her phone out of her purse and squinted at the screen. “Right, that’s it.”
I looked questioningly at her phone, remembering she’d said she’d shut the service off. Understanding, she said through a yawn, “Mums. New phone and lunch money before they sent me off.”
I couldn’t wait to meet them. “Have they put you up at a hotel? The interviewers, not the Mums.”
She nodded. “The Omni.”
We fell quiet as we walked to my car. On the one hand, I didn’t want to rush things. On the other, I’d flown to London to profess my love, and before that we’d had sex in every conceivable manner. It seemed a little late to worry about rushing.
“Want to stay over?”
She looked up at me as I loaded our bags into my car. “Either that or you’re at my hotel,” she said, grinning. “Don’t you belong to me now?”
It was only about fifteen minutes without traffic from Logan International to her hotel, but it was about a half hour to my house.
The benefit of the hotel: speed.
The benefit of my house: my bed, more food delivery options, and more flat surfaces for sexual activity.
My phone rang over Bluetooth as we curled around the streets, Pippa’s hand on my leg. Glancing at my screen, I saw Hanna’s face.
Pippa grinned, excited, but I put my finger over my lips to indicate we should keep this a surprise for now. I also suspected if Hanna knew Pippa was with me, she’d talk us into coming over, and . . . no.
“Hey, Ziggs.”
“Look,” she said, voice panicked and bursty, “I’m sorry I missed your call on Friday, but then you didn’t answer and I’m feeling really guilty about something and—”
“Honey, it’s okay,” I said, laughing. “I called you on my way out of town and have been . . . a bit busy since then.”
“Oh—you’re out of town?” she asked, confused. The only person who knew my calendar better than Hanna was my assistant.
“I’m home now. I wanted to tell you—”
“No, wait. Let me get this out first,” she said. “I didn’t tell you something and now I’m all twisty over it.”
My brows pulled down in confusion. “You didn’t tell me something?”
“Pippa will be here,” Hanna said. “In Boston. If she’s not here already. She has job interviews.”
She sucked in a gulp of air as she said the last word, and then there was nothing but silence. Like she’d dropped a grenade and jumped back, hoping to be spared the explosion. Pippa’s hand was clapped over her mouth.
I’d wanted to surprise Hanna by bringing Pippa over myself, tomorrow maybe, but now I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“Don’t be mad,” Hanna added with a little peep. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I know you didn’t want me butting in anymore.”
I smiled over at Pippa, who silently worried her lower lip between her teeth and said, “I’m not mad.”
“I just wanted you guys to work so badly,” she said, “and I hope that I get to see her while she’s in town because I already love her so much—”
“I’m sure you will.”
“But,” she continued, “I promise I won’t if it’s weird for you.”
“It’s not weird for me,” I admitted. “I love her, too.”
Beside me, Pippa beamed. Hanna went very, very quiet before whispering, “What?”
“Ziggs, I’ve got to get home, but is it okay if I come by for dinner in a couple hours? I have a surprise, too.”
Walking up the steps to my place felt a little surreal. Would we eventually live together? Would we live here? It wasn’t so much that I was pondering each question as that I had a flurry of them spinning inside my head—when would we live near each other, when would we live together, was this forever, what job would she get, would she need a job—but everything went quiet and still when the door closed behind us.
Pippa looked around the living room. “I didn’t pay much attention when I was here last time.”
I could see her pulse in her neck, beneath the smooth skin over what was at once a delicate and strong throat. “Now may not be the time, either.”
She turned her face to me, smiling widely. “No?”
“No.”
I moved to her, and she reached out, using the hem of my shirt to pull me closer. “So, we’re going straight to the sex, then.”
Nodding, I said, “Straight to the sex.”
“Bedroom?”
“Or couch,” I suggested. “Or kitchen counter.”
She stretched, kissing me leisurely. “Or shower.”
Shower sounded pretty good.
I turned us, walking backward toward the stairs before taking her hand and leading her to the master bath. “Your hair looks great.”
I felt her giggle as a vibration from her throat against my mouth. “I thought you’d never say anything about it. I assumed you hated it.”
“I noticed it,” I told her, “but it didn’t totally register until you were sleeping on me. I think I was just so excited to see you, and so nervous, that it didn’t entirely compute. I like it.”
She tugged my shirt up and over my head, dropping it on the floor near the shower. “That’s a good answer.”
“Is it?” My hands came up to her shoulders, coaxing the fabric there away.
Her dress pooled at her feet, and she stepped out of it. “Yeah. Grandpa would like you.”
I pulled back, staring blankly at her. “Grandpa?” I looked to her hands as she worked my jeans down my hips, taking my boxers with them. “We’re talking about your grandfather right now?”
She smirked up at me. “I’ll tell you the story some other time.”
“Sometime over sandwiches and soda,” I said, laughing. “Not when we’re . . .”
She stood naked with her back to me, reaching into the shower to turn on the water. And fuck, it was like everything sort of slotted into place.
We were headed toward sex in the shower. And not for the last time before we said goodbye, and not with some sort of agreement that it was temporary, but with the assumption that it wasn’t.
Pippa curled up closer to me on the couch, her wet hair tickling my neck as she took the remote from my hands. “I’m not watching Game of Thrones.”
I pouted down at her. I’d recorded the entire previous season and was ready to binge. “I thought you were just going to sleep on me.”
“I’m not tired anymore.”
“But—”
“I’m sure it’s amazing,” she said, “it’s just too bloody and rapey for me.”
“I guess that also means you’ll veto The Walking Dead? Because I have that recorded, too.”
She laughed, stealing my beer to take a sip before putting it back in my palm. “Right-o.” Looking arou
nd, she hummed a little. “You need more color in here.”
“My ruse is up.” I bent, kissing her temple as she chose Trainwreck on iTunes. “I really just brought you back here so you’d redecorate.”
“Anything you’re particularly attached to?” I followed where her eyes landed, on an old, funky lamp in the corner.
I shook my head, swallowing a sip of beer. “Nope.”
“Free rein?”
“You can do whatever you want with me and my house.”
She stole my beer again, her eyes on the television and the opening credits.
“But not my beer.” I reached for it with a grin.
She pulled her arm back, moving the bottle out of reach and laughing. “I’ll probably come in here and turn everything upside down.”
“Hope so.”
“I’ll complain when you work too much.”
“You’d better.”
She tilted her face up to me. “I hope I get a job here. I want this.”
“I want it, too.”
She pouted a little. “I like your shower—there’s tons of space in there for my million shampoos. And your bed is so comfortable. Hanna is here, and I love all the New York friends. And this, just curling up like this, I dread not having it now. Especially you.”
The vulnerability there made my heart twist. “Whatever happens with the interviews, we’ll find a way to make it work.”
Her eyes cleared as something seemed to occur to her, and she sat up a little. “Weren’t we supposed to go over to Hanna’s?”
I bolted upright. “Oh shit.”
I fumbled for my phone on the coffee table, nearly dropping it into Pippa’s lap. But as soon as I turned on the screen, I saw the single notification there: a text from my sister.
Can’t do dinner tonight. We’re headed to New York. Everyone is meeting there. Come join us ASAP.
And after that was a baby emoji.
“What . . . ?” And then it hit me. “Oh. Ohhh . . .”
Pippa looked at me. “What is it?”
“No dinner at Will and Hanna’s tonight,” I said. “But, before I tell you, I just want to be sure that you’re ready for me, and everything that comes with my family, and my friends . . .”
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