by Lisa Swallow
“You. Here. With me.”
I swallow against his abruptness. “Why?”
“I miss you.”
“When are you back in England?” I ask.
“End of the month.”
“If you still miss me then, we can catch up?” I suggest.
Silence.
More silence.
Has he hung up?
“No,” he says eventually. “I need to see you. I’m serious. I’ll come and get you.”
“What? Club me over the head and carry me over your shoulder back to your cave?”
The sound of Bryn inhaling then exhaling loudly is my immediate response. “Why so defensive, Avery?”
“I told you; you hurt me.”
“And I want to put that right. I can’t wait until next month. Just get on the bloody plane tomorrow!” His exasperation surprises me, dragging my stupid heart back in his direction.
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll send you kittens. Think of the kittens. I don’t think they should be subjected to your living conditions, so do it for them!”
I can’t help laughing at him. “Bryn Hughes, you’re a strange man.”
“And you, Avery Paige, are infuriating, and I need to see you. I fucked up. Don’t make me ask again; otherwise, I’ll give up.”
Bryn ends the call, taking me by surprise at his abruptness. He’s put the ball firmly in my court. I either subject myself to a free holiday weekend in France with a man who flipped my world upside down and I can’t seem to put it right again, or I risk never seeing him again.
I’m pushing my luck when I send the final text:
There’s a fine balance between asserting my desire not to be messed with and missing out on what my heart secretly feels is meant to be. The plane tickets he sent the other day rest on my bedside table and I pick them up.
Damn you, Bryn Hughes, and your sneaky burrowing into my heart and soul.
Chapter Twenty-Four
AVERY
Pushing through the flow of business travellers at the airport, I head to baggage collection where a man in a well-cut suit holds a sign with my name on it. Disappointed my daydream on the plane about running into Bryn’s arms isn’t happening, I head over. I doubt I’d have run into his arms anyway. Sure, Avery.
Introducing himself as Jean, the burly man escorts me out of the airport. The Paris spring blows rain into my face, the faceless tarmac and passengers climbing into and out of cars could be anywhere in the world. I told Bryn no to Paris and he promised we could go elsewhere. Wrapping my arms around my head as the cold rain smarts my face, I head across the car park with Jean to the expensive looking sedan. Luggage stowed in the boot, I hop into the back seat, and we drive away.
No Bryn.
The man hands me a handwritten letter in an envelope, which I open with damp hands as he drives the car away from the airport.
Sorry I couldn’t meet you. Enjoy your not-Paris trip.
Confused by his absence, I attempt to call Bryn but only get voicemail. Is he meeting me wherever the hell I’m going? Or does he think I don’t want to see him?
Frustrated when he doesn’t answer, I shove my phone back into my pocket. Mid-morning? I bet he’s in bed, lazy bloody rock star.
I lean forward to speak to the driver. “Where are we going?”
“Rouen,” he says in a heavy French accent.
Sitting back, I search for a travel site on my phone. Rouen, the capital city of nearby Normandy isn’t exactly a short drive but is smaller than Paris. Tourist guide sites tout the city as vibrant, and as historically romantic as Paris but without the crowds or price tag. Perhaps Bryn understands me more than I think.
We arrive almost two hours later, the modern outskirting suburbs rebuilt after the war give way to the preserved old Rouen as we head deeper into the city. Medieval buildings several stories high lean together across small streets as if they might touch. The Notre-Dame cathedral dominates the skyline, gothic spires towering over the buildings below, while posters surround the tram stops advertising student nights – the juxtaposition of the city’s historic and modern worlds clear. I’m not a big fan of history, but here I feel as if I’m transported back in time, and can’t fail to be impressed by the architecture around.
Jean pulls the car up outside a magnificent pale stone building, a hotel dominating the narrow buildings around. With numerous small towers, and intricately carved gabled windows, I feel as if I’m entering a palace.
With a goodbye and thank you to Jean, I drag my suitcase across the cobbled street and I’m immediately accosted by a young concierge who takes my bag and guides me to reception. The dark-haired woman behind the desk studies me with curiosity, double-taking when I tell her my name.
“I have this for you.” She slides another letter across the counter, which I read as she checks me in.
‘I booked you a separate room but if you want we can have that sleepover later? I’ll be here at 6 p.m. Make sure you’re ready to go out.’
I hastily stuff the letter away, attempting to catch up with my reality. Five hours ago, I was in dreary London, now I’m in a five-star hotel in an historic, beautiful part of France.
Waiting for a rock star.
****
Bryn arrives a little after 6 p.m., a knock on the door pushing my already elevated heart rate higher. I’ve spent several minutes attempting to get one earring in; my hands are shaking that much. Unsure where Bryn is taking me, I decide on midway between casual and smart, zipping myself into a knee-length blue dress covered in a pattern of tiny pink and white flowers.
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, I answer the door. The second our eyes meet, I’m engulfed by the attraction I have for this incredible man, everything from the last two months dragged away by the look he gives me – and the huge smile that lights his eyes. There’s a pause, a momentary awkwardness followed by a Bryn bear hug.
“I’d kiss you but you might run away,” he whispers in my ear as he holds me tightly.
I wrap my arms around Bryn’s waist and place my cheek against the cool leather of his jacket as he strokes my hair. I’m unsure how long we stand together, lost at the edge of the world in our own, and my defences against Bryn crumble.
I disentangle myself and step back before I kiss him and am lost completely. Bryn looks no different to my memories, but something is different; the deep brown eyes are no longer guarded, his stance more relaxed.
The longhaired guy in denim, leather and combat boots, tattoos visible at the edges of his sleeve, doesn’t fit into the five-star surroundings. The prim and proper lady on reception looked down her nose at my travel clothes. I can only imagine what she thought of Bryn.
“I’m almost ready,” I say, tearing my gaze from his and turning back to the room.
“Awesome.” Bryn crosses the room and flops back onto the large bed, stares at the ceiling. “Do you like the room?”
“It’s lovely, thank you.”
He sits. “It’s a bit old fashioned. Look at the wall! It needs painting!”
The original, carved brickwork is exposed and stone steps lead to the bathroom in keeping with the restored building.
“Really, Bryn?”
He laughs. “Really, cariad.”
My heart resumes its attempt to leap from my chest at his endearment.
As I brush my hair, I watch Bryn from in the mirror. “Thanks for coming,” he says.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“Like I said, I missed you.” When I look away, he adds. “I think you’ll like Rouen. Quiet but with a hidden fun side, a bit like you.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
He bites his lip. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Well then, take me on this date, hot rock star, and impress me
enough that I won’t go home.”
He stands, his eyes sparkling. “I will. Don’t worry about that.”
****
“Pancakes?” I ask incredulously as we head into the small café and I catch sight of the menu.
“Shush! No, they’re called crepes.”
“Crepes are pancakes.”
“This is not your lemon and sugar Shrove Tuesday variety, cariad.”
The café hides in a side street in the centre of old Rouen, a rough interior that better suits Bryn’s image. Another young couple sit at a table tucked away in one corner and we take another beneath the art prints on the pale walls.
“Crepes and a local red.” Bryn grabs a menu and thrusts it at me. “Choose.”
This reads like a pizza menu and I’m apprehensive about what I’ll be eating tonight. Deciding to go with a safe ham and cheese, Bryn orders from the gruff café owner who returns with an open bottle of wine and two glasses.
“How are you?” he asks as he pours two drinks. “You look tired.”
“So do you.”
He shrugs off his leather jacket revealing the muscular forearms I’d love to dig my fingernails into. “Touring.”
“Studying.”
“Have you been up to much? Anything exciting happen?”
“Nothing to eclipse January and parties with rock stars, no.”
He smiles slowly. “Hot rock stars.”
We continue to skirt around the issue of us as he regales me with tales of touring, complaining about his sister, but no mention of anything to do with Hannah. I relax as his easy-going aura emanates toward me.
The crepe surprises me because I love the flavour combination and never expected to. The freshness of the cheese and ham, melted together in the centre of the crepe is somewhere between a pizza and a sandwich. Even that is talking down what looks ordinary but is the best meal I’ve tasted in months.
“They’re famous for them here,” says Bryn through a mouthful, indicating my plate with his fork.
“I can see why. I agree, not pancakes.”
Meal and wine finished, we wander through the myriad of half-timbered medieval houses along winding lanes in old Rouen. Other groups walk through the narrow streets, ducking into bars or sitting outside cafes, wrapped up against the cold spring evening. Nobody pays attention to the Blue Phoenix drummer and his date. I’m surprised when Bryn takes my hand and squeezes. His large palm encompassing mine feels natural, and he just took hold of my heart again. We reach a square beneath the shadow of the cathedral where brightly lit spires push into the cloudy evening, and my sensation of being in a different world grows.
“Not quite Paris romance, but I think it’s a romantic place,” Bryn says and slips his arm around my waist as we gaze up. “Did I choose a good place?”
I shift to face him. “A good place for a date? Yes. A step out of life and time somewhere like Rouen is incredible. Very romantic, five stars to you.”
Bryn studies me, his scrutiny trailing heat from my cheeks to my neck, before touching my cheek lightly with his fingertips. “No, Avery. Did I choose a good place to tell you I accidentally fell in love with you?”
His words stun as much as the day he said he couldn’t be anybody’s and I swallow down my anxiety. “Bryn, don’t. That’s not fair.”
He cups my cheek in his cool hand. “Avery, all I’ve wanted for the last six weeks is to see you again. Every morning I’ve woken up and wished I could see the infuriating, sexy, funny, smart, caring girl who snuck into my heart.”
“That’s a lot of adjectives.”
“I have plenty more.”
I scrutinise him in return and in his open face, I see the truth I hoped for in January that he refused to give me. “Last time I saw you, you told me I wasn’t enough for you. That hurt.”
“No, I said that what I had to give wasn’t enough for you. I’ve played the conversation over and over, wishing I hadn’t fucked things up.”
“You said you loved somebody else and couldn’t have a relationship. How has that changed?”
“Avery,” he says firmly. “I missed you. A lot. I stopped thinking about Hannah because of you in the weeks we were together, and the moment you walked out of the door, I was lost again. I’m an idiot. I told you that the night we met.”
“Hannah has your heart.”
Bryn takes my face in both hands so I have to look at him. “Only if I let her and I won’t. I let go of her. You were right. When I met the right person, I could take my heart back and share it with her.”
I shake my head and look away, what he has with Hannah could never be eclipsed by me.
“I’ve hardly thought about Hannah at all, but thinking about you makes my chest ache, Avery, because I left my heart with you.”
Bryn’s describing the ache I’ve had myself, the nights lying in bed wishing I’d spent at least one night asleep in his arms, but knowing the pain would be worse if I had. My heart beats hard and fast, surging the crazy, hidden love I have for Bryn through. His familiar scent, the touch I’ve ached for, the impossible dream that the man who made this happen could feel the same way overwhelms me as I stare back, grasping for a response.
“Do you believe me?” he asks, brushing his thumb against my lip.
We stand, the way we have many times before, but with the invisible line erased. Honesty. Communication. The two things missing from the Bryn and Avery we were before.
“If you don’t understand what made you hang onto Hannah for so long, you might go back,” I say hoarsely, wanting him to replace his thumb with his lips.
“When I met you, I was hurting and lonely. You were different to everybody else around. You helped me forget about her.”
“Obviously not.”
“No, listen. The issue is I missed the part where it was more than being around you that helped me forget. It was because you were the girl I should be with. I finally woke up to the fact that I’d fallen in love with somebody who deserved my heart, who won’t play with it.”
“Stop,” I say and move back. “Don’t drop this on me and spoil the evening. I don’t think you knew what you wanted and still don’t.”
“You.” He reaches out to touch my cheek.
“And as long as you carry her, you can’t give yourself to me.”
“I’m already yours,” he whispers. “You’re mine. I know you are. Together we make an amazing us.”
“And if Hannah…”
“No more Hannah. I had too much faith in fate and tried to rewind instead of going forward.” He pulls me closer. “I have the answer to your question, the one I should’ve given you weeks ago. If she walked into my life tomorrow, and told me she wanted me, I wouldn’t give her a second look.”
In the core of my heart, I want to believe him but I’m unsure I can.
He catches my doubt. “I mean it, Avery. I’ve spent the weeks apart with you in my head and heart, and there isn’t room for anybody else in there.” Bryn winds his arm around my waist, almost encircling it completely as he brushes stray hair from my face. “When you were gone from my life, I noticed that the happiness left with you. I’ve spent a lot of my life focused on making other people’s worlds right and forgot about myself. You make my world a beautiful place, and that’s the one I want to live in.”
His words dizzy me, heartfelt honesty I’ve never heard before, from anybody. “I don’t know what to say, Bryn. I… I just don’t have words.”
His brow creases. “You didn’t expect this when you agreed to come here?”
“I expected to talk about us, but I never thought you’d say anything like this.”
“I don’t know how many chances I have, so I’m snatching this one with the hope you still feel enough for me and I can try again. I won’t fuck things up this time.”
I give him a desperate look, indicating he’s taken away my ability to respond coherently.
Bryn moves his mouth closer, his warm breath on my cool face, and I ache to feel his
lips again. “Would a kiss help?” he asks, lips brushing mine as he speaks. “I’ve waited weeks to kiss you again, fantasised about your lips on mine.” He lowers his voice. “Amongst other things.”
My scalp tingles as he pushes his fingers into my hair. I’m torn, but the moment he opened up to me, this was inevitable.
“Who says I want you to?” I whisper.
“I won’t then, if you don’t want me to.”
Our mouths remain close, and I close my eyes and fight the breathing difficulty intensifying every moment since Bryn said he loved me. That he wants me.
“You can tell a lot about how somebody feels from their kiss,” I whisper, echoing his words from January.
“I know.” Bryn’s mouth finally meets mine, soft at first until I press mine harder, and indicate I want his kiss. I’m surrounded by the strength and heat of the man who I swore I would never think about again; the one holding my face as his kiss deepens. I wind my arms around Bryn’s neck, body firing where we meet and I part my mouth, eagerly tangling my tongue with his.
His kiss is the same as every other we’ve shared, the intense passion that lies inside Bryn matched with his awareness of my response, a memory of how I like to be kissed. From the first time Bryn kissed me, when he wasn’t mine, I became his. There was something familiar in his lips, as if I’d found the ones I belonged to.
One crazy evening, Bryn crashed into my life and stole my heart with a kiss. In exchange, he left a promise on my lips that one day he’ll return my heart with his.
Aware we’re in public, when his hands slide to my ass and pull me into him, I stop. Bryn strokes my cheek with the back of his hand and kisses my forehead.
“Is my kissing getting any better?”
“There was never anything wrong with your kissing,” I murmur.
“I know,” he whispers in my ear and I shiver at the arousal tingling through me.
“Of course you do.”
“But I do intend to do that more, if you’ll let me that is.” His words spoken against my cheek sear my skin, the ache between my legs he started with the kiss building.
“Maybe I’ll say yes to the sleepover,” I say shocked at my boldness.
