*
The next evening, Pen and I were in the middle of dinner—and drinking the whiskey concoctions she swore would knock me right out the second my head hit my pillow—when the doorbell rang.
Taking note of my slumped shoulders, she hopped from the table and held her finger up. “If this is another reporter, I’m going to shank them,” she warned under her breath.
The media frenzy over Margaret Manning-Emerson getting arrested had been insane, and of course, I was in the middle of it all. So far I’d managed to avoid the cameras, but I knew they’d be in my face eventually.
I tossed back the rest of the hot toddy Pen had made for me, cringing when the whiskey burned my throat. “You didn’t get lost on the way to the door, did you?” I yelled.
A moment later, I heard her soft exhale. “You should so come look at this.”
Alarmed, I pushed away from the table and padded around the corner, stopping short when I noticed the deliveryman pushing a cart full of blue and ivory flowers into my foyer.
My throat constricted.
“Gemma Emerson?” He turned to Pen, who immediately jabbed her finger at me, widening her eyes in excitement.
With every shuffle of my feet on the laminate floor, my heart beat a little faster, a little harder. “Yes?” I breathed.
“Can I get your signature on this?” He handed me a thick tablet, which I accepted. As I moved my shaky finger along the digital line—signing Gemma Emerson, not Lizzie Connelly this time—Pen started to unload the vases onto our coffee table. Dazed, I offered the tablet back to the delivery guy who gave me a smile before leaving.
Sliding onto the couch, I stared at the five vases lined up neatly in front of me.
“Mr. Sex-In-A-Business-Suit?” my best friend wondered aloud.
I shrugged, but who else would send me flowers like these?
I plucked the card from the arrangement closest to me, opening the envelope to find one word followed by his signature.
What.
One-by-one, I unsealed the rest of the cards, leaving them in a pile on the table.
Fix.
I.
Break.
I.
My pulse raced beneath my skin when I pieced the puzzle together. “I fix what I break,” I whispered out loud, causing Pen’s dark eyebrow to jerk up. “He ... it’s what he said to me the first day he met Lizzie. When he made me drop my phone, he told me he fixed what he broke,” I blurted, glancing between the flowers and Pen.
My best friend’s expression softened. “Oh, wow. Gemma, this is good.” She nodded slowly. “This is romantic.”
Arranging the cards into an ordered stack, I held them close to my chest, not wanting to let go. “I should call him,” I said at last. I should have called him when I started worrying about his lack of contact, but fear was a crazy bitch.
“Yes, you should,” she agreed. When I didn’t make an effort to move, she reached into her pocket and handed me her own phone. “Here, I’ll make it easy for you. Call him or I’ll be forced to do it for you.”
I got off the couch, a small smile playing at my lips as I walked in the direction of the hallway. “I’ll use mine this time, but thanks.” Peeking over my shoulder to examine the meaningful look she cast my way, I added, “I promise I’m going to call. I just don’t want whatever software you have on your phone recording my conversation.”
“I’m really not that bad!” she yelled behind me.
Shutting the door to my bedroom, I grabbed my iPhone off the charger. I hovered my fingers over the screen, but when I saw I already had a new text from Oliver, I eased down on my bed, releasing a heavy breath.
The Heritage ballroom. 10 PM tonight?
Dragging my gaze to the top of the screen, I saw it was already close to nine-thirty. I knew I looked like hell. The past few days had taken a toll not only on my mental state but also my appearance.
But I had to see him.
Rushing into my closet, I messaged him back, electricity rushing through my fingertips with each stroke.
I’ll be there.
*
Thanks to a helpful distraction on Pen’s part, I managed to avoid the few reporters who’d been camped out in my apartment lobby hoping to get a statement from me.
Fifteen minutes after ten, I rolled into the Heritage parking lot and left my Mini Cooper beside Oliver’s Viper at the ballroom entrance. Dropping my keys in my purse, I smoothed my palms over the plain wrap dress I’d thrown on in a hurry before heading into the glassed-in venue.
The site of Margaret’s Halloween charity event was completely silent, but I quickly figured out where to find him. The door leading to the balcony was wide open, and my heart skipped a beat because I knew that just up those stairs—in the area where we’d once danced—stood Oliver. Waiting for me. Waves of fear crashed heavily through me, but I made it to the top of the staircase, squeezing the doorknob with all my might.
What if he asked me here only to confirm what I’d pessimistically convinced myself of?
But what if I didn’t go in at all? Could I really live with not knowing?
I turned the knob and stepped quietly inside.
Just like the first night I came up here, he was leaned against the balcony, staring down into the quietness. He was dressed simply, in jeans, his Redwing boots, and a black tee that hugged his biceps. I decided then and there that even if this were the last time we spoke, I’d remember the way he looked. The way he smelled.
The way he made me feel.
Settling my brown eyes on the bandage wrapped around his upper arm, I pressed my hand to my chest. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” I whispered.
He whirled around to look at me, his face an avalanche of emotion that turned the slight pull in my ribcage into a harsh tug. Why did he have to look at me like that?
“Me?” He asked incredulously, his blue eyes narrowed. “Gemma, I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” I said, but he strode over to me, framing my face with his large hands, bringing our mouths closer. “You should have—”
“Stayed away?” he countered, his warm breath spreading over my skin. When I nodded, he let out a choked noise. “Hell no, Gemma. I should’ve been there earlier.”
His harshly spoken whisper made me dizzy all over. Parting my lips to speak, he slanted his mouth over mine. His movements were cautious, drawing me into him with a gentleness that made me feel like I was breaking.
In a way though, I was.
I was breaking for him.
Drawing away, he rested his forehead to mine, locks of his light brown hair blending with my own. “I would’ve came to you, but I wasn’t sure—” He squeezed his eyes together, fighting for control. “I wanted to give you the choice to see me. I didn’t want to force you.”
For the first time in days, my world was turned upside down for all the right reasons. His mouth covered mine again—this time more demanding—and I was barely aware we were moving until I felt the soft cushion of the balcony’s loveseat against my back.
I broke this kiss, leaning away from him to catch my breath. “Linc told me you gave them your statement,” I said tentatively, and he nodded. “And that you had Easton set up cameras in Margaret’s office. You’re the reason why her confession about my dad was recorded.”
Pulling my hands in his, he kept his face an emotionless mask. “I was pissed at you for lying to me, Gemma,” he started, sending a delicious tingle down my spine at the way he said my name. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to him calling me that. “But I needed to know if you were right. After the night I confronted you, I had Easton go in and set everything up.”