by T. K. Leigh
“Where are you?”
I offer him a slight smile. “It changes every day.”
“Have you ever reached acceptance?”
“I once thought I did.” I down the rest of my wine, needing the burn of the alcohol to dull the other pain. “In retrospect, I think I was in denial but ignored the signs.”
“That reminds me of something my sister likes to say.” There’s affection in his voice as he speaks of his family. I may not know much about him other than his name, but it’s obvious he has a lot of respect and admiration for his sister.
“What’s that?”
“Ignoring the signs is a sure way to end up at the wrong destination.” He pauses, then laughs, almost to himself.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” Averting his eyes, he grabs the bottle, splitting the last of the wine between our two cups. “It’s just curious is all.”
“What is?”
“For the past week, I’ve been driving around, pretty aimlessly at that, going where my nose takes me.”
“Wow. That sounds kind of exciting. And liberating. You don’t have any destination in mind?”
“My plan is to make it out to my place in LA eventually, but I had no intention of taking my time and driving Route 66. Until I saw you in that diner and decided to change my original path. And since we keep running into each other…” He trails off.
“What?” I urge him to finish his thought.
He focuses on something in the distance as he worries his bottom lip, seeming to weigh his options. Then he returns his gaze to me, steady and unwavering.
“Maybe the fact we keep running into each other is the universe’s way of sending me a message.”
“What message would that be?”
“That maybe I was on the wrong path before.”
Lifting my cup, I meet his gaze, feeling more in tune with my body and spirit than I’ve been able to attain in my years of meditating. “To the right destination.”
His smile causes my heart to skip a beat. “The right destination.”
Chapter Eight
Anderson
“Has New York always been home?” I ask several hours later as Nora and I finish yet another bottle of wine.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed a woman’s company as much as I’ve enjoyed Nora’s. Her smile. Her laugh. Her vitality. Yes, a cloud of sadness seems to hover over her, but now and then a ray of sunshine pokes through, allowing me a glimpse of the real Nora.
As the hour crept toward midnight and beyond, we’ve remained by the pool. She may be acting polite, but I get the feeling she’s no more prepared for tonight to end than I am. And to think, if I hadn’t been talking to my sister, hadn’t walked up to the grimy window in my hotel room at that precise moment, I never would have noticed Nora at the pool. We may never have crossed paths again. We never would have had…this. I don’t even know what this is, but for the first time since I received my diagnosis, I’m not wallowing, not depressed. I’m smiling, and it’s not forced. It’s natural. I want more of whatever this is.
“Not always,” she answers. Her voice is lazy from the late hour and amount of wine she’s consumed. “Grew up in Florida. But not that Florida. Nice Florida.”
I furrow my brow as I pull the cork out of yet another bottle of wine. “Nice Florida?”
“There are two Floridas,” she answers with a wave of her hand. “There’s the Florida where news reporters find all the colorful witnesses who are more than eager to give a first-hand account of anything and everything, from hurricanes, to gator wrestling, to my personal favorite, alien abductions.”
“Ah. I see. So more like rednecks.”
“Exactly.” She rolls her eyes. “Then there’s the Florida everyone knows. Theme parks and beaches, like where I lived in Pensacola for the first five years of my life. After that…” She shrugs, exhaling deeply. Then, to my surprise, she grabs the wine bottle and drinks straight from it. Some men might find it uncivilized. I don’t. It’s another piece of her personality coming into focus. “After that, we left. My mom, my brothers, and me.”
“Was your father not in the picture?”
“Not anymore.”
“Divorce?”
She shakes her head. “Died on deployment.”
My shoulders fall as I offer her a sincere look. “I’m sorry.”
“It comes with the territory of having a father in the military, I suppose.”
“I suppose it does. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
She smiles a tight-lipped smile, several protracted moments passing as I admire her. I want to know more about her, about why I’m drawn to her when no other woman I’ve met in recent history has made me feel like this. Like I’d die without her next word, next smile, next laugh.
“After that, my mother couldn’t bear being around the constant reminders of my father, so we moved to Naples in Southern Florida. I stayed there until college.”
“Then where did you go?”
“Syracuse.”
“What did you study?” I press.
She blows out a sarcastic laugh. “Psychology.”
“What? Did you not enjoy it?”
“Actually, I did. Immensely. But I studied it because that’s what my mother wanted me to study.” She pauses, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “To put it mildly, my relationship with my mother is…complicated. She’s a psychiatrist. After my father died, her new favorite hobby became analyzing everything I did or said. I pretty much grew up under a microscope.”
I nod, knowing all too well how that feels, but I don’t say so. I can’t. As far as she knows, I’m simply Anderson. Not Crown Prince Gabriel Anderson Joseph Xavier Wellingston of Belmont. I prefer it this way. She’s able to see me, not the title.
“So, I don’t know…” She averts her gaze. “It sounds stupid now, but back then, I saw my course of study as a way to finally earn her approval. It took me a few years to realize I could invent a flying car and shit diamonds, yet it still wouldn’t be good enough for her. But that doesn’t matter. I’ve been living in Manhattan for six years now and love it. And the best part about it?” She arches a brow, swiping the bottle off the ground and taking another long pull from it. “My mother lives over a thousand miles away.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, taking the bottle from her and sipping from it. I’d be lying if I said a thrill doesn’t run through me over the prospect of my lips being where hers just were. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about such a thing, but to have a taste of Nora, even indirectly, makes electricity flow through my veins, reigniting something that’s lain dormant for years.
“So, what’s your deal, Anderson?” Nora asks, cutting through my thoughts of whether her lips would taste as sweet as the remnants she left on the bottle. I imagine they’d be even more addictive.
“My…deal?”
“Yes. Your deal.” She mimics my accent. “I’m guessing you’ve spent some time in England.” Tilting her head, she rakes her gaze over me. “But there’s something American about your accent, too.”
I study her for a moment, surprised she picked up on that. Most people only hear the British inflection I acquired during my years of prep school outside of London. Not to mention most citizens of our country also speak with a British accent, although it has a slight French influence, as well. The combination of Belmont’s location bordering France and across the channel from the United Kingdom has provided our people a beautiful mix of culture. Regardless, no one really picks up on the way the American accent creeped in, thanks to the years I spent here for college and after.
“Well, I’ve lived in both places. London for prep school. Then the States for university.”
I give her the story I developed years ago for my Anderson North identity. Although this is the first time a tiny amount of guilt settles in my stomach over the idea that I’m not being completely honest with her. I remind myse
lf it’s for the best. When most people find out who I am, they…change. I can’t explain it. It’s rare to find someone who can look past the title and see the person. Kendall could. It’s why I fell for her so hard, so fast. She treated me like I was normal. I miss being normal.
“Where did you go?”
“Harvard.”
“I didn’t realize I was in the company of a genius,” she jests.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Certainly no genius. Just…well-connected.”
“What did you study?”
“Excuse me,” a voice cuts through. We both tear our eyes from each other and toward the pool where a man dressed in khakis and a polo shirt boasting the hotel’s insignia stands. “This area closed at ten. You can’t be here.” He eyes the bottle on the ground between our two chairs. “And glass isn’t allowed.”
“Well then…” I expel a breath as I stand from the lounge chair, which proves to be slightly difficult, thanks to the hours spent sitting and drinking wine. I fight against a dizzy spell, praying it’s not a sign my MS is progressing. But when it passes as soon as it begins, I brush it off, blaming it on the sudden movement and alcohol. “Shall we retire inside?” I play up my accent as I extend my hand toward Nora.
She giggles, her cheeks turning even more pink than they already are. A smile plays on my lips from the beautiful sound. All I can do is stare in wonder. We’ve only spent a few hours together. Such a short time when you think of the years most people spend on earth. Yet in these few hours, this woman has done what no one has in over half a decade.
She made me smile.
She made me stop thinking about the future.
She made me want to move on from the past.
She reminded me what it’s like to live.
And I want more of this.
With careful movements, Nora places her hand in mine. I try to ignore the warmth that fills me from the simple sensation of her skin on mine. I take a moment to admire our joined hands. Mine is rough and large. Hers is soft and dainty. Two worlds. Two polar opposites. But two people who have somehow found each other.
I help her to her feet, but don’t want to let go of her hand. Don’t want to do anything to break this bubble. To return to the reality I’ve all but forgotten about tonight. Ever since my diagnosis, it’s been the only thing on my mind. But in these hours with Nora, I haven’t thought of it once. Instead, I’ve been consumed by her. Her laugh. Her smile. Doing anything to hear that laugh and relish in her heartwarming smile.
I brush my thumb along her knuckles, watching as her complexion flushes more, her breathing growing uneven under my stare. I know she feels this, too. This spark. This electricity. This unmistakable connection. It hums with urgency between us. Normally I’d brush it off, blame it on the alcohol. But I haven’t experienced anything so intense and profound in quite a while. Maybe ever.
A throat clearing cuts through, reminding me we’re not alone. I reluctantly drop my hold on Nora’s hand and grab the half-empty bottle of wine. Once we’re content we have everything we came here with, we head out of the pool area, the hotel clerk following.
After spending all evening under the light of the stars and a few dim streetlamps, the florescent lights of the lobby are blinding. I squint to readjust my eyes to the artificial illumination, silence filling the air as Nora and I walk toward the bank of elevators. It’s not uncomfortable. More like neither one of us wants to say anything for fear it will break the magic we just experienced tonight.
And there’s no question in my mind. Tonight was magical. At least for me.
I press the call button and the steel doors slide open, inviting us inside. Glancing at Nora, I gesture for her to walk ahead of me. She hesitates a moment, meeting my gaze. Is she thinking the same thing I am? That she doesn’t want this spell to be broken?
She releases a long sigh, then steps into the elevator, but I don’t miss the reluctance in her strides. I join her, pressing the button for three, noticing the number two already illuminated.
The doors shut, locking us in this tiny space that seems even smaller with Nora so close. I take a deep breath, smelling lavender and baby powder. It’s fresh and comforting. Just like I get the feeling this woman is. I inch closer as we stand in silence, inexplicably drawn to her. Our bodies are two magnets, a force outside our control constantly urging us together.
A ding cuts through the charged atmosphere, the doors opening. Nora slides her eyes up to meet mine, a small smile curving her plump lips that I imagine leaning down to kiss. But I won’t. Not with this lie hanging between us. It was a promise I made to myself years ago. If I were to meet a woman while using my Anderson North identity, I wouldn’t pursue anything meaningful until I told her the truth. Normally, it’s not a problem, as many of the women I’ve shared a bed with weren’t ones I was actually interested in for anything more than some fun and a much-needed release. Either were they.
But I felt it the second I stepped into that diner. The instant my eyes fell on her at Lincoln’s tomb. The moment her body rammed into mine by the pool. Nora isn’t most women.
She steps out of the elevator, then turns around, meeting my gaze once more. “Well, thank you for the wine, Anderson. And the company. I didn’t know how much I needed tonight until you forced yourself on me.” Her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath as her words replay in her mind. “I mean, not like that. You didn’t force yourself on me,” she flounders, her cheeks turning an even brighter shade of red. “But—”
I take her hand in mine, cutting her off. “I know what you mean. I’m glad I…forced myself on you, too.”
She brings her eyes to mine, nodding, but doesn’t move. We just stare at each other, her outside the elevator, me within. When it dings, I react quickly, dropping my hold on her and slamming my hand against the closing doors to prevent them from doing so. I refuse to allow them to sever this bond, this connection.
“Want to come up?” I lift the bottle. “Finish this off?”
She inhales sharply, her eyes searching mine.
“Crap. I’m sorry. Now I’m the one with my foot in my mouth. That probably sounds pretty skeevy, right?”
“Actually, it sounds like an invitation I’d love to accept.” Her expression falls.
“But?” I arch a brow, sensing there’s more.
“But I can’t.”
I nod, my shoulders falling slightly. “I understand.”
She holds my gaze a moment longer, then sighs. “Thanks again.”
Turning, she starts toward her room. As I watch her walk away, I fear it will be the last time I’ll see her, so I scramble out of the elevator, allowing it to close without me inside it.
“Nora,” I whisper-shout, so as to not wake up any guests.
She whirls around, eyes flaming in surprise to see me standing here and not in the elevator on my way up to my room.
I stammer, not having thought this far ahead. All I know is I don’t like the idea of watching her walk away without knowing if I’ll ever see her again.
“Want to meet up somewhere tomorrow?”
She chews on her bottom lip, hesitating as she shifts her weight between her feet. Seemingly torn, she peers over my shoulder, as if hoping the answer is written on the walls. Then she exhales, bringing her gaze back to mine.
“You said you think the fact our paths keep crossing is a sign.”
I swallow hard. “I did.”
“Then this is your chance to prove it.”
“Prove it?” I tilt my head. “I don’t—”
“If we’re meant to see each other again, the universe will make it so.” With a small smile, she spins from me, making her way down the hallway once more.
“So that’s it?” I say louder than I intended.
She stops, glancing over her shoulder. “What’s it?”
“This.” I gesture between our two bodies, stalking toward her. “I have one of the most amazing nights I’ve had in a long time…a night I was able to forget e
verything for a minute and enjoy a genuine conversation with a woman I find incredibly fucking attractive…but I’m supposed to be okay with watching you walk away, praying our paths cross again?”
She shrugs. “Have a little faith.”
“Faith?”
“Yeah.” She smiles contemplatively. “Faith.”
I shake my head, running my hand through my hair. I haven’t had faith in years. Not since I lost Kendall. Ever since then, it’s been impossible for me to put faith in anything. But now here’s this complete stranger who sparks something inexplicable inside of me asking me to go against everything I believe in, to relinquish the control I’ve carefully maintained and put it all on faith?
“Maybe this is what you need to restore your faith.” She lifts herself onto her toes and brushes her lips against my cheek. The contact is so slight, I almost question whether it was her lips or simply a breeze. Then she lowers herself, her eyes meeting mine once more. “Good night, Anderson.”
I bring my hand up to the place where her lips just hovered, a tingle spreading through me. “Sweet dreams, Nora.”
Maybe having a little faith isn’t such a bad idea, especially when there’s such a sweet reward.
Chapter Nine
Nora
An incessant buzz startles me awake and I groan, fumbling on the nightstand for my phone. I normally don’t need an alarm to wake up, but after not getting to bed until after three, I could have slept all morning.
Groggy, I wipe the cobwebs from my eyes, sitting up and stretching. Despite usually never sleeping well in a strange bed, I had a restful night. I could probably thank the copious amount of wine I consumed for that, but I get the feeling it was something else.
Someone else.
A warmth fills me as I recall my evening with Anderson. It was surprising to say the least. For a few hours, I could forget everything and just enjoy my time with him. To laugh at his jokes. To relish in the stories of his past. To blush when he flirted with me.
It took every ounce of resolve to turn down his invitation to go up to his room to finish the bottle and our conversation. I didn’t come on this trip to hook up with the first attractive man who crossed my path. I came here to close this chapter in my life. I can’t start a new one until this one is over.