by Amanda Aksel
“Liz, where are you?” I blurt out.
“Who is this?”
“It’s me, Kent. I’m—”
“Oh, so now you decide to call me when I’m about to get on a plane home. That’s convenient for you, isn’t it?” Even through the pay phone I can hear how pissed she is that I left her hanging. And I realize I’ve screwed up with her. Big time.
“Listen, last night—”
“You know what, Kent? We don’t have to do this. I get it. It was a fling and you didn’t want to break things off to my face because apparently that’s not your style.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the truth. Something you failed to share with me. I met your ex-girlfriend, Sophia, last night. She told me all about your lawsuit.” Liz scoffs. “That was fun to listen to.”
“Sophia? You talked to Sophia?” Why am I even surprised after all the other nails she’s put in my coffin.
“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’m not joining her lawsuit or anything. I’m just gonna follow your lead, go home, and get back to my life.”
“What? Liz, no, it’s not like that.”
“Sure it isn’t. I have to go. Have a nice life.” The line goes dead and the dull dial tone perfectly echoes my flatlined heart. I try her back, but she doesn’t answer. Replaying her words over in my head, I realize what Liz meant. Sophia must’ve convinced her that I’m a total womanizer. And she’s not entirely wrong, but it’s different with Liz. And she has to know that.
Shit.
There’s no other choice left. I’m going to have to pull a Ryan.
After almost an hour of waiting, I have a one-way ticket on the next flight to San Francisco. Getting through security takes almost as long, and when I manage to get into the terminal, I check every gate for Liz, even hover near the women’s bathrooms just in case. She’s nowhere to be found. I find another pay phone and call Liz’s number one more time. This time it goes straight to voicemail, which means she’s on the plane. But which plane? I try my desk at work next, just in case Poppy was able to get more information. But there’s still no answer. I hit the extension for the receptionist and get connected to Margot’s desk.
“Hello?” Margot picks up and a small ray of hope fills my chest.
“Margot, thank God. I need your help.”
“Kent, what’s going on? You quit?”
“Yes, we can talk about that later. I need you to find Poppy.”
“Poppy got fired. No one on the floor knows what the hell’s going on, and you’re not picking up your phone.”
Poppy got fired? Oh, no. That’s why she didn’t answer when I called. “Listen, I don’t have my phone. I’m getting on a plane to San Francisco. I’ll call back as soon as I can. Okay?”
“Okay.” Margot sounds confused, irritated, and a little scared too. So am I.
***
Fourteen exhausting hours later, riding in coach, I land in San Francisco. It’s already tomorrow back in London, but in California, the evening’s still young. My entire body buzzes, emotionally and physically drained from the day. And everything hurts from being scrunched into such a tiny space for so long. Without luggage to claim, I head straight for the sign that reads Ground Transportation. One of the airport staff directs me to a cab, and I read out Liz’s address from the crumpled piece of paper I had stuffed into my pocket. That Poppy is a smart woman.
I have no idea what part of the city Liz lives in and what I’m going to do tonight if she doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say. But if I end up sleeping on the street tonight because I tried to tell the first girl I ever loved how I feel, then it’s worth the trouble. Liz is worth all the trouble in the world.
The cab pulls up to her place and I gaze up at the modern building on Market Street before paying the driver. Stepping out into the fresh air, I give my face a brisk rub, pop a fresh mint in my mouth, and pray that she’s home. Determined to make this work, I march to the entrance—and stop.
There’s only one little problem. I can’t get into the building.
There’s not even a doorman here I can plead with. My shoulders sag. I’ve broken my phone, quit my job, flown across the world, and now it’s come down to this locked door and me.
I can’t give up now.
There’s an electronic pad, and I use it to search her name but for some reason, nothing comes up. Am I at the right place? I step back and stare up the building to the top floor. Is this the part where I have to scream her name in hopes that she has an open window?
I cup my hands around my mouth, ready to call her at the top of my lungs like fucking Romeo, when someone walks up to the door. I strain my eyes, watching him type in a code on the keypad. The door clicks open and I casually walk in behind him. Luckily, he doesn’t seem fazed or alarmed by my presence. I sneak a peak at the scrap paper once more, double checking the numbers so I know which floor to press on the keypad. My heart pounds as we ride the lift up. The guy gives me a funny look, and I suspect it’s because he can hear my pulse. The guy steps off two floors before me, and I have a moment alone, my first real moment alone since I drove to the airport this morning.
It’s not long enough.
The lift dings and the steel doors open. A few doors down, I find Liz’s place—408. My fist shakes a little when I knock. The pitter-patter of footsteps shuffles near the door and a moment later, I’m face to face with her. My girl. My princess. My Liz.
“Oh, my God. Kent!” Liz covers her mouth, looking startled. Even after her long flight, her hair disheveled and makeup faded, she looks absolutely gorgeous.
“Wait, before you say anything, I have to apologize. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the lawsuit. And I’m so sorry for whatever Sophia said. What happened between us is nothing like what happened between me and her.”
“Okay.” She clearly thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am. “Why didn’t you call me last night? I thought your email was your farewell letter.”
I take her hands in mine. “I know. I’m sorry about that too. Sophia sent pictures of us to my dad, and I was so angry that I broke my phone.”
She gasps. “Your dad knows about us? What did he say?”
Stepping closer, I push a strand of hair away from her face. “It doesn’t matter. I quit. I’m done with him and Bonnaire Enterprises and London. But I’m not done with you.” I brush her soft cheek. “I love you, Liz. That’s what I came here to say. I’m in love with you.”
Her eyes water, but she smiles and lifts on her toes. I take her in my arms and kiss her, thankful I trusted my gut on this one. “I love you too. Thank you for traveling over five thousand miles to tell me that.” She hugs my waist, leaning her head against my chest.
I stroke her hair, relief washing over me. And I quickly learn that the only thing better than being in love with a woman is the love she gives back. Even though my heart and arms are full of Liz, my eyelids droop with the weight of that day. “Can I sleep here tonight?” I say, half joking.
She looks up at me. “You can sleep here every night.”
EPILOGUE
Liz
It’s New Year’s Eve. Kent and I arrive at his brother’s apartment in New York City dressed in our party clothes with smiles to match. Drew answers the door. Tonight, he’s wearing a black suit with an open-collared Solids shirt instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt.
“Hey, you made it!” Drew says, opening his arms. Kent’s face lights up at the sight of his younger brother, and he crashes into him with a hug. Drew pulls me in, greeting me with kisses on each of my chilled cheeks. “Come in!”
We walk into the large loft apartment. It’s the kind of wide space that when you walk in you can hear your footsteps echo. With the party in full swing, the room is filled with a crowd of their friends dressed to the nines in New York fashion, and I can’t hear anything over the sound of the chatter. Drew takes our coats and I’m relieved that it’s forty degrees warmer than outside.
/> Kate struts over in her designer stilettoes and slinky, sequin slip dress. It’s no surprise that a lingerie designer is that sexy. “Liz! Kent! I’m so glad you’re here.” She welcomes us with tight squeezes like we’re the oldest of friends. We’ve only met a handful of times, but I swear Kate grows more radiant every time I see her. “Do you guys want a drink?”
“Yes,” we say.
Kent grabs my hand and turns to me. “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks.”
He already knows me so well that I don’t even need to tell him what I want. Kate leads him to the bar and I watch him walk backwards, grasping my hand in his until we can no longer reach each other. I send him a flirty wink.
It’s been a year since Kent showed up on my doorstep. We considered his move to San Francisco for about, oh, a day. He said, “When you know, you just know.” And we knew that what we had was special, that we could grow it to be even more spectacular, just like the businesses we’ve built and sold. Only, I have no intention of selling him off.
So, we bought a London-style townhouse together with incredible views of the Bay. Kent and I are so much alike that it was an easy transition. He had never lived with anyone before and, to be honest, I was nervous that one day he’d tell me that it was too much. So far that day hasn’t come. The two of us are happier and less stressed than we’ve ever been in our adult lives. We live by the motto Work Hard, Play Hard. And we play very hard. In the beginning we played a lot, spending our weekends in the Wine Country at the most beautiful vineyard inns and our evenings in between the sheets.
Kent didn’t go back to work right away, which was hard for him at first because he’s not great at sitting still. So he spent a lot of time playing tennis and working out in our home gym. Eventually, I brought him on as a consultant at Solids and our revenue has increased every quarter since. With all that time to think, Kent realized that he loved working as a venture capitalist. He landed a top position at a local firm and even arranged for Poppy to move out to California and work as his assistant. She loves it and recently met someone at Golden Gate Park who she claims could be her Prince Charming. Kent’s relationship with his dad is still on the mend, as they say. We saw him in the fall at Kate and Drew’s New York wedding where he said that he was glad to see Kent.
Carrying two full glasses of red, my man walks toward me, flashing me that gazillion-dollar smile. I blush. After a year, the guy still gives me butterflies. “Here you are.” He offers a kiss before handing me the glass. First comes first. We look into each other’s eyes, sipping slowly.
“You got your wine wipes?” he asks.
“Always.” I raise my silk clutch.
The doorbell rings.
Kent steps over, pulls the door open, then glances back at me. “Look who it is?”
I peek over his shoulder. Dahlia and Ryan are in the doorway.
She’s wearing a black-and-gold cone hat with a frilly foil trim and blowing on a noisemaker. “Happy New Year!” she shouts and barrels into Kent, then comes at me with the same enthusiasm. “You look gorgeous,” she says in my ear, then steps back and admires my pinot noir-colored dress.
“So do you.”
Dahlia fluffs her newly dyed auburn hair. She got the lead role in a romantic comedy that starts filming in LA next week. Ryan, Dahlia’s new husband, shakes Kent’s hand, then greets me with a hug. The two lovebirds were married on the beach over the summer in La Jolla. I actually cried at the ceremony. My friendship with Dahlia is going strong. We talk at least a few times a week and see each other almost every month. I’ve learned just how valuable these relationships are, and that’s why I now make the people that I love a priority in my life. It’s no longer lonely at the top.
The four of us sit and chat for a while, drinking cocktails, catching up, and making plans for spring. A mutual friend of Kate and Drew’s pulls Dahlia and Ryan away. Kent and I don’t mind the break. Even though the room is full of people, vibrant conversation, cheerful laughter, and cool music, I feel like it’s just the two of us in the room.
“Do you want to see the terrace?” he asks. “It’s got a great view. I bet we can hear the crowd at Times Square from here.”
“Sure,” I say, willing to go anywhere with him.
We leave our empty glasses and find our coats. An icy wind hits our cheeks as we step outside. The air is much colder up here, but the view is gorgeous. With Kent’s arms wrapped tightly around me before the beauty of the city skyline, I’m as warm as ever.
“Did you ever think we’d be here?” I ask.
“I wasn’t sure we’d get here, but I did wish we would.” He releases me from his embrace, and I look back at him as he pulls out a tiny piece of paper. “See.” He hands me the proof, and I read the scribble on the little strip.
I wish to spend next Christmas with Liz.
My stomach flips and I smile as wide as I did when he told me for the first time that he loved me. I made the same wish last year too.
He digs into his other pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I made another wish this year.” I take it from him and look into his eyes, almost unsure if I should open it. What more could we wish for than this? “Go ahead,” he says. “Open it.”
Flipping the folds with my fingers, I unveil the message. I have to read it twice because I can’t believe my eyes. It says . . .
I wish to marry Liz.
Kent kneels in front of me and pops open a small box. Inside, is a glistening Tiffany-style ring. It’s so elegant and yet so simple, so solid. So me. “Liz McKenna, my darling, will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I hunch down, tackling him with a hug. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
He peppers the side of my face with kisses until our lips meet. Kissing him here, or anywhere, never gets old, and it’s easily my favorite pastime. With a huge grin, he slips the ring on my finger. It fits like a glove. “Let’s go tell everyone the good news.”
We walk back into the party and the crowd has gathered near the middle of the room, everyone holding a glass of champagne. “Ten. Nine. Eight!”
Kent takes my newly decorated hand and pulls me over to the group, near our friends. “Three. Two. One. Happy New Year!”
I look into my real fiancé’s eyes. Caressing my cheek with his thumb, he pulls me in for a soft kiss.
“I love you,” I say.
Kent smiles. “I love you too. Happy New Year.”
Hello Reader!
I really hope you enjoyed Kent and Liz’s love story. Next up is Mick’s story in Bedside Manor, Book Three in The Londonaire Brothers Series available Fall 2017. Subscribe to my newsletter below for updates.
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XXO- Amanda
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AMANDA(ah-MAHN-dah)- Latin- Meaning lovable or worthy of love.
Fitting. I've always had an affinity for love.
Being born in sunny San Diego in the mid 80s to a young military couple gave me plenty of insight into the dynamics of a romantic relationship. Somewhere between moving coasts every three years, I found myself engrossed in fairytale romances and dressing up like a bride.
My first real love was writing. By my sophomore year in a new high school in Virginia, I had a slew of short stories, songs, poems, and articles to my name. Writing was fun. It was a way to get the emotions, dialogue, and pictures out of my head, and create a destiny for my characters.
I had no intention of making a career in writing, because it wasn’t what I did, it was who I was. In reality, I wanted to be an actress. Ah, to be the face of someone else’s authored story. The plan was to move in with my aunt in L.A. after graduation, but I had a change of heart.
Instead, I stayed with
my high school sweetheart (now husband) and attended a film school in Norfolk, VA. It was at this school that I discovered my love for writing screenplays and felt compelled to follow that path. But . . . as the practical girl I was brought up to be, I decided to go to a real university. While working full time, I completed my BA in Psychology in four and a half years. Becoming a couples therapist had always been my “backup” career and there I was on my way to solving love's most complicated quandaries one couple at a time.
With all my new free time after graduation, I decided to turn my full-length screenplay into a novel in hopes it would help my screenplay sell. I think I was in the middle of writing chapter two when I realized that everything I had ever written was to prepare me for that moment when I knew I was a novelist. Talk about the affirmation of my life. Now my plan is to solve love's most complicated quandaries one novel at a time.
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