Absinthe

by Winter Renshaw

  “Confronted is a bit of an understatement.” I release a heated breath, my jaw tensing. “I didn’t know his proof was nothing more than a teenage girl’s assumption. He made it sound like he knew, like he had damning evidence.”

  “Sounds like Victor.” She rolls her eyes. “What did he say?”

  “He demanded my resignation, told me he’d personally make sure I never set foot in a school again.”

  Her hand raises to her mouth. “Everything you worked for, just … gone.”

  My lips press together.

  “No wonder you’ve spent the last five years hating me,” she says. “I’d have hated me too.”

  Halston steps into my space, her hand reaching toward my cheek, brushing her fingers tenderly against my skin as her electric eyes soften on mine.

  “I’m so sorry, Ford,” she says. “You didn’t deserve that. You were nothing but professional. I was the one who kept pushing, begging for more.”

  “What’s done is done.” I inhale the faded scent of her sweet perfume, my gaze focused on her rosebud lips.

  “It’s all the same, though. It’s still my fault you lost your job—your career.”

  “I could have kept you at a distance, but I didn’t,” I say. “You may have pushed the line, but I was the one giving you slack. Neither of us are completely at fault here. Neither of us are innocent.”

  “I hate that you thought it was me who told him. Breaks my heart,” she says. We linger here, the buzz of a busy airport filling the silence. “So what now? Where do we go from here?”

  “I say we take it one day at a time.” Cupping her sweet face in my hand, I angle her mouth toward mine, grazing my lips across hers before claiming them as my own. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I kiss her again, my thumb pressed beneath her jaw and my fingers threaded along the nape of her neck. “And the day after that?” My lips dance with hers, our tongues skating, her minty taste invading my senses. “And how about the day after that?”

  Her kiss turns into a smile, and she slinks her arms over my shoulders, rising on her toes.

  “You want to go somewhere?” she asks. “Catch up on the last five years?”

  “I’d fucking love that.” I slip my hand around hers as I take her carry-on and lead her to the nearest exit. We find a cab and ask the driver to drop us off at a little park by the water, just outside Sag Harbor.

  “So, tell me about your travels,” she says as we walk along a little path lined with nothing but blue hydrangeas. She stops to pick one, lifting it to her nose. “Where did you go? What did you do?”

  “Everywhere,” I say. “And everything.”

  Halston elbows me. “Specifics. I want to know everything I missed. Except … you know, girlfriends and stuff. I don’t need to know if you fell in love with someone else.”

  Clearing my throat, I squeeze her hand. “There was no one.”

  “Yeah, right. I find that extremely hard to believe. You’re fucking gorgeous. I’m sure you were dripping in international beauty queens everywhere you went.”

  “Was kind of hard to focus on other women when I couldn’t get the last one out of my head,” I say, glancing down at her. She looks up through her long, dark lashes. “I never wanted to admit it, but I was still hung up on you. Being with anyone else just didn’t appeal to me.”

  Halston cups her hand over her eyes to block the sun, smirking. “Same here.”

  “Really? You went to college—I presume—”

  “I did,” she says.

  “And you never hooked up with anyone? Dated anyone?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No one. I kept looking for someone exactly like you, thinking if I couldn’t have the original, I’d settle for an imitation. Turns out you’re the only damn one, Ford.”

  “That’s probably a good thing. I don’t think the world could handle two of me.” I laugh. “How was boarding school? I had no idea they sent you away. Honestly had no idea what became of you after I left Rosefield.”

  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” she says. “I mean, they made us wear these awful uniforms and we had these ridiculously militant schedules and they made us take etiquette classes that were probably better suited for a housewife in the 1950s, but I secretly kind of liked it.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yeah. There was no Internet. The house was at least a hundred years old. It was like traveling back in time,” she says. “And for the first time, I felt like I had a place that was mine. It was just a room that I shared with a roommate, but it wasn’t a foster home. It wasn’t my aunt and uncle’s guest room. I had heat and running water and warm meals. Honestly, the hardest part about it was not being able to pick up my phone and message you. I had some major withdrawals those first few weeks.”

  I chuff. “Same. I was pissed at you. But every night, I’d dream about you, and I’d find myself reaching for my phone in the dark, wanting to hear your voice one more time.”

  “I can’t even count how many dreams I had about you.” She presses her cheek against my shoulder for a moment, like she can’t go more than a few minutes without touching me, checking to see if I’m real, if this moment is real.

  “How’s your family? You still keep in touch with anyone?”

  Halston smirks. “Well, Bree flunked out of Northwestern her sophomore year. Turns out when you raise your daughter like a Puritan, it doesn’t exactly prepare her for the real world. She got one taste of freedom that first semester, and it brought out the wild child in her.”

  “Bree?!”

  She laughs. “Yes, Bree. She was partying pretty hardcore, from what I heard. Also heard she slept with half of the Delta Omega Psi frat her freshman year. Had a baby too. The dad’s not in the picture as far as I know. Uncle Vic cut her off financially. She’s waiting tables now and taking night classes.”

  “Jesus. Didn’t see that coming.”

  “But, yeah, I hear from Vic and Tab from time to time. They always invite me over for Thanksgiving dinner each year. I think they feel bad about sending me away like that, but honestly, it was harder on them than it was on me. And it all worked out in the end. I can set a fancy table like no one’s business, my posture is amazing, and I know how to make an entrance.”

  “I noticed.” I kiss the top of her head, her hair silky soft and smelling of honey and almonds.

  “My mom passed away a few years ago,” she says.

  My smile wanes. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It was an overdose. And it was only a matter of time. Dad took it pretty hard though. He’s been getting treatment,” she says. “He wants to reconnect, but I’m not really there yet. Maybe with time? But he did some … pretty terrible things.”

  “I read your case file,” I confess. “Back at Rosefield. I was curious about you.”

  She glances up at me. “I kind of figured you did.”

  “Why’d you figure that?”

  “Because one day you were looking at me like you wanted to devour me, and the next day you were acting like I was some fragile china dove, afraid to touch me,” she says. “People catch wind of all the shit I’ve been through and they start treating me like I’m made of tissue paper.”

  “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “It’s true,” I say. “And it takes a strong woman to put up with me.”

  “Okay, that I believe.” She nudges my arm. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass, but you’re worth it.”

  Halston pulls me toward a park bench up ahead, and we watch a fleet of sailboats racing across the open waters.

  “So where are you going after this?” she asks.

  “Prague,” I say. “I leave Friday.”

  “Can I come?”

  Glancing down at her, I cup her face in my hand and press my mouth against hers. “Like you have a choice.”

  She smiles, her mouth still pressed against mine.

  “I love
you, Halston,” I whisper. “I’ve loved you since the very beginning. And I’ll love you until the very end.”

  Chapter 56

  Halston

  I trace my fingers against his biceps, my thighs wrapped around his hips as his cock thrusts, quelling the throbbing ache between my legs.

  We may be in Prague, physically, but I’m also in heaven.

  Studying his face, he brings his mouth onto mine every few seconds, whispering the occasional “I love you” here and there, and fucking me harder when he hears my soft moan in his ear and his name on my lips.

  “Missionary’s not so bad, is it?” I tease, lifting my fingers to his chiseled, beautiful face. Someone should make a statue out of him, immortalize this gorgeous man so the rest of the world can enjoy a piece of him.

  His full lips turn at the corners, and he fucks me harder.

  “You can try all you want to make missionary sex erotic, but it’s still romantic,” I tease, bucking my hips against his and relishing in the weight of his body pinning me down, anchoring me to the bed we haven’t left since we got here on Friday.

  I can’t get enough of him, finding excuses to touch him and kiss him and make love to him every chance I get. For a while, I worried he was getting annoyed by it, sure that sooner or later he’s going to want space, and then he woke me up in the middle of the night because he missed me. He missed this.

  But to be fair, we’ve got five years to make up for.

  We’re only getting started.

  Ford fills me with his cock, pushing himself deeper inside me, his hips bucking faster as we inch closer to the brink. My body relaxes, surrendering to him as I ride the wave and he fills me with his hot seed.

  When we’re finished, he collapses on the bed and pulls me into his arms, running his fingers through my hair as we wait for our breaths to steady.

  “So what’s with you ditching the blonde hair?” he asks a moment later.

  “That’s random.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. You’re sexy as hell as a brunette, and this whole classy charm school thing you have going on is top notch. But I miss my wild girl. The one with the wavy blonde hair, the one who was a little less restrained, a little more undone.”

  “I’m still that girl,” I say, rolling to my side and resting my chin on his shoulder as I look up at him. Visually tracing his perfect profile, I rest my hand over his beating heart. I smirk. “That said, I have nothing against bringing the blonde back for old times’ sake. Maybe we can even do a little roleplaying? You can be the big, bad principal, and I can be the naughty school girl, and you can call me into your office and punish me.”

  Ford almost chokes on his spit. “Oh, god.”

  “What?” I play dumb. “You know it’d be really fucking hot.”

  He’s speechless.

  “Too soon?” I ask. “Too close to home? What?”

  Ford sits up against a propped pillow, pulling me over top of him and resting his hands at the small of my back.

  “It was never about the student-teacher dynamic,” he says. “It was only ever about you. All I ever wanted was the smart-mouthed girl who quoted Great Gatsby in a world where everyone else quoted Nickelback.”

  I laugh. “Can I at least call you Principal Hawthorne next time?”

  “No.”

  “What if it accidentally slips out?” I fight a giggle. “Are you going to punish me? Put me in detention? Oh! You could spank me with a ruler. That’d be kind of hot.”

  Ford tries not to laugh. “All right, smart ass. Meet me in the shower in two minutes. I’m showing you the sights today. Thought we’d see the Kafka Museum first.”

  “A man after my own heart.” I kiss him, my hand sliding up his muscled neck and stopping at his chiseled jaw. I’d let him take me all over again if he asked.

  Ford climbs out of our bed, and I keep my gaze shamelessly trained on his exquisite derrière which officially belongs to me, a fact I’m content to bask in for the rest of my existence.

  Chapter 57

  Ford

  “So this is him?” Halston’s roommate, Lila, leans against the kitchen island in the San Francisco apartment they share, her pale blue eyes studying me from head to toe.

  “Yep. This is Ford,” Halston says, squeezing my hand. “Or as you knew of him … Kerouac.”

  Lila ambles toward us. “I mean, I guess he does all right in the looks department.”

  Halston chuckles, resting her cheek against my arm.

  “Just don’t fuck this up.” Her roommate points at me. “Halston might do second chances, but I don’t.”

  “Lila.” Halston chuckles. “I don’t think you intimidate him in the least bit, but good try.”

  Lila’s hardened expression morphs into a giggle. “You knew I was messing with you, right?”

  I nod. “The whole time.”

  “Damn it.” Lila lifts her fist in the air. “This is why I could never be an actress. Anyway, come on in. It’s good to finally meet you. Halston’s always spoken fondly of you.”

  Moving toward a wine fridge, Lila chooses a bottle of Riesling and retrieves three pieces of stemware from a cabinet. “Figured you guys might want a drink after a day of intercontinental travel. How was Prague?”

  “Beautiful,” Halston says. “Bridges everywhere, cobblestone streets … the architecture, the food … it was all incredible.” She turns my way. “Best. Trip. Ever.”

  I’d have to agree.

  “How’d it go with Mason?” Halston asks.

  She mentioned before we left the States that she was going to sever her professional relationship with him after Sag Harbor, and apparently Lila offered to do the honors because she never could stand him.

  “He was a pompous douche, as always,” Lila says. “He said our services were pointless and he was planning on cancelling our contract next month anyway.”

  “Liar,” Halston chuckles.

  “Oh, I know.” Lila takes a sip of wine. “He’s totally butt hurt.”

  I chuckle.

  “And he kept asking about you,” Lila adds. “So fucking pathetic.”

  “What’d you tell him?” Halston asks.

  “The truth. That you ran off to Prague with his stepbrother.” Lila shrugs, taking another drink. “Oh, god. I wish you could’ve seen his face …”

  Me too.

  I smirk, shaking my head. I like this Lila. She reminds me a lot of Halston, and it’s clear to see how they became fast friends.

  “But get this,” Lila says, topping off her wine glass. “So I heard through the grapevine that Mason invested almost all of his money in some company that just went public last year. It was supposed to be the next hot thing. Anyway, I don’t know the details, but that company’s stock plummeted. He lost a shit ton of money. I mean, he’s still rich as hell, but just not as rich.”

  “Serves him right,” I say.

  “Mason built his empire with Ford’s inheritance,” Halston says, mouth twisted at the side.

  “I knew I didn’t like that guy.” Lila exhales. “Some people you meet, and you know they’re hardworking and innovative and they’ve worked their ass off to get to where they are. Then there are pricks like Mason who get a free ride and take all the credit.”

  “Anyway.” I take my wine glass off the counter. “Enough about him.”

  Halston lifts her glass. “Should we toast to something?”

  “Yes!” Lila raises hers. “Let’s toast to the fact that the wait is finally over. You found each other. And now you’re going to get married, have a ton of beautiful babies, and live happily ever after. The end.”

  I clink my glass against theirs. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Chapter 58

  Halston

  6 Months Later…

  “Hi, welcome to Absinthe Rare and Used!” The greeter we’ve hired for the grand opening of Ford’s new bookshop welcomes a couple of hipster types who wandered in from the street. “Help yourself to a complimentary absinthe cock
tail at the bar, and feel free to take a look around.”

  The sensation of warm hands on my sides and soft lips against my cheek bring a smile to my face.

  “Hey, babe.” I turn to face Ford, cupping his cheek in my hand. Tonight’s his big night, the culmination of a brainchild we dreamed up one lust-and-booze-fueled night in Belfast several months ago. “How are you doing? You doing okay?”

  He chuckles through his nose. “I’m on fucking cloud nine.”

  “Perfect.” I run my fingers through his soft, dark hair, loving that he kept it on the longer side. It suits him better, I think. He’s so buttoned up and in control in every other aspect of his life, so the casual hair is a sexy contrast. “Your sister took Arlo back to the apartment since it was getting so late.”

  “I saw them on their way out,” he says. “Did you try one of those cocktails? With the sugar cube and the flame?”

  Lifting my martini glass, I nod. “Delicious. Want to try?”

  “Ford Hawthorne?” A silver-haired man in jeans and a blazer interrupts us.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “Jake Fairweather.” He extends his hand. “I work for the San Francisco Register. Not sure if you’re aware, but we’re the biggest newspaper in the area. Anyway, we have a section devoted to local businesses, and we’d love to feature you.”

  “That would be amazing,” Ford says, offering his hand. “We’d love that.”

  “Very impressed with this place,” he says, peering around the room and soaking in the scene. “I’ll have my assistant give you a call next week.”

  When we first started planning, we wanted it to feel more like a cozy study or library than a bookstore. From the hand-scraped, reclaimed floors to the vintage-inspired custom bookcases and leather seating arrangements to the cedar and mahogany scent we pipe through the air system and the golden age jazz music piping through an old phonograph, everything is intentional and planned out with excruciating attention to detail. Our goal was to make Absinthe Rare and Used feel otherworldly, like taking a step back in time, to an era before Stephen King and Danielle Steele, before Jack Reacher and Game of Thrones.