by Hayden Stone
I blindly feel for my keys in my jacket pocket, having checked three times on the tube from Heathrow that I hadn’t lost them in my mad dash to America, which would lead me to either calling Gemma at a terrible time to let me into the shop or, more likely, crashing at Lily’s in North London.
We go inside, and upstairs. And there, we’re well away from any prying eyes, up in my tiny bedsit, exactly as I left it. In a secret world meant for two. Books still cascade, the space is too small for one person, never mind two. In the corner, my sofa bed is made up neatly as a bed.
Standing by the bed, our kisses grow urgent. Seeking something we’ve both craved, our emotions too near the surface to suppress after everything we’ve said, and everything we’ve done.
Blake slides my jacket off my shoulders. It drops to the ground. I return the favor with his biker jacket, helping him out of it and tossing it with more care onto my desk.
“You look so beautiful,” Blake offers against my skin, his hands roaming. Along my chest, my hips, my arse. His fingers trace the scarf still tied at my neck. “Love this.”
“Mmm.” Leaning into him, I’m all searching kisses, too raw to speak. I’m working on unbuttoning the many stupid buttons on his shirt. My fingers fumble in the low light.
“You’re shaking.”
“Guess so.” It’s been a lot, and I’m exhausted, and beyond overwhelmed.
And so very fucking happy.
His shirt eventually drops to the floor too. The light from the hall is enough to see the glory of his built torso, the hint of a V-cut, the washboard abs. My fingers trace his skin reverently. A homecoming, really.
Blake’s much more efficient at getting me undressed. Down to my boxers, I laugh, gazing at him, feeling unsteady. “You know what you want, hmm?”
“I always wanted you,” Blake breathes against my ear, pulling me down to the bed. “I never doubted that.”
“When there’s so many men out there, you picked a London bookseller.” I start to laugh and he kisses me something fierce, taking my breath away in a gasp. I dig my fingers into his back as he’s on me.
“The hottest fucking bookseller I’ve ever met,” he growls, kissing and nipping at me.
And I can’t stop laughing, overwhelmed with emotion. Till his hands are inside my boxers, teasing me. Then I shudder and sober, gasping out. My cock’s more than ready for his attention.
Kissing him roughly, I unfasten his belt and jeans, enough to release the pull of his cock that reaches for his belly. So damn hot.
Kneeling, I go down on him, the taste of Blake on my tongue making me reel. His hands run through my hair. And it’s all I can do to keep going, listening to his soft gasps, clutching his hips as he starts to rock with me. His fingers caress my face. It’s not long before he’s groaning with pleasure.
I can’t imagine how many miles I’ve traveled over the last three days to find this man on my doorstep. I can’t clock the miles in my heart, the ocean between us that we’re navigating in this moment. This yearning for someone I so desperately want, and he wants me too.
In his arms, I’m cherished. Special. His.
When he comes, fingers taut in my hair, the sear of him in my mouth, I’m desperate with desire. And soon, he’s working me with his hand and mouth. Everything’s all shivers and gasps.
“Blake— God— Blake—”
“Mmmhmm?” He glances up, kissing my belly as I shudder hard.
“Don’t stop, for the love of—”
He laughs with delight at how indignant I am. Then, he’s ruthless. I writhe, lost in the burn of him, the heat of the night between us, sparking our own heatwave.
“That’s it,” he murmurs when I’m on the edge, “come for me.”
“Fuck—”
And I do and I can’t think and I can’t breathe and his mouth, God his mouth— I can’t stop shaking with the release, spasming till he gathers me tight in his arms, kissing me like his life depends on it. Like our lives depend on it.
“I want you so much.” I grip his biceps, staring desperately at him.
“You have me, gorgeous. You have me,” he breathes against my skin, caressing me.
It’s impossible to remember a time before Blake. Before this incredible feeling. We spend the night making up for every night we’ve missed, every day apart.
Together, there’s no him and no me—there’s just us.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Late the next morning, I awaken in a tangle of limbs, plastered against Blake’s chest. God, what a fabulous way to wake up. His chest rises and falls. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to spoil this moment if I’m still dreaming. But as the day starts to drift more fully into my consciousness, it turns out to be true when I open my eyes.
I really did find Blake.
I can’t help but smile thinking about last night. The strange twilight with Blake appearing outside of my shop. Feeling like my heart might break or burst at any moment. The euphoria at realizing he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
Our insatiable night.
And now, he’s here. Gently, I nip at his jaw and he stirs awake, sleepy-eyed and beautiful—and mine.
The smile he gives me when he wakes is brilliant, filling some gap within me at the thrill of him beside me.
“Best morning ever,” he whispers drowsily, holding me close.
I kiss him thoroughly in response. He’s delicious against my tongue.
My limbs are heavy with our exertion last night. Well worth it, every ache this morning. This is probably where athletes have the advantage at marathon sex, but I’ll do my best to keep up.
“So,” Blake says, tracing my shoulder, “what’re we going to do today?”
Sleepily, I rub my eyes. Between the night of sex, the jet lag, and the stress, I’m still thoroughly wrecked. But reality encroaches, even so.
“I need to see what Gemma’s done to the shop,” I blurt instantly, sitting up.
Blake laughs, grinning up at me. He traces my spine, giving me shivers.
“Probably a shower first,” I concede.
“Probably for the best.” Blake kisses me and it’s so tempting to go back to bed with him and pretend everything else doesn’t exist.
“You’re really here? You won’t disappear?”
“I promise I won’t disappear.” His mouth yields against mine.
Contented, I sigh. “’Kay.”
With reluctance, I get up and go to the shower and start the familiar rituals of getting ready for the day. Blake takes his turn and I’ll never tire of the sight of him clad only in a towel, the thrill of his fine physique.
When I come back upstairs with two cups of tea—made the proper way—I see Blake browsing the poetry book that he returned those weeks ago in the height of summer. He gives me a bemused look, glancing up.
“I see you found my note. Secret’s out.” Blake’s smile spreads like a thrill across his lips.
“You’re a rotten man, messing up my system like that,” I chastise Blake affectionately, setting the mugs down on the desk beside him. “Misfiling books. Putting them face down to crack their spines. You probably fold over corners and roll softcovers too.”
He grins shamelessly and pulls me onto his lap. I shift to straddle him, my arms around his neck. Blake leans his forehead against mine, then kisses me thoroughly.
I forget my complaints. Forget everything as he draws me down to the bed, and we start over again.
It’s some time later when we drink cold tea.
…
Eventually, we get downstairs, a bit too giddy and happy. The shop’s warm. Something smells of cinnamon, and I spot Gemma’s tea on the counter. There’s a couple of customers browsing in the shop, which still looks amazing after our hard work restoring it after the filming.
Gemma grins at us.
“So, you found each other, then?” she teases.
We gaze at each other. Our smiles are too broad to hide. What is this light-hearted feeling that’s taken over me? Unthinkable.
“We did,” I say when I come back to my senses. Blake squeezes my hand. “How’s the shop?”
“Still standing, as you can see.” Gemma waves a hand around. It looks as it did when I left, all the boxes gone, the shelves full and in order. It looks better than ever, to be honest.
“Are you fine to stay on today and help? We were just going to go out for brunch.” It’s late in the day for breakfast, practically lunchtime. My stomach rumbles a bitter complaint.
“Yes. Now shoo.”
Laughing, we head out and down to Charlie’s café for some brioches and coffee. If we stay long enough, we could hit up their lunch special too.
“Welcome to our new reality,” I say softly to Blake once we’re seated by the windows of the café, bustling with customers. Crockery clatters behind us, the shriek of the steamer. I’m holding a flat white. Blake got us a buffet of pastries to work through.
“A fantastic reality,” he says affectionately. It’s surreal, seeing him here. Together with me. His blue eyes are warm, his hair still slightly damp from the shower.
Blake gazes at me, expression soft. What’s he thinking? Feeling? “I can’t believe I’m here with you,” he murmurs. “It’s like a dream.”
“I can’t believe it either.” A thrill runs down the length of my spine. I’m afraid I’ll never be able to stop smiling, but that’s a tiny price to pay compared to the idea of life without Blake.
“I’ll keep you, of course,” I say.
Blake laughs delightedly. “I’d be lucky to be a kept man,” he teases. “I can at least be useful with making dinners till I hear back on my auditions. Whatever I end up getting—or not—I can do based from London.”
“Brilliant.” I’m so happy it’s embarrassing.
“And there’s films for auditioning here too. I’ll be okay,” Blake assures me. “Something will work out.”
“I think for you, it will. You work very hard. And…you’ve got Instagram.”
“I have a few sponsorships and things, but it won’t keep me fed. Or pay the rent,” Blake concedes. “I mean, I’m happy to wait tables in the meantime like any good struggling creative if I need to, though. I also have some savings to carry me for a little while.” He frowns slightly at me. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“The shop.” He lifts his eyebrows meaningfully at me, pausing to take a bite of his croissant. “How are things?”
“Well.” I redden slightly. “Obviously I’ve been away and I don’t have the latest. I have massive bills because of some recalculations and I need to pay them. But I don’t think I can afford it and probably will need to sell…which means disappointing my mum. More than that, I won’t be able to help her.” I give Blake an unhappy look.
“Is there any other option?”
I hesitate. Confession time. I have to face the simple reality that I have no clue how to run a successful shop on my own without help. “I saw an ad for some business courses. I might take those and learn a few things so I don’t make a right cock-up of the whole thing like I’ve been doing.”
“Well, if you want, I can help.” Blake’s gaze is steady. “Starting with a marketing plan. I think you can turn things around, to be honest. I mean, if you want to, that is.”
I frown. “How?”
Everything with the shop feels so daunting. I want to save the shop. Badly. For my family, for me. But, honestly, on my own it’s exhausting. And I don’t have the business head for things like my dad did, plus bookselling is a lot different now than even ten years ago.
“You just need to find your niche,” Blake explains. “People still go to indie bookshops. Why not Barnes Books? You just need to sell what it is that you offer versus the big chains. Like—a totally different experience, customer service, that sort of thing. And then when the shop’s doing better, then you’ll be free to do more of what you want.”
I blink. There are no plans to sell to Percy Green, or any megashops, his letter tossed away. With the income from filming, and Blake’s ideas, there’s a strong chance Barnes Books might make it after all. “I want the shop to do well.”
“Course. But you told me that you write poetry?”
A furious blush comes. I glance away. Oh shit. In some moment of weakness, I did say that. It’s true. But I’ve never told anyone before. Only Blake, now. “Well, I’m far from a proper writer.”
“Do you like it, though?”
“I love it,” I admit.
“Then, at the very least, you should explore that. And I can help with the shop. Not just plans. But you’ve got Gemma and you can teach me. And things will be okay.”
I gaze at him, overwhelmed. Setting my coffee down, my chest is tight. Something like gratitude washes over me. “You really would stay in London? And do all of this? For me?”
Blake’s expression is soft. Open.
“I love you, Aubrey.”
God. This man.
“I love you too.”
“And I want a future with you. If you’ll have me. After everything.”
“I…yes.” I swallow hard, searching his eyes. “I very much want that—a future with you.”
The din of the café fades, just us in here despite the clatter and crowd. Together, we’re at a beginning, a fresh start. I don’t know what that future is, but that’s all right, because Blake’s in it.
When we return after brunch, Gemma’s running a duster over the shelves.
We all pause to have a break around the front counter with the coffees we brought. Behind us, shoppers are browsing. Even better, we’ve already had sales. If the closure sparked renewed interest in Barnes Books, so much the better.
Blake leans over to kiss my cheek and I laugh, chiding him good-naturedly. “You’ll make me spill my coffee. Again.”
“Oh, that’s not the only thing I’ll make you spill…”
“My ears!” Gemma clamps her hands over her ears, shuddering. “God.”
Blake pulls me into another kiss. I wrap my arms around him in response.
“’Kay, but you two are adorable. Somebody give me their phone for a photo,” Gemma demands. Blake offers his phone up, then pounces to kiss me thoroughly, my lips, my face, even my ear. Laughing, I fall into him, his arms around me. Somewhere in the chaos Gemma snaps a couple of photos.
“I wanna buy a green book…” Blake drawls between kisses.
I can’t stop laughing. What’s he done to me? I never thought I could feel so light and free again. A glorious reality.
“Adorable,” Gemma confirms, handing the phone over.
We look, and there we are, Blake’s arms around me, both of us laughing. And we look happy and carefree. More important, I feel happy. And so does he. We’ve a new start before us. There’ll be days again when things are difficult, while we navigate life together, but today we’ll enjoy the simple joy of being together. This is a happiness that we’ve fought for.
“Do you mind if I post this on Insta?” Blake asks after we gaze at the photos, nuzzling me. His arm’s still around me as he expertly navigates his phone with one hand.
I smile, looking at him. His dark hair’s slightly messed up, sunglasses on his head, striking in a trim blue T-shirt that leaves little to the imagination and matches his eyes. “Go for it.”
Blake kisses me and posts our photo to an immediate cascade of hearts. Which is no match to the rhythm of our own hearts as we begin a new life together in London.
Epilogue
The day crawls. Each minute is a year.
By the time late afternoon rolls around, I’ve cleaned our new flat top to bottom, made a vegetarian lasagna, and
bought sparkling wine to celebrate. A couple of hours ago, Blake texted to say he landed at Heathrow. He’d be home as soon as he could get through the crush of commuters.
And when the lock at last turns in the door, despite said commuters, and the usual snarls at getting around London at peak hours, my heart pounds. I jump up from where I’ve been sitting perched on the arm of the sofa, fidgeting with a book in a failed attempt at reading.
When Blake walks through the door, he’s gorgeous as ever. He’s tanned from generous California sun and his dark hair’s slightly tousled from travel. Next thing, I’m kissing Blake and he’s kissing me, and we’ve just kissed away almost two months of him being away. His mouth is soft, seeking mine. And he kisses me with reverence.
“I missed you,” I breathe against his skin when we finally straighten. He slides his arms around my waist. One of us somehow nudged the door shut.
“I missed you too, so much. Couldn’t wait to get home to you,” he murmurs.
I shiver at that, our new London home. Together.
Since the end of November, we’ve been living in a compact but perfectly formed red brick maisonette in Soho, not far from the shop. After all, two people can navigate around each other in a pocket-sized bedsit and sleep on a sofa bed for only so long. It’s Blake’s film money that makes this possible, and certainly not my bookseller’s income, though at last I now have one again.
Our new flat has a loft level that leads to one of two bedrooms. Throughout, we’ve hung framed film and band posters, plus a few photos taken of us together, including from Cumbria. There’s a kitchen with reliable plumbing. We even have a little dining table.
The second bedroom is part home office, part guest room, so Blake’s sisters can come visit from America. My dad’s guitar sits in the corner alongside Blake’s. Predictably, there’re books everywhere, with plenty of shelving.
“I can’t believe you’re back.” It could be that I’ve just conjured Blake from my imagination, but the kisses he’s given me provide assurances that he’s real. And I’m real. And that, in fact, this is all very real.