by Cranford, B.
He held his hands up in front of him. “Hey now, don’t question my ability to order in. If I can name every muscle in a cow’s body, then I can Google ‘vegan takeout.’”
“And yet, you just suggested that fishing was a viable career option for your vegan girlfriend.” One eyebrow cocked, she leaned in to prop her chin on her hand.
“A mere oversight. So, okay, we’re adding anything animals-are-food related to the no pile.”
“Make that the hell-no pile, thanks.” She softened the words with a little grin, and he nodded his easy agreement.
“Hmm, okay, what else?” He lifted his face up to the sky, enjoying the cool mid-November sunshine that broke through the trees that surrounded the café seating area, and thought about what else she might like to do for a career, to be “when she grew up.”
They’d started talking about it again when she’d brought up his message from the day before and the fact that she needed to start making hard decisions.
He’d let the conversation get waylaid because what if she didn’t stay? What if she said it was the end and that was that? He wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t crack the shits at her. In public.
He liked to think he was a good man, but even good men could only be pushed so far. And he hated, hated, the idea of her being all the way in Australia. Fuck, he hated it when they spent nights apart, which were fewer and further between now that they’d been together for coming up on two months, so the thought of her halfway across the globe?
Killed him.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Rose asked, bringing him back to the café and back to their discussion.
Forcing himself out of his head, he smiled at her. “You can tell me anything, but I should warn you, I already know I’m devastatingly handsome.”
“And so modest, too.”
He laughed at her sassy retort. Surely, she couldn’t walk away from him in three weeks. They were too damn good together. “Go on, I want to hear this secret of yours.”
“I wrote a book. I mean, it’s probably terrible but it was fun.” She shrugged, like writing a book was no big deal. “And I was thinking about, you know, publishing it?”
“You did?” He blinked in surprise, trying to remember if there’d been any clues. Anything that might have said that his woman, who he already thought of as extraordinary, was secretly authoring her nights away. Or her days away. He didn’t know, which was why he asked, “When?”
Her shrug was small, and spoke to her shyness about the topic. “I don’t know. When no one could see me, I guess. Between games of Candy Crush and re-runs of CSI, and time spent with you and Wilbur, or at work. Usually on my phone.” She shrugged a second time and it was no bigger.
She looked nervous, like he was about to pass judgment. And he was. But on himself. “On your phone? Jesus, the longest thing I’ve ever written on my phone was that text I sent you about the dog who was faking an injury to be carried around by its owner.”
She snort-giggled at his reminder of the story—she’d called him right after and demanded he re-tell the story from the start—and he joined her. When their laughter faded, he tilted his head, considering what she’d said. “Are you asking me if you should? Publish it?”
“No. Yes?” She sighed, continuing, “I want to do it, but I’m nervous. Scared. What if people hate it? Or worse, what if no one reads it?”
“Not to rain on your parade, but that could happen. But people could also love it and tell everyone to read it.”
“I don’t think that was very helpful.” She glared at him. “In fact, I know it wasn’t.”
Laughing, he apologized. “Let me try again: everyone will read it, and everyone will love it and you’ll be the next—wait, what kind of book is it?”
“A mystery, crime-type novel. Historical. Ish.”
“Ish?”
“It’s not set in the 1800’s or anything. Think World War Two-era. It takes place at a golf club.”
“Got it. Okay, so you’ll be the next . . .” He trailed off, trying to come up with a name. “Turns out, I don’t have a frame of reference for that genre. So, you’ll be the first you, which is better than being the next anyone anyway.”
Her little smile-nod-shrug movement made him want to lean over the table and give her a kiss. Several kisses. Including one on the end of that nose that he thought was maybe his favorite thing about her.
He’d kissed the tip of that nose a lot in their two-month-old relationship, and he wanted to do it a lot more.
Forever.
“So, a writer. When you grow up, you want to be a writer?” he asked instead of giving in to his impulse. He didn’t want to squish Wilby sitting in his lap. Plus, he could see that this conversation was important to her, and he was determined to give it, give her, his full, undivided attention.
There’d be plenty of time for kissing later.
He hoped.
* * *
Rose couldn’t believe she’d admitted her writing dream to him.
More than that, she couldn’t believe he’d so easily accepted it. She’d thought for sure he’d tell her it was a crap idea, a mistake. But instead he’d been so—
Perfect. He was perfect.
And with that thought came another wash of trepidation, of loss, that was so big it threatened to drag her under. She’d miss him when she went home.
I don’t want to leave him.
She didn’t know how she could stay. She wanted to go home. To ease the ache of homesickness and settle that part of her which had been chomping at the bit to claim her life, her comfort in her home, back from the predatory clutches of Mister Bradley. Even on just a practical level, her visa was set to expire too soon, and that would mean she’d need to get out of the USA, at least until it was renewed.
I don’t know if I can live here. She would try, she knew that. For Liam, she would most definitely try, though he hadn’t asked it of her and she hadn’t offered.
But the time had come for them to talk about it, to make the decision. The two week deadline she’d set herself was expiring and, in just over three weeks, she’d be getting on a plane and heading home.
Right in time for the craziness of the holiday season to kick in.
She hadn’t even told him she loved him yet, which was just plain dumb. How was she, were they, ever going to figure their shit out—like Kassi had told her the day of their argument—if they didn’t talk about it and at least try?
“Where’d you go?”
Looking over at him, his eyebrows drawn in just enough to tell her he’d been worried about her drifting off into her thoughts, she took the first step towards figuring out their future. “I love you.”
Chapter Twenty
I love you.
Liam’s first reaction to those three words was the tightening of every muscle in his body. His second was to stand up, reach for her hand so she was standing too, and wrap her—and Wilbur—in his arms, dropping a kiss first to her nose, then to her forehead and finally to those lush lips that had given him the three best words he’d ever heard.
“I love you, Rosie.” He let his eyes fall closed, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, right where she belonged. A velvety tongue swiping across his neck the next second had him opening his eyes again, and he looked down and laughed at Wilbur. “Yeah, okay, I love you, too, Wilby.”
That earned him a small yip in return. The little guy looked so very pleased with himself and why not? It dawned on Liam that if not for him, he might never have seen Rose again—after all, she’d fled the scene of the crime that day at the march, and they didn’t exactly run in the same circles or frequent the same places.
He didn’t want to think about it. And thankfully, Rose started talking the next moment, which meant he didn’t have to think about it. “You know my flight is already booked, and even if I could change it, I”—she stepped out of the circle of his arms, her lower lip caught between her teeth—“I don’t want to miss another Christmas with
my family.”
She’d told him as much already. Using his thumb to press down on her lip, freeing it from the cage of her teeth, he replied easily, “I know. But I don’t want to say goodbye, Babe. See you later, though, that I could do.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “What do we do? I–I want to say that I’ll move here, and we’ll be together and then we’ll live happily ever after, but . . .” She trailed off, obviously not wanting to say what they both knew was true—
They hadn’t even been together for two months.
And though they were in love, it was a risk. A big one. Because it wasn’t just seeing where a relationship went—it was long distance flights and oceans between them. It was distance from family and friends and the familiarity of the places they’d known and frequented since they were kids.
It was one person having to leave their home and make a new one, with no guarantee of a future.
It was living without a real plan.
He sucked in a breath, ready to tell her that he’d take the risk, he’d make the move—despite his goals and his plans, it still seemed like a no-brainer to him. Because he’d known since the first time he’d seen her that she was something special. But before he could, she raised her finger to his lips, keeping him quiet.
“After Christmas, after I’ve seen my family and talked to them about this—about us—plan for me to come back, okay? Because”—she visibly swallowed—“it just makes sense, doesn’t it?”
He knew she meant her being the one to move, but that didn’t stop him from making sure she knew he agreed—in a different way. “We just make sense, Rosie.”
“I know.” Her whisper was colored by the tears that were starting to form in her eyes. “I know we do.”
“But that doesn’t mean you leaving your family and your home makes sense. We can talk about this some more. We can find a compromise.” He held her a little tighter. “I don’t want to lose you to distance, but, Babe, I don’t want to lose you to unhappiness or homesickness, either.”
He’d seen her struggle, and he’d watched her cry. In the short time they’d had together, she’d never once tried to disguise the fact that Australia was where she wanted to be. Even when she enjoyed his company and their dates, she still thought of home, still counted down until she was there again.
“You won’t,” she replied quickly, though he could hear the tremble in her voice still.
“We’re not making this decision right now. Not the big one, okay? We have time.”
She stiffened in his arms and pulled away from him, a frown splashed across her already tear-streaked face. “You don’t want me to move here?” Her tone sounded more curious than hurt and he breathed a sigh of relief at that. At the fact she hadn’t just assumed he didn’t want her at all, that she’d thought through the high-emotion of the moment they were sharing to try to understand what he was saying.
“I do. Of course, I do.” He smiled at her, letting her see how much he cared about her, how happy she made him, then added, “But how about we just promise to do long distance for now. Maybe after Christmas you can come back for a visit? Or I could come there. I told you I’ve always wanted to see Melbourne, you know?”
“I know,” she said again.
“As long as I know that when you leave, you’re leaving the country but not me, we can do this.” He said it as much for himself as he did for her, to make sure they were completely on the same page. Because although long distance wasn’t his ideal, not when he knew what it was like to hold her and love her in person, he also knew it was a far, far superior choice to the alternative.
Not having her at all.
“Come on, let’s sit, because people are starting to stare.” He looked around them, at the tables of people that were clearly trying to “suss out,” as Rose would say, what was happening while looking like they were completely oblivious to it all. “Or they’ve been staring but now they’re studiously looking away.”
She laughed, looking around herself. “I would one hundred percent do the same thing. I mean, who needs reality TV when you can watch actual, unscripted drama play out in real time—while eating scones?”
“Vegan scones, at that. That’s way better than popcorn.”
“Especially buttered popcorn.”
He nodded emphatically, a gesture that earned him another laugh, and stepped back to let her take her seat again, placing Wilbur, who’d been so calm throughout their emotional talk, on her lap. Then, after taking his own seat, he decided to try to lighten the mood a little. Pulling a face and blowing out a dramatic breath, he said, “Whew, well, that was intense, right?”
She wiped a hand across her cheeks to brush away some of the tears that’d fallen while they talked. “Right. But also, way easier than I thought it would be? Like, I’m sitting here now, wondering why we didn’t talk about this before. Why I kept putting it off?” She shrugged. “I was so nervous, scared, that . . .”
“That what?”
“I don’t know. I think part of me was nervous you would say you didn’t want me to stay—and the other part was worried that you would. And I want to be with you but moving permanently still scares me.” She cocked her head, then grimaced comically. “Though not as much as the thought of telling Mum scares me, to be honest.”
Now, that was interesting. “You don’t think she’ll understand?” He didn’t know much about Rose’s mum, though he knew they were close and that the separation had been difficult for them both. And it was because of that that he found it hard to believe that she wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t be happy for her daughter if her daughter was acting out of love.
So corny, he thought, even though it was true. The only reason for Rose to make the move would be because of love. He wouldn’t ask it of her, wouldn’t accept it from her for any other reason.
Rose didn’t answer right away, and he could see she was giving his question real thought. So, when she answered, he knew that she was giving him nothing but the truth.
“She would. She would definitely understand. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt her, because I know she’d miss me at least as much as I’d miss her. And . . . I don’t know how to do that, to tell her I’m leaving, knowing that it would make her unhappy. Does–does that make sense?”
“Of course, it does.”
“But logically, I get that you have more roots here than I have anywhere at the moment. You don’t just have your family, you have Pupp’s and all the time and the work you’ve put into making that happen.”
He threw a hand up. “Pfft. Logic, schmogic.”
“Har har. Funny guy. I just–I know I’m already starting over. I think . . . I think I needed this time away to reassess everything, to realize that being happy and moving on from the past—from what happened with work—is the biggest and best fuck you I could give Mister Bradley.”
She paused with that telling statement, and Liam realized that though she hadn’t admitted as much to him, her need to overcome that pain, that betrayal, had driven her as much as her homesickness. He wanted to say as much, to reassure her that he understood, when she started talking once more.
“It doesn’t really make sense for us both to be starting over, not when I’m ready now. Or . . . nearly ready, anyway. I think I’ve finally realized that I can be okay without having to prove anything.” Her words wobbled a little, her conviction tenuous but obvious, and he knew it was hard for her.
“We’ve bought ourselves some time, right? So, we don’t have to decide now, with the clock ticking on you going home next month.” He shrugged lazily, wanting to put her at ease, to show her that he understood. That he wasn’t taking her—or what she’d overcome—for granted. “And who knows? Maybe Pupp’s will tank and I’ll need to flee the country anyway. Could happen.”
Just as he’d intended, she laughed, tilting her head all the way back and exposing the column of her neck. He’d kissed that neck. Run his lips up and down its length and enjoyed the w
ay it made her shiver.
God, she was beautiful. She was his.
And even though she was leaving soon, she wasn’t leaving him.
That was all that mattered.
Chapter Twenty-One
Three Weeks Later
One bag after another dropped from the ramp onto the conveyor belt to slowly circle the baggage claim area. Rose tapped her foot impatiently, wondering when she’d see her second bag.
She was tired, eyes dry and gritty from the long flight, but hyped up. She was so close to seeing her mum and dad, and it seemed like the carousel was taking forever to spit out her missing piece of luggage.
“Come on, come on.” She closed her eyes and willed her bag to be the next one out—smiling when she remembered Liam telling her that if she wanted something badly enough, she could make it happen. Of course, he’d been talking about her surprising him at his house, but the principle was the same.
She badly wanted her bag to be next. And when she opened her eyes, it was. She grabbed it, throwing it on top of the other on her cart, and moved to the next stage of making it through customs and out the arrivals gate.
Into the arms of her parents, whom she hadn’t seen in nearly two years.
By the time the man waved her through, she was practically running, trying to steer the cart without ramming into fellow travelers while also trying to get out there already. The sliding doors glided open and she turned left—she and Mum had already made that arrangement, so they wouldn’t be looking for one another in the wrong place—and coasted down the length of the walkway, her goal in sight.
Her mum and dad stood there waiting for her. She barreled into her mum first and hugged the ever-loving shit out of her. “Mumamushka,” she breathed, feeling the warmth of her mum’s hug settle into her, and just appreciating that she was there.