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I blinked. "You want to hear it right here and now?"
"Sure. Why not." He turned, searching for something. His hand grabbed mine and he towed me across the restaurant to an empty table in the corner. A seat was pulled out for me, and I sat.
"I think I'm having a heart attack," I mumbled.
"Hmm?" He sat opposite me, leaning his elbows on the table. "Oh, I don't know your favorite color either. Isn't that weird? It feels weird. I mean, I should know things like that about you, shouldn't I?"
"I don't know."
"Of course I should!" He smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
"What's happening?"
"Hmm?" His warm hand cupped my cheek, his gaze soft and lovely.
"What is this? Why are you here?" I asked, shuffling forward in my seat. Stupidly enough, on the verge of crying. My eyes were itchy, swollen. My heart felt much the same. Apparently, heartbreak itched. I was obviously allergic.
"I just told you."
Much too much emotion poured through me. I couldn't take it. Not again. I pushed away his hand, shaking my head. "You got to L.A. and turned back around because you don't know what my favorite color is?"
"Yes."
"That's insane."
He shrugged, slouching back in his chair. "I needed to know."
"You couldn't just text?" Oops, my voice got a little loud. I'd say we were attracting attention, but given his odd entry, we already had.
"No."
"No?" My hands were trembling, idiot things. I sat on them, got them out of sight. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"There's more questions."
"How many more?"
"Lots." Perfect sky-blue eyes. I could have happily gotten lost in them and never left. "I can't give you an exact number."
I pressed a hand to my chest. Thump, thump, thump. Heart rate accelerated. Body shaking Sweat covered my back. This was not good. I picked up a menu and started fanning my face.
"Babe?"
"I don't understand any of this," I said, mostly to myself, but he was here too. Whatever.
Slowly, he pushed back his chair. He rose and came over to my side, crouching at my feet. A big warm hand covered my bare knee. I'd decided to wear a black pencil skirt on account of the hot weather. Thank god. Skin to skin with him made everything right. I calmed at his touch. My heart rate eased back to normal, my head no longer felt like it was about to explode. I wished that didn't happen. Vaughan having any kind of physical effect on me did not bode well. I had no say over my emotions. It wasn't too much to ask for my body to keep this crap under control, however. Surely not.
He took the menu out of my hand, placing it back on the table. I gave him my best bewildered stare. Seriously, it was a "what the fuck" masterpiece.
"I came back," he said softly.
"For how long?" I asked, blinking back the tears. Stupid glands.
"As long as it takes."
Yeah. Okay. Enough. I leaned down, getting in his face. My mouth was a mean line. "As long as what takes? Can you please give me a straight fucking answer before I kill you?"
His answering grin was like the sun coming out. Absolutely magnificent.
Then he lunged, grabbing hold of my face and kissing me stupid. I was, however, already a fool so I grabbed him right back. I clung to him, hands fisted in his shirt. Tongues, teeth, we were all over each other. Any children subjected to the spectacle would have required counseling, I'm certain. Apologies would have to be made later.
For now, I had him. And he felt like the whole damn world.
Once the kiss was done, he drew back, lips damp and eyes smiling. "I came back."
"You came back," I agreed, smiling despite all of the questions and the lingering doubt and pain in my heart.
"I'm crazy about you, Lydia. We wished it were different, me being in L.A. and you being here," he said, eyes full of emotion. "So I'm making it different."
I could only stare. It meant too much. I wanted him too badly.
"I'll stay." He cocked his head, stealing another quick kiss. "I canceled the house sale. Financially, I've got some issues. But Andre said I could start working with him tomorrow. Between that and the Dive Bar, I'll get it sorted out. Haven't worked out everything yet."
"But your dream!"
"Funny thing about that dream," he said. "It now includes being with you."
My heart lurched again. It couldn't be healthy. Any minute now, I'd probably hit the floor dead. "It does?"
"Yes."
"And your band, working with Henning Peters? What about all that?" I demanded. "You said it was a big deal. The best opportunity you'd ever had."
"Lydia, I've been chasing music all my life. But you're the best opportunity I've ever had," he said, tone deadly serious. "I'm sorry it took me leaving to figure that out."
"You broke my heart."
"Babe." Regret filled his eyes. "I'm an idiot."
"Yeah." I sniffed.
"Can you ever forgive me?"
I pretended to ponder it for a moment. The man had done me damage.
"I'm so fucking sorry I caused you pain. I'll do my best to make sure it never happens again," he said. "Can you please forgive me?"
"'spose so." It's extremely difficult to appear proud and dignified while your nose is leaking. But I did my best.
"Thank you." He stroked my cheek.
"What will you do about your music? You can't
just stop."
"No. I'll always want to play. It's a big part of me. I want to record my songs, perform them live. But I don't necessarily need a band for that. I've been rethinking things," he said. "Fact is, you come first for me. I've decided to go solo so I can be based here, organize my music so it fits in with us. But if I have to leave for work, go on tour, I'll come back. Okay?"
"Okay." Despite all of my deep breathing and blinking, tears started falling down my face. "All right."
"You'll move your stuff back into my house?"
"I don't know," I said, nerves buzzing. "You don't think we should date? Maybe take things slow and do this properly?"
He scrunched up his nose. "Problem with that is, my dream also involves having lots of sex with you. I mean, a serious amount."
"I see."
"It's not just about the sex, though. The dream is quite detailed."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." He reached out, wiping the tears from my face with a frown. "Stop that. I don't like it. Didn't come back to make you cry."
"They're happy tears. Leave them alone. The dream, Vaughan," I prodded, slapping lightly at his hand.
He smiled. "It involves us going to sleep together and waking up together."
"Okay."
"And doing coupley shit, you know."
"Coupley shit?" My brows went high. "What is this coupley shit?"
One of his shoulders hitched. "Hanging out, watching TV, being together. Mostly naked, but occasionally not."
"Sounds like a good dream."
"No," he corrected. "It's great one."
I smiled back at him. I couldn't not. "Yes, it is. You're sure, though?"
"I'm sure."
"No. I need you to have thought this through. I don't want you to wind up resenting me. It would hurt if you changed your mind, decided the musical prospects on the coast were more important." I grabbed his hand and held on tight. Quietly terrified of what we were doing. "It would hurt me really badly."
Lines surrounded his eyes, his gaze intensifying. "Babe. This chance with you ... you're it for me. You're my number one and you're staying there. I need you to believe that. This isn't a passing idea. I didn't hit L.A. and suddenly feel a bit bummed 'cause you weren't there. I'm not saying I knew you were it for me the minute I saw you in the bath. To be honest, I was kind of pissed off about the whole thing. But not much later, things changed. A half an hour, maybe. Definitely by the time you punched that asshole."
