Sometime in the last week I came to the conclusion that if she wanted me here, if she made space for me in her life—in her heart—I would fill it and there’d never be another place I’d rather be.
“Truth?” she asks, using our game for reassurance.
“Always,” I say, and in the next moment, her lips are on mine.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Avonlea – Now
Always.
That word from his lips is my undoing and I launch myself into his arms. Our lips find each other like magnets. His are soft and warm, a perfect contrast to the delicious scratch of his beard against my skin. My hands are trapped between us, along with one of his, where they’re pressed over our respective hearts. I swear I feel them trip in unison as the kiss deepens.
His free hand dips further back along my neck and into my hair at the base of my skull, inviting me closer. My breath leaves me in a rush, lips parting so his tongue can slide against mine. The flavor of whisky from dinner still lingers and it is intoxicating. I might be drunk off just the taste of him. Jameson and whisky. His parents certainly got his name right.
I press up on my toes, molding my body to his, and a low moan rips from his throat. Our arms break free at the same time and he wraps his around my waist, drawing me flush against him, highlighting every muscular inch of his body and the hard ridge pressed against my belly. He wants me—really wants me. My hands run through his hair to his nape and I pull him down to me, wanting more.
This kiss is so much more than the one in the garden. This kiss is eleven years in the making. Eleven years of longing and want. Eleven years of desire. Eleven years of heartbreak being healed by just the simplest act of lips on lips, tongues tangled with tongues, hands moving over bodies. Each movement is a prayer, an apology, a question, an answer…
There are words that need to be spoken, things to be discussed, yet with this one kiss, the fear of moments ago subsides. This kiss is a homecoming—our homecoming.
“Jamie,” I breathe against his lips, the inch of space between us closing for another silky brush of his against mine. Then he presses our foreheads together and we share the same air for a moment.
“Avi.” Reverence and something else—something I won’t let myself consider or even voice inside my own head—fill that one word.
He drags his fingers up and down my arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake, while I continue to tangle and untangle mine in his hair.
“That was…” I release my breath and it shakes on the way out.
“Yes, it was.” He puffs out a chuckle and then his lips are ghosting my forehead, my cheek, my nose, and finally, with the most delicatebrush, they cross my lips again. “I should probably say goodnight here.”
Ever the gentleman, but I can hear the restraint in his voice—like leaving right now is the last thing he wants. It’s the last thing I want too, and I have something for him that I’ve been holding on to all week. Waiting for tonight.
“If you think you can behave,” I say, raising an eyebrow and smirking, “I have something for you.”
“For me?” he questions, curiosity sparking in his gaze.
I turn to unlock the door and take his hand, leading him inside.
It’s the first time he’s been here since we came to view it, when it was empty and lifeless. Now it’s filled with my furniture, my things, Lennox’s things. Pictures are hung on the wall—thank goodness for my dad’s visit and skill with a hammer—and it feels like a home. Our home, mine and Lennox’s.
I’ve never invited a man into our home before, not once, and though it’s Jamie, it still feels vulnerable.
His eyes rove over the space, taking in every inch, every decoration. “It looks amazing, Avi.”
“Thank you,” I say with a blush, the praise lighting me up inside. “Would you like a dram?”
“Sure,” he says, eyes continuing to take in the space around him. “How did Nox like it? The house.”
I pull the bottle of Cluaran’s finest from the shelf above the fridge along with two short glasses. “He really likes it. He’s excited to make his room more his own. We couldn’t paint in our flat, but we can here, so he wants to do that this summer.” I turn around, a whisky in each hand, to find Jamie on the couch, looking at mytattered copy ofJournals of Elsewhere. His fingers brush the broken spine and fraying dust cover.
“Part of me still can’t believe you’ve read this…” He trails off, awe in his voice.
I blush scarlet and my eyes flick to the shelf behind him that carries all the copies and special editions I have. My first editions though, the copies I bought the day the books were released and read a million times, are my favorites. Like the one in his hands.
He follows my line of sight and his eyes widen. He hops over the back of the couch with the grace of a gazelle to stand in front of the shelf. Then his eyes cut quickly to me. They’re wet.
“Avi…” he says, and I hear nothing but affection.
