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“Hello, Ms. Day,” I hear a voice say behind me.
Not just any voice.
A voice I hear every damn night in my dreams. A voice that haunts me, breaking my heart over and over and over again. I turn slowly and there he is.
Dante’s standing there in jeans and a white t-shirt, holding a bouquet of my favorite flowers: pink dahlias. In the back of my mind, I’m surprised he even remembered that I liked them. I only mentioned it once in passing.
I take a breath, trying to settle the racing of my heart. “Dante. What are you doing here? And how did you know I was going to be here?”
He flashes me a smile, and my knees go weak. I swear he’s even more gorgeous now. How is that possible? “I live in L.A. now, Samantha. And I know a guy who knows a guy who told him you’d be here today.”
The last part of his explanation is a blur; the first part lodges itself in my mind. “You live here now?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“I’m overseeing a two-year project for my father. Something a little more up my alley. I actually just got back from Africa. I was there for the last five months overseeing the first project the foundation is funding. A school,” he adds, and I nod. He glances toward the theater. “So how did it go?”
“Okay, I think,” I answer. I’ve nearly forgotten how to form words, between my shock at seeing him and the swirl of emotions running through me. My heart has been a raw, empty thing since the night I walked away from him. Why the hell is he here? Is this my life now? Dante Knight, the man I’ll never be able to get over?
“Do you want to get coffee?” he asks.
“Why are you here, Dante?” I ask quietly.
He hands me the bouquet of pink dahlias. “There’s so much I want to say. Please have coffee with me, Samantha.” The plea in his voice reminds me so much of the last night we made love, the need in his voice, and even though I’m scared to death of doing more damage to my already-broken heart, I find myself saying yes.
Because the truth is, seeing him here…all I want is to be near him. And I know I’ll pay for that later.
We walk down the block to a little coffee shop, and once we’re seated, I don’t know where to look or what to do with my hands. He’s watching me, and it feels like I can barely breathe.
“I’m not just here for work,” Dante says after a while.
I don’t answer. I don’t trust my voice just now.
“The truth is, I missed you so much I was out of my mind with it, Samantha,” he says, and the raw need in his voice nearly undoes me. I close my eyes, trying to fight back the tears that threaten to fall. I’ve been fantasizing about those words for so long now. “Nothing’s been right since you’ve been gone. It’s like part of me walked away with you that night. I’m incomplete without you. I need you, Samantha.”
I open my eyes and look at him. His intense gaze is on me, and I soak it in.
“I spent all that time in Africa. I woke up every morning doing something good with my life. I was finally making my own way instead of just following the path my father laid out for me. I thought I’d feel fulfilled. And in some ways, I did,” he says slowly, and I can’t stop staring at him. “But there was something missing. Like part of me was just… gone. And the truth is that nothing in my life is right without you.”
I can’t stop the tears that come to my eyes. I’ve dreamed of this moment, lying alone in my bed at night, so sure it would never come.
“I love you, Samantha. I love you so damn much, and I need you. I want to be with you, every day of my life. Every night. Through everything, if you’ll have me. Please, baby,” he asks, and I’m a crying, weeping mess.
“Okay,” I find myself saying dumbly between sobs, but it’s all he needs. He scoots into the seat beside me and moves in to kiss me. At that moment, my phone rings, and he backs off with a choked laugh.
I glance at him, and he smiles and shakes his head.
“Answer it, so I can have you all to myself again,” he says with a laugh.
I fumble in my purse and find my phone, wiping my eyes and trying to get myself under control. The number is the same one I called when I scheduled my audition. I glance up at Dante.
“It’s the theater. They’re probably rejecting me.”
“Or not. Won’t know until you answer, though,” he says. He reaches over and takes my hand, and I take a deep breath and hit the button to answer.
“Samantha Day?” a male voice asks.
