“Ms. Carter,” he greets me with a slight nod as I approach. “Welcome back to New York. May I take your bag?”
“Thank you, Hudson.” I hand over my carry-on, relieved to not have to navigate the subway with luggage. “I appreciate you coming out here.”
“My pleasure.” He leads me toward the exit with the efficiency of someone who's done this a thousand times. “Mr. Novak wanted to ensure you arrived home safely.”
The car is waiting in the pickup zone. Hudson opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat with a sigh of relief.
New York traffic is terrible as always. I pull out my phone, meaning to catch up on more emails, but instead I find myself opening my photos.
There aren't many. We were careful about taking pictures together, hyperaware that one wrong photo could expose everything. But there are a few.
A selfie from the CN Tower observation deck, Liam's arm around me, the city spread out behind us. Another from brunch at St. Lawrence Market, his hand reaching across the table for mine, our food forgotten.
And one from Monday night, back at The West Peak. We'd been lying in bed, the room dark except for the city lights through the windows, and I'd grabbed my phone on impulse.
The photo is mostly shadows, but you can see us. My head is on his chest, his arm around me, and both of us are looking at the camera with satisfied smiles.
That's the one that makes my chest ache. Because we look happy. Like a couple who belong together.
“Ms. Carter?” Hudson's voice pulls me from my thoughts. “We've arrived.”
I look up, startled. My building is right outside the window. I'd been so lost in my phone, in memories of the weekend, that I didn't even notice the drive.
“Thank you.” I gather my things. “I really appreciate the ride.”
“Anytime, Ms. Carter. Have a good evening.”
The elevator ride up to my apartment feels strange. Because Liam isn’t here. This is the first time I'm coming home aloneafter being with him. The absence feels physical, like there should be someone beside me, making terrible jokes, kissing my neck while I try to unlock the door, generally making everything more chaotic and wonderful.
I shake off the melancholy and head to my bedroom, dragging my suitcase behind me. Unpacking is therapeutic, sorting through clothes and toiletries, putting everything back in its proper place.
I'm hanging up a dress when something falls out of my suitcase onto the bed.
Rose petals.
A handful of deep red petals from the roses in our hotel suite, scattered among my folded clothes.
My hand flies to my mouth, emotion flooding through me so suddenly it takes my breath away. Liam must have done this today morning while we were packing.
You're such a romantic, I think, even as tears prick my eyes. Who would have guessed?
I carefully gather the petals, pressing them between the pages of my journal on my nightstand.
My phone buzzes.
Liam: Are you home?
Me: Just got here. Thank you for sending Hudson. And thank you for the rose petals.
Liam: You’re welcome.
Me: How was practice?
Liam: Brutal. Coach is pissed about the Toronto game. We won but apparently we didn't win pretty enough. He had us doing bag skates until Ryan almost puked.
Me: Bag skates?
Liam: Conditioning drills. Skating until your legs are dead. It's torture. But a good setup for Thursday'sgame. Montreal is third in our division so it's a big game.
