“I fucked up,” I cut Noah off. I ignore his startled gasp at my cursing. “I messed up so spectacularly that Declan didn’t even tell me he was leaving town.” I run my hands through my messy hair and resist tugging at it in frustration.
I start pacing alongside our work table, my eyes unfocused on the black-and-white tiled floor. “He stood right in front of me and told me that he loved me, and I let him walk away, all because I was scared of getting hurt again. Scared of having the people in this town be witness to my hurt again.”
I quit pacing and glance next door. The sight of Declan’s empty tattoo chair sends a jolt of heartache through my system.
“I pushed him away. I told him he was going to leave anyway, because he always does. God, that was so unfair of me.”
I’m vaguely aware of the chime of the bell announcing another customer’s arrival, but I’m on a roll now and can’t find it in me to care about my growing audience.
“Um, Elsie –” Noah tries to cut in.
“The worst part is,” I continue, still staring at that empty chair, “he was right when he said I had more faith in him than that. That I didn’t really think he’d leave. I should have told him that.” My voice cracks, but I can’t find it in me to be embarrassed. I swipe at a rogue tear coursing down my cheek. “Ineverthought he’d take that job. I was just scared and projecting my fears onto him. I knew he’d stay.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “I thought he’d stay.”
I plant my hands on the cool surface of the work table and bow my head. The pain is so acute, it could take me out at the knees.
“I didn’t even get to tell him I love him,” I say softly. “Now he’s all the way in New York, and I –”
“Say that again,” a deep voice says from behind me.
A voice I’d know anywhere.
A voice that’s supposed to beinNew York.
I whirl around to find Declan standing in the middle of the shop, a backpack clutched in one hand and his leather jacket in the other. God, he looks good. His dark hair is artfully messy, the way it always is after he takes off his motorcycle helmet and runs a hand through it. He’s dressed in his signature look – black jeans, black T-shirt straining against his chest and biceps, black boots. My chest aches at the sight of him.
“Declan,” I breathe. “You’re here.”
“Say itagain,” he repeats, taking slow, measured steps toward me. He drops his bag and jacket and comes to a stop right in front of me, the toes of his boots nearly touching my white Keds.
“Which part?” I whisper, stalling. I can’t help the way my eyes rake over his face, drinking him in like a thirst finally quenched. His strong, stubbled jaw; the slope of his nose; his dark brows and eyelashes. The messy hair I want to trail my fingers through.
“You know which part,” Declan says, his voice low. His eyes are wild, his dark irises flitting back and forth between mine with his pupils blown wide. He looks terrified, afraid to hope that he heard me correctly.
There are so many things I need to say, so many questions I want to ask him. But first, I throw him a lifeline.
“I love you,” I tell him, my voice strong and sure despite the nerves trying to claw their way up my throat. He deserves to hear the words in a voice that does not shake.
Declan drops to his knees. It’s a full-body sigh of relief, the way he sinks to the tiled floor in front of me and lets loose a long, labored breath.
Somewhere to my left, somebody claps excitedly.
“Elsie,” Declan says softly. He’s looking up at me like I’m the goddamn sun, with so much tenderness in his eyes that he doesn’t even need to say the words. Iknowthis man loves me.
In all my years, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a sight more beautiful than this six-foot-plus, tattooed, grumpy giant of a man on his knees before me.Becauseof me.
“I love you,” I repeat. This time, I don’t know if it’s for his benefit or mine.
I’m no longer scared to say the words out loud, despite the tears I’ve shed and the panic that’s been gripping my heart all morning. More than anything, I just want him to know it.
“I love you so goddamn much,” Declan says, his voice gruff. He clears his throat, like he’s hoping to dislodge the emotion that’s settled there. He places his hands on my waist and tugs me closer. “I’ve missed you.”
I slide my hands into his hair, relishing the feel of the soft, silky strands against my palms. I never thought I’d miss something as simple as being able to run my hands through his hair, but here we are.
Declan’s eyes flit closed, a tiny half-smile tugging at his lips. The moment is so perfect, the reunion so sweet, that I almost forget we can’t just leave it atI love you.
“What about New York?”
Declan’s eyes pop open and his brow furrows. “What about it?”
