Page 28 of Waiting for You

"That's petty and terrible."

"I acknowledge that."

"I'm furious with you."

He offered an unapologetic smile. "I know."

I shoved the wine bottle back onto the rack and turned toward the far wall. The northern lights had been one of those romantic milestones that lived purely in the future tense between us, a plan with no date that felt inevitable anyway. We'd spent hours lying in the dark, debating whether we could legally get married right underneath those glowing green skies.

And he'd booked the flight without me.

He'd stood shivering under those cosmic lights alone. And without having to ask, I knew how much it had gutted him to do it.

I stared at the label of the bottle in front of my face, unable to read the French.

It was my fault.

"Sloane."

His deep voice came from right behind my shoulder.

"It's fine," I deflected. "We should get these bottles upstairs."

His hand clamped around my wrist before I could take a step. "Don't be angry," he murmured. "I was trying to force myself to forget you. And I failed."

"It doesn't matter," I choked out, staring hard at the wine rack. "We just agreed on the sidewalk to leave the past buried. This is the past."

I tried to wrench my arm away, but he pulled me backward. His arms boxed me in, with his hands planted against the wooden rack on either side of my shoulders. He was terrifyingly close, his body heat wrapping around me a full second before I turned to face him.

"I was wrong," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "I never should've gone to see them without you."

"You aren't going to win my forgiveness through physical intimidation," I warned, though the threat lost its teeth when my voice came out breathless.

"I'm apologizing." He leaned in a fraction, his lips hovering close to my ear. "Can't you feel how sincere I am right now?"

Every coherent thought left me.

I turned my head and found his dark eyes already locked on mine, close and unmoving.

"You haven't been backed against a wall by a man in a long time, have you?" he asked, his gaze dropping to my lips. "You look like you have no idea what to do."

"I know what to do," I whispered.

I didn't move a muscle.

I'd dated men since the breakup. I was an adult woman with physical needs, and those arrangements had been just what they were built to be: mutually beneficial, casual, finite.

But not one of them had ever been him. He was the one man on this earth I couldn't be casual with. He was the only man whose bed I'd ever wanted to wake up in. Trapped in his gravity, my knees liquified and my hands forgot how to work.

He pushed off the rack and stepped back.

I let out a shaky exhale.

"We need to grab the bottles," I said, smoothing my dress.

"Right." His voice was tight.

We went back to the racks. I worked through the rows, reading labels and shoving dusty bottles into his hands, muttering yes or no, keeping my flushed face aimed at the woodwork instead of his jaw. Eventually we had everything the sommelier asked for.