Page 71 of Call It Serendipity

She shoves her hands into the pockets of her own and looks up at me from where she is propped against the wall. “I figured you wouldn’t be far behind this time either.”

I want to promise her that I’ll never be far behind. That with her is where I prefer to be. But I can’t promise that, not with the big, hotel shaped wedge we’ve simply pushed to the side. So instead, I lean against the side of the tavern right next to her.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as my arm brushes hers.

She drops her head to my shoulder and loosens a sigh. “I get so overwhelmed in crowds like this. And today has already been…”

The dull thud of live music on the other side of the wall echoes around us, and I let it fill the silence she leaves as she trails off. Every fiber of my being wants to scoop her up and take her home and wrap her up in the fuzzy blanket she likes to pull up to her chin. I want to fix this for her—whatever this is.

But she’s blinking up at the stars and taking a slow steady breath like maybe the fresh mountain air is all the cure she needs.

“How was the meeting?”

It’s my turn to drag out a deep breath. “Same as it always is. I try to keep the peace and protect our client or community partner as best I can. It was actually good I went rather than Richard handling it himself.”

“A lot of small businesses there depend on you.”

I frown. “They are managing fine without me overall. I built a strong team.”

She tips her head in my direction. “How was it being home?”

“Lonely.”

Our gazes meet in the darkness. And maybe it’s okay I can’t fully read her expression because the air is thick with understanding.

“I missed you,” she whispers, turning her whole body towards me now. With those three little words, she’s sent my heart leaping up into my throat. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear them.

“God, I missed you, Luce.” I sigh, reaching out and taking her face in my hands. When she tips her chin up, I hope that means this is okay. I slowly lower my face towards hers, giving her ample time to remind me we’re in public. She doesn’t, instead, she closes the distance between us, her lips sinking against mine.

Backing her up against the brick alley wall, I kiss her until I hear a little gasp from somewhere deep in her throat. Pulling back, I watch her inhale, breathless, and I do the same.

“I needed that,” she says, pausing to take another deep breath. “I got a call from Whitcombe Gallery tonight, just before leaving the house actually. And all that pressure I’ve been shaking off lately came flooding right back.”

My hands drop, finding hers in the darkness and taking hold. “You’ve been feeling good about this new style though, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I personally crumbled to expectations and pressure, leaving behind what I wanted to return to my dad’s company. Which means I can tell you first-hand how shitty it feels to let the pressure decide for you.”

Her grip on me tightens. “You don’t think I’ll regret losing the gallery contract?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But if you submit your work, who’s to say they won’t love it?”

The chime above Gin Mill’s door sounds, and we both turn to look in its direction. There are vague, muffled voices and the faintest taps of footsteps, but they grow more distant with each passing second—apparently headed in the opposite direction.

“We should probably go back in, I’m not feeling suffocated anymore,” Lucy says hesitantly.

Tugging on our joined hands, I pull her close enough to drop a kiss to her forehead. “Or we could get the hell out of here,” I murmur, my lips brushing into her hairline.

In the sliver of the tavern’s front porch light that reaches our secluded alley, I tip back and watch her expression brighten.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Lucy’s posture is visibly lighter the further we make it down Washington Street. Her breathing settles, her chin lifts, and she nuzzles into the way my arm drapes over her shoulders. I find the tension in my chest loosening in response.

And as we turn onto Monroe, I appreciate that it is a surprisingly quiet night in the center of Ellicottville. Trick-or-treaters are probably scurrying about the residential side streets, and clearly all the child-free adults are crammed into Gin Mill, which leaves the quaint storefronts and flickering lampposts just for us.

“Is it snowing?” Lucy breathes, stopping us in the center of the sidewalk and tipping back to look at the dark sky.