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‘And I didn’t even act like I cared,’ he admits thickly, coming inside so he can cup my cheeks. ‘I cared. Believe me, Holly, I cared. I loved you then and I love you now, and I’m going to prove it to you.’
He presses a kiss to my forehead, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that can’t fail to make my chest throb, and then he smiles.
‘I’ll be seeing you.’
I watch him go with a frown and yet a lightness is living in me for the first time in a month. Hope is beating its tired, broken wings...
* * *
A week later Noah is waiting for me outside my office when I leave. I wasn’t expecting him and the sight of him in jeans and a leather jacket bowls me over.
I stand still, staring at him as he crosses the street, my heart in my throat.
‘I came to walk you home,’ he says, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘We don’t have to talk. I won’t ask to come in. I just...want to be in your airspace for a bit. Is that...okay?’
And hope beats again, little wings seeking light.
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ I say coldly, locking my gaze straight ahead, refusing to look into eyes that have always enchanted me.
‘I know.’
We walk in silence. At the bottom of my steps I turn to him and he’s just watching me, as though trying to memorise everything.
I don’t smile. I turn away from him and walk inside. I dream of him that night and for the first time in a long time I don’t wake up feeling like a devastating cyclone has rushed over me.
He is waiting for me the next week, this time on the same side of the street as my office. We walk as before, with no conversation, no contact. But I feel him beside me, I hear his breathing and his heart calls to mine. When we reach my home, I leave him on the footpath without a goodbye.
* * *
For four more weeks we do this. But on the fifth week he has something. A gift in a bag. I frown but take it from him.
‘I don’t want presents from you.’ I think of the necklace he gave me in Paris that I’ve stuffed into a shoebox in the bottom of my wardrobe.
‘It was your birthday on Tuesday,’ he says softly.
My eyes jerk to his and my breath escapes in a ragged noise.
‘I wanted to call, to see you, but I wasn’t sure...’ His uncertainty breaks something inside me, but it’s a good breaking. It’s like the bursting of something tight and painful.
‘What is it?’ I lift the bag.
‘Have a look.’
I peek inside, but whatever he’s chosen is wrapped in tissue paper. I open it carefully, the precious ornament the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s the most delicate glass, and it’s been etched with a nativity scene, the intricacy incredible. It hangs from a red velvet ribbon and a dainty bell is inside.
‘Do you like it?’ The question is soft.
I nod. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘They’re very rare. Gabe...collects them.’ His smile is wry. ‘I had this one made for you.’
My chest heaves. ‘Thank you.’ I wrap it and place it gently into the bag. We walk, side by side, in silence. But at the steps, I turn to him.
‘I’ll see you next week?’
Triumph glows in those beautiful eyes. ‘You can count on it.’
* * *
