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I shake my head. How could she have bumped into Owen this morning when he was supposed to be back in New York? When hewasback in New York a week ago...not that I was bugging Max for updates or anything.
Glutton for punishment.
“Is everything okay?” Drew touches my arm and peers at me. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m just...” I don’t even know what to say. Am I imagining things? Is this one of those moments where I’m about to wake up any second and realise I’m alone in my bed, with my roommate banging around in the kitchen?
“Don’t you faint on me, girl.” Drew wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me toward the entrance. “Let’s get you a glass of water and somewhere to sit down.”
I allow myself to be propelled forward, my heart pounding and my head swimming. I’ve tried so damn hard not to think about Owen in the last month since I left him in his hospital bed. So damn hard I’ve given myself a headache over it. Daily.
But the fact is, I’ve been miserable without him. Just like when we finished our training at the academy and I knew I wouldn’t see him as often. Just like when I found out that he moved away to New York and that meant I had to let go of my fantasy that one day we’d bump into each other and find some spark between us.
“Here, sit.” Drew pushes me down onto one of the plush velvet chairs in the foyer. “I’ll get you some water.”
She heads over to the front desk and talks to the concierge. I think about making a break for it. I could be up and out the door before Drew has a chance to catch me. And it’s not like I’ll have to see her again.
But then what? If Owen really was here, then I had to know what was going on. Why had he come home? And, more important, of all the places he could live...why here?
My stupid heart was hopeful. Too hopeful.
Because I still wanted him. Deep down and with all my heart, I want to go back to that time where I got to pretend he was mine and I was his. To that night where he walked into the bar and made all my wildest fantasies come true.
Drew is back in a flash with a bottle of water from the vending machine in the building’s management office, and she presses it into my hands. “Here. Drink.”
The liquid is cool against my heated throat. “I don’t have my keys.”
“Are you okay to walk? I’ll take you upstairs. You’re not...?” Her eyes drop to my stomach and I shake my head.
I’m not pregnant, but I’ve thought about it a lot. About the family I want to create, about the kind of mother and wife I want to be. But none of it makes sense without Owen.
Each step toward the elevator makes my pulse race. Drew chats happily as we ascend to the top floor, catching me up on the gossip of the building. Hook-ups and flirtations and how she suspects that this building puts a spell on people. 21 Love Street...the place to find a happily-ever-after. She seems lighter than when I first met her, happier.
When the elevator door chimes and I walk out into the hallway, I’m hit with memories. The taste of Owen’s kisses, the feel of his hands at my waist. The way he looks first thing in morning—with hair rumpled and an easy, sexy smile.
And the way he looks when I’m seeing something more. The vulnerability he shows no one else.
The door to our old apartment is open and music plays. There’s a bang and a rattle inside, and when I get closer I see the place is nearly empty. It’s all white walls and plastic on the ground.
I step inside and clamp a hand over my mouth. Owen is shirtless. Faded jeans sit low on his hips, highlighting his trim waist and cut abs. AndGod, those vee muscles that point down into his waistband. Something white—probably his T-shirt—is hanging out of the back pocket of his jeans.
Drew mutters something and laughs, nudging me with her elbow before turning and leaving me. Owen hasn’t noticed me yet because he’s focused on a spot on the wall where he’s gently sanding. Then, almost as if he senses that crazy, electric feeling running through me, he looks up.
“How long were you going to wait to tell me you were back?” The question flies out of me. I didn’t know it was possible to feel horny and hurt...but here we are.
“Long enough for me to get this place repainted, but before I started buying too much furniture.” He cocks his head, looking at me curiously. “You had to go and ruin the surprise, didn’t you?”
I laugh, in spite of my crazy, mixed emotions. “What surprise?”
“I wanted to do things the right way this time.” He rakes a hand through his hair. It’s longer now, and it curls around his ears. There’s flecks of dried paint in it, and over his hands. “Set down roots. Make a home.”
But for how long?
As if he sees the questions dancing on my lips he says, “I’m not running anymore. I’m going to own what happened to me and move forward, instead of continuing to look back.”
“So you bought this place?” I look around. It’s a shell now, without any of the furniture that was here before. “What about your job?”
“I am now happily unemployed.” He looks it, too. Happy. Content.
