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It’s the only thing that makes sense to do.
Why is he here?
He stands and walks my way.
I take in his blue jeans, navy button-down shirt, and white sneakers.
I’ve never seen Owen in such a casual outfit on a workday.
Well, except for that time in the gym and when he’s come to some yoga classes with me.
His sleeves are rolled up so imperfectly I could fall in love with them.
“Why are you here?” I ask when he reaches me.
“I told you this isn’t finished.” He takes his time with my face. Like he’s missed it, which is crazy because he saw it yesterday. But still, that’s how it feels when he looks at me.
“Are you staying here?”
“Yes.”
“Owen,” I say, still frowning, “coming here and staying in the same hotel isn’t going to make me change my mind.”
“What are you afraid of, Charlize? Tell me so I can tell you why you don’t need to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” It’s a good thing I’m still not Catholic.
“You are. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. But we can find our way there slowly if that’s what you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
I stare at him. “What do you mean you’re not going anywhere? You have work. You have the Bluestone Award dinner. Owen, you have a lot on this week. I know you do.”
He smiles and I swoon so much I want to peel that smile from him and keep it. “If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t know all that, and you wouldn’t care that I’m missing those things.”
I keep staring. Until I get all flummoxed and start giving him all my thoughts. “You should not give up work for me. I didn’t tell you those things about my father because I think you should stop going to work. Oh my God, Owen, get back on your jet and go home and go to work. You have absolutely misunderstood me. This casual look does not look good on you. Put your suit back on.” At that point, I slam my mouth shut before opening it again to add, “One of us needs to leave this hotel and it needs to be you.”
With that, I practically scurry to the elevators.
I do not look back at him.
I do not imagine dragging him into the elevator with me.
I do not wish I could take all those words back.
But oh, my goodness.
He came to Los Angeles for me.
* * *
I’min the middle of bawling my eyes out while watchingThe Notebookat 9:34 p.m. when Owen texts me.
Owen: I hate playing chess.
I spend an exorbitant amount of time re-reading that text.
They are four little words that I am sure will determine my fate.
My fingers are dying to get busy sending him a reply, but my heart is torn.
