Page 99 of When Hearts Awaken

Charles Vaughn, holding a bouquet of burgundy roses, a soft smile tugging his lips.

Chapter 41

The brisk wind ruffleshis hair, a lock of it falling over his forehead. There’s something different about him than last time, even though he’s looking as hot as always in his fitted black suit and black coat, his hands clad in dark leather gloves.

We’re standing a few feet apart, people walking around us, oblivious to the thickening tension in the air. My heart flutters in my chest as I rake my eyes over him—starving, famished for the sight of him I’ve missed in the last few months.

It’s the vulnerability in his gaze. That’s the difference. The way a muscle twitches in his jaw, his chest moving up and down like he’s struggling to breathe, just like me. The way his hand is clutching the roses like they’re his lifeline.

He’s not wearing his usual mask.

Charles’s eyes darken as the seconds stretch into minutes and a surge of energy, which has been gathering inside my heart since I saw him standing there, rushes through my body, kick-starting my muscles.

This beautiful asshole.

Grinning, I run to him and leap into his arms.

Low chuckles reach my ears as he catches me. I curl my arms around his neck and bury my nose in his chest, inhaling the scent I’ve missed so much—cedarwood and bergamot. A voice tells me I shouldn’t do this in public, where anyone can see us. What will the press think? What will Carla and the other bitches think?

But I couldn’t care less.

The man I couldn’t forget came back for me.

“I’ve missed you, minx,” he murmurs into my ear and I shiver at the husky rasp of his voice.

Gently, he sets me on the ground and looks at me with tenderness. He frowns and slowly tugs off his gloves, the motion sensual, and he slips my hands into them, one at a time.

I belatedly realize in my rush to find him, I’m not wearing my coat or gloves, and it’s frigid out here. He then shrugs out of his coat and places it over my trembling body.

“I can’t leave you alone, can I?” he murmurs, his bare hand scraping my face, and my eyes flutter shut, my nerves alighting at his touch. “You’ll freeze to death without me. You know, it’s a sign of low IQ to be outdoors in Russia in February without proper attire.”

I snort, opening my eyes. The damn bastard.

“Well, Mr. Vaughn, it’s a sign of low EQ to leave a girl hanging after she texted you.” I arch my brow.

He barks out a laugh and bites his lip.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” He leans in. “And for your information, I was busy wrapping a bunch of stuff up so I could fly over here and make it in time.” He hands me the flowers.

My lips twitch, clearly failing at smothering a smile. I take the bouquet—two dozen glorious, perfect roses with all their beautiful thorns intact—and hold them up to my nose to take a whiff.

“You never told me how you got these flowers in the last few months. They aren’t in season.”

I look at the bouquet, trying to find the card I usually see, but there isn’t one.

“Reason number one hundred six,” he murmurs. “You’re secretly living your year of yeses because you wake up every day, ready to fight whatever monsters come your way. You may think you’re failing or you aren’t trying hard enough. But you are excelling. You remind me progress isn’t linear, that you can have your year of yeses even if certain days are just…not yet.”

My breath catches in my throat as my lips part.

He smiles. “Maxwell told me about Belle’s year of yeses and how you gave her a book that inspired it all. And to answer your question, I find greenhouses in each city and pay a ridiculous amount to buy all of their roses offseason.”

A warmth fills me, butterfly wings flapping in my stomach.

Charles leans in, his eyes glittering, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Reason number one hundred seven. Your apartment looks like a tornado hit it, but it’s because you don’t sweat the small stuff. You don’t need to control all aspects of life because life is chaotic. It is messy.”

Tears well in my eyes as my heart sprints a marathon inside my rib cage.

His voice thickens as he continues, “You’d rather spend time and energy with your friends, your family, quietly supporting them on the happiest days of their lives while you’re grieving in secret. You’d rather spend the few hours you have outside of practice to read books to heal yourself, because you’re a fucking fighter.”

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