Page 30 of When We Meet Again

Still sitting in bed, she rubs her hands over her eyes, “I haven’t slept that well in a while. Like a long ass time,” she admits. I can see she’s lost in her thoughts. She looks to one side, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Can I propose something?” she asks, looking at me almost hopeful.

Whatever you want, it’s yours.

I go to answer before another knock sounds at the door. “Sir, the captain requests you take your seats for landing.”

Waverly lets out a chuckle before she stands, stepping back into her boots. I help her make the bed. Although, Emily usually takes care of that.

“You were saying?” I hate that she was interrupted.Shewanted to propose something tome.That’s big! She wanted to ask a favor of me. I’ve been the one proposing ideas—plans. And she wanted to ask something of me and now—I have to know.

“Never mind.” I get a small smile from her, and she leaves the bedroom. I follow her out to the galley and take a seat next to her.

“Not never mind. Ask me.”

Her blue eyes burrow into me. “Maybe later.”

I don’t push her further, even though the thought of holding her against her will until she tells me her proposal crosses my mind for a brief moment.

“Okay,” I say, looking past her out the window.

I’m going to hold you to ‘later’,Waverly.

CHAPTER 18

WAVERLY

Fortunate:I made a new friend.

Unfortunate:I think I scared Roman away.

After the briefstop in Virginia, we took off for the final leg of our trip, and Roman and I decided to ask Emily if she would play my favorite game, which the Huxley’s just so happened to have in-flight—Mille Bornes. It’s a French race car card game. Sure, they both sat there and made fun of me for the better half of the plane ride, but I enjoyed it all the same until we decided it was best we turn in for the night.

I stand, rubbing my hands down my legs. “I think I’m going to hit the hay.”Hit the hay?I sound like a forty-year-old woman. And I’m still hours away fromthat.Roman lets out a light chuckle and stands as well.

My proposal for him was maybe he could sleep next to me a few more times. There hasn’t been a night since Patrick died that I slept uninterrupted from nightmares. But instead, I let it go. And I think he has, too.

“I’m going to catch up on some work,” Roman says, gesturing to the desk on the other side of the plane.

I look at him, and he falters. He’s nervous. Fiddling with his fingers, and his eyes bouncing from me to his shoes, to the desk, to me. My chest explodes with pride. Of course, I don’t want him to be nervous around me, but it does stroke my ego a bit.

The flightto Naples goes quickly. Or at least, I think it did. I slept the whole way until Roman woke me up to come to the galley for landing. We make small talk about the mattress and its firmness, how his dad has been toying with getting a Sleep Number bed to replace it. Roman and I both agreed that we like it harder.

Scenic Italy was everything I thought it would be. We spent the day killing time exploring the city. It was breathtaking. Everything was green and colorful and not anything like I could have imagined. And almost impossible to take it all in when our cab driver was driving like a lunatic. Although, that did work in my favor, I guess… Roman held on to me after the third time I flew across the back seat.Yes, I was wearing a seatbelt.No, I’m not exaggerating. I thought death-by-cab driving was just an American thing. Turns out it’s worldwide… I’d take the sacrifice any day if it came with a Roman holding onto me, though…

Much sooner than I’d have liked, the sadist pulls up to the docks, sparing no life as we see people jumping out of the way of our cab. He takes our bags out of the back and lays them on the cobblestone road before Roman hands him some euros. Not moving an inch, we watch as the driver peels out, kicking up rocks.

“Left in the dust,” Roman jokes, grabbing our suitcases. “Jesus Christ, woman, did you pack a dead body?”

We both stop to look at each other before bursting into laughter. The joke itself was poorly timed, considering it’s been barely a year, and maybe would’ve made others a bit uncomfortable given the circumstances. A moment of understanding passes between us. It’s as if to say, you’re past the grieving stage. You’re finally able to make dead people jokes.

As we stand next to each other, rooted in place, unwilling to move away from each other, I gaze out into the Tyrrhenian Sea. It’s a gorgeous hue of turquoise against the clear sky. Pink and purple flowers line the coastline. The color palette is what dreams are made of.

Of course, I can’t bask in happiness too long before my brain starts bringing up shit from the past. “It’s not tsunami-prone here,” I say to myself. The last one occurred in 1343, so if I allow my brain to stick with statistics and logic rather than focusing on “what ifs,” my fortieth birthday should be enjoyable. And I’ll be able to appreciate the hue of the ocean and vibrant colors on the coast, damnit.

Roman drops the suitcases and extends his arm, pointing to a large white yacht. “That’s it. ‘Fearless Lady.’My dad wanted to name it ‘Gallant Lady,’ but a shit ton of those exist already. So he found the next best thing to describe my mother.”

“He named the yacht after your mom?”Swoon.“That’s romantic,” I marvel.

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