Page 68 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

He seems to be having the same sort of problem that I’m having. The unreality. Possibly the lack of breathing.

I swallow hard. “Thanks for bringing it to me. It means a lot.”

You mean a lot.

Transfixed, we stare at each other. There’re no adequate words to describe the tussle of feelings inside me. Thankfully, he’s slightly more articulate.

“I know this sounds stupid, but I missed you like crazy. Even though it wasn’t even a day.” Blake’s raw, open, the usual veneer of confidence gone, with someone much more uncertain in his place. Like a man who has everything to lose.

Except…how can I be that to him? So soon?

“I missed you too, Blake.” His name catches in my throat, low and hoarse.

We continue to stare at each other like we’re the last two men left on the planet, sole survivors of the zombie apocalypse. I feel just as raw as he looks. We’re both, quite frankly, a mess.

“Where do we go from here?” I whisper uncertainly.

Blake shrugs, also looking lost. “I wish I knew. I wish… I don’t know.” He gulps.

Stupid Eli. Stupid me for giving Eli five seconds of my time and ruining this bright thing we had.

“If I had more time, I would’ve written you a song,” Blake says, half joking, emotion caught in his throat.

I’m having that lack of air problem again. “You’d…you’d write a song for me?”

Startled, Blake looks at me intently. “Whywouldn’tI write a song for you? You’re incredible.”

God, that does it. My face burns. I stuff my hands in my pockets, embarrassed.

“That’s why I read poetry,” he offers. “To help my songwriting.”

I gaze at him, wide-eyed. “Probably past time for me to confess to writing poetry, then. To underscore my wanker credentials, and how I know firsthand poets are best avoided.”

Blake’s face brightens as if I’ve told him the most incredible secret. “You write?”

I look anywhere but at him. “Yeah. When I have time. And my poems are just short. They don’t really count.”

“Poems sound great.”

When I dare glance back, he’s beaming at me. Blake sets down the guitar case, opens it.

“What’re you doing?” I blink at him. That’s definitely my dad’s guitar, cherry red, with old battle scars from his adventures back in the day.

Blake gulps. He pulls the guitar carefully out of the case and puts the strap around his neck. It’s my turn to take over nervous lip-chewing for the pair of us.

Around us, people mutter at us standing in the way of everything and everyone, another knot of inconvenience to dodge. Announcements echo over the speakers, telling of cancellations and delays, train departures and platform updates. Nearby, a little girl runs shrieking with laughter from her mum. In the corner of my eye, I see a couple reuniting with enthusiastic kisses like nobody’s around but them.

And, in all this, Blake’s looking at me like I’m the only person here. Like the only one that matters. Gently, he plays a couple of chords, expertly adjusting the tuning. The guitar resonates through the buzz of the station. A couple of people glance over at us.

“You’re…you’re not about to do something horribly earnest, are you?” I ask breathlessly, the blood pounding again in my ears. I shiver despite the smothering heat even in the station, the din of the noise around us. My lips twitch into something dangerously near a smile. “I’m preemptively embarrassed. You should know that us Brits are experts in the indirect. In my case, possibly the obtuse.”

“If we’re talking angles, you’re definitely acute,” Blake says shamelessly with unbounded earnestness, making me laugh. He grins, buoyant.

And then, just as he gets my damned defenses down, he plays and sings without his gaze wavering from me, not even for a second, and I nearly die on the spot. His voice is melodic and the sap is singing “Crossfire” by Brandon Flowers, an indie-rock love song. I shiver, back in his arms in bed in the cottage, a summer storm rumbling overhead as we lost ourselves in discovering each other.

I’m…actually being serenaded? The attention’s embarrassing, yes—but alsoreallyfucking romantic. Nobody’s ever done that for me before. His voice fills the concourse and people stop to listen. He doesn’t look away. I wouldn’t dare. He’s so incredibly talented, and I had no fucking clue. Not like this.

I can’t breathe, all undone and wanting. Unsteady, I listen to him, wanting him, wanting a chance together. Maybe we can try again? Because I really do want to get to know him better.

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