Page 48 of Leon

As the afternoon waned, the rain softened to a mist that blurred the garden into watercolor. Kadian moved to the window, tracing absent shapes across the cool glass, watching droplets chase each other in winding rivulets. Leon joined her, his presence anchoring her as much as the gentle press of his hand at her back. "If we could stay longer," he said, almost to himself, "I'd never tire of this." She smiled, though the echo of parting already weighed at the edges of her mind.

To distract themselves, they played old records on the gramophone, tunes crackling and sweet, filling the cottage with a nostalgia that belonged to people who'd lived a dozen lifetimes together. They baked scones, flour dusting their sleeves, laughter rising as the aromas of butter and jam mingled with woodsmoke. For a time, the ordinary tasks—washing dishes, folding blankets, simply straightening cushions on the wornsofa—felt like rituals, small defenses against the world waiting beyond the village.

Dusk settled once more, lilac and blue, and as they sat curled on the hearth rug, Leon traced idle patterns on Kadian's palm. Overhead, the beams creaked companionably, and the last candle guttered in its glass. "Sometimes I think we're only ever passing through places like this," she whispered, "but maybe that's what makes them matter." He squeezed her hand, holding her gaze until the fire burned low, and outside, the rain finally ceased, leaving the night washed clean and full of quiet hope.

Much later, after he had finished making love to her, they wrapped around each other, limbs entwined, moisture glistening on their skin. They had not moved from the living room to go into the bedroom but stayed where they were. His fingers wandered down her back in a soothing motion that had contentment stealing over and through her. They had to talk. They really should, and several times she opened her mouth, but the words would not come.

Burying her face against the wide expanse of his chest, she drew him in, holding her breath as if to memorize the scent of him. Not that she needed reminders, she thought whimsically. She would always identify his woodsy cologne. She knew his body intimately, every contour, shape, and the flexing of his muscles. She knew the scar from his removed appendix and another justbelow his heart where he had gotten into a brawl somewhere in Italy. It had sent anxiety flooding through her to realize that he could have lost his life. She loved him. No matter what happened when they left here, that would remain constant. Her love for him.

The hush that followed was thick with all the words unspoken, each heartbeat echoing with what neither dared voice. Kadian listened to the rise and fall of Leon's breath, the steady drum anchoring her to the present, though her mind drifted ahead to departures and distance. In the uncertain space between now and goodbye, she surrendered to the comfort of his arms, letting her fingers trace idle circles over his shoulder, mapping out a memory in flesh and warmth.

Eventually, the fire dwindled to embers, painting their skin in soft flickers of gold and shadow. Outside, somewhere, an owl called—a lonely, distant sound that seemed to sum up everything Kadian felt. She pressed her lips to Leon's jaw, gentle and lingering, and finally let the silence spill into words. "Promise me we'll remember this," she murmured, voice low. "Not just the places, but how it felt. All of it."

Leon's response was a quiet, "Always." His thumb brushed her cheek, as if sealing the vow. For a while they lay there, the world reduced to shared warmth and the faint scent of rain-soaked earth drifting in through a cracked window.

Night pressed on, and eventually they rose—reluctant, moving as one to tidy the room, replacing cushions, folding the woolen throw, tucking away the traces of the day and their closeness. Kadian found herself laughing softly at nothing, and Leon caught her hand, spinning her into his arms for one last slow dance across the rug, music supplied by memory and the steady hush of the wind. In that fragile moment, the future seemed far away, and the only thing that mattered was the promise of another dawn, however uncertain.

When sleep finally claimed them, it was tangled together, hearts unguarded, dreams braided with longing and the stubborn hope that love, once spoken or not, could bridge whatever distances tomorrow set before them.

Chapter 14

The journey back was far different from the one before. He was no longer distant—how could he be after what they had shared in a foreign country? Something poignant and potent, a rush of emotions and passions that had glued them together.

After boarding the plane, he took her to the stateroom with the large soft bed dominating the space and spent several hours making love and holding her to him as if he were loath to let her go.

They ate there. He did not once take out his laptop. Work was abandoned as if he were trying to cram as much as possible into the time they had left. They did not speak of what was going to happen after they landed. The magic of Scotland was still inside them, fueling their desire.

But all good things must come to an end, and as much as she prayed fervently to freeze time, it slipped by far too quickly.

Her bags were loaded into the back of her car, and it was time to leave. She had called her dad from the plane and told him that she was on her way.

"I'll be driving behind you until I reach the intersection." He adjusted the collar of the cashmere jacket he had bought her.

"No speeding," he ordered, making her smile.

"I promise."

His hand cupped her cheek, his expression eloquent. "I'll call when I get to the apartment to let you know I've arrived."

She nodded. She was resisting the yearning to wrap her arms around him and insist on going home with him. The weight of her responsibility was weighing heavily on her shoulders, and now more than ever, she resented going back to the little apartment over the bookstore.

"Back to work tomorrow."

"Yes." He toyed with the fringes of her hair. She had brushed it back and braided it, the long plait settling on her left breast. Her face was devoid of makeup, and she looked as fresh as a college student. He loved her so much it was like a constant ache in hisheart. The crushing feeling of despair wasn't just about parting ways with her. It had an edge of darkness to it as well, as if something was coming.

Something he had no control over.

"We'll be together soon," he murmured softly, perhaps more to convince himself than her. He wanted to believe that what was between them would be sorted out sooner rather than later. He needed her, and after what they had shared just recently, he knew he did not want to live without her.

"I promise," she repeated, and at that point, she knew without a doubt that she meant every word. The need and urgency to be with him was pressing. She was going to have to find a way to tell her dad about her changed status.

"I will—" She stopped when he placed a finger vertically over her lips and shook his head. "No promises. Not now."

It was getting late, and the cold was slicing through the layers of clothing. His driver was also waiting. "Kiss me goodbye," he urged.

She did not need to be asked a second time. Going on her toes, she touched her lips to his and the passion exploded. She would look back on this moment and wonder what had happened between then and a few days later.

He had intended for the kiss to be light and sweet, but it got away from him. At the touch and taste of her lips, he took it deeper, and before long, he was drowning in her scent and the taste of her. She was all he could think of—all he ever wanted. His hands slid from her face to her shoulders and then banded around her narrow waist. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and sank into the kiss, his passion exploded. It took considerable effort for him to drag his lips from hers, and even then, he had trouble breathing. His hands shook. Keeping his hands around her waist, he tried to quiet his breathing and compose himself.

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