Page 67 of How to Say I Do
My lips parted, then shut. The world spun.
“So ridiculous, I know.” Noël bundled the shirt against his face and breathed in. “I’m embarrassed to admit this to you. I’m going to blame the wine tomorrow. Promise me you’ll take me seriously when I do?”
“Do you remember when you napped in my bed?”
“Of course.”
“I sleep with the pillow you used. Like, I hold it. I imagine it’s you, and that you’re here.”
We stared at each other, him with the shirt over his mouth and beneath his nose, me biting my lip and holding my breath, baring my heart and hoping he’d be gentle.
“When can I come back to Texas?” he whispered.
“Anytime, Noël. You can come back anytime.”
CHAPTER19
Noël
Three days later,I was ensconced in the middle seat of an otherwise empty back row on a direct flight to San Antonio. When I landed, Wyatt would be picking me up. This time, I was euphoric about that. In fact, I was counting down the minutes until the plane would finally land, and finally taxi in, and then I could run through the airport—
No. I was going to be cool. I’d promised myself: cool. Not desperate.
My hands shook. I curled them under my thighs and rocked back and forth, watching out the window as puffy cotton clouds billowed past. I was happy, yes, to be going back to Texas. More than happy. I was ecstatic. He and I were going to be in the same place, under the same roof, and we were both delighted about that fact. Not despairing and wounded, like the first time I flew to Texas, or frustrated and unsure, like the second time.
We were trying to claw our way back to the astoundingly intense intimacy we’d shared before. All those texts, all those photos, and the world we were building between us; it felt like we were in the same kind of pocket paradise we’d found in Mexico, where it seemed like we were the only two people in our bubble of reality. Nothing could touch us or fuck with us or break us as long as we were in that bubble.
Except—
Nothing could break us except for me. I was the danger to the two of us. I knew that. I’d known that forever. I was always the problem, and excising me was always the solution.
There were so many intractable complications between us, and all of those complications spiraled around me. The distance between us, both physical and otherwise. Our past, which I wasn’t foolish enough to pretend was settled history. Our very, very different lives, and, our wildly divergent futures. I had a partnership almost in hand—which would turn my cute current workaholism into a fond memory of days when I hadsomuch free time—and Wyatt had a ranch and vineyard he was going to expand. Tessa’s wedding had put us together for this summer, but what happened after the wedding was over?
Fuck, and Tessa’s wedding. Every day, the dread inside me grew thicker. I’d set something in motion I wasn’t certain how to control. My selfish desperation to see Wyatt again had led to blurting out my half-baked idea of using his ranch for her wedding, and—
The Gran Cielo Viñedo was supposed to be a tucked-away fairy tale, another pocket paradise, untouched and unharmed by the caprices of culture and pop-reality’s whimsy, but how much longer could I keep Wyatt’s home protected?Elitehad signed a contract with Harrison, Ltd., trading a cool ten million for their fingers to slip into every intricate detail of Tessa’s wedding. The access they required, and the invasive publicity their involvement promised—
You know what this place means to me, Noël.
I closed my eyes and breathed out.Yoga shit. Focus. What matters right now?
God, five million things. There were at least a hundred emails I should have been replying to during the flight, and, shit, the texts that were building up while I was in the air—
What do youwantto matter right now?
Wyatt. Only Wyatt. I only wanted him.
I wanted the hand-holds and our fingers tangled around the stem of a wine glass, the tender glances and the soft caresses. I wanted him to see that I was wearing his sea-turtles ring on my middle finger again. I’d slipped it back on weeks ago, and now there were days where I’d lose myself in memories while staring at the faded outlines of the turtles, remembering a text Wyatt had sent or a photo of Peanut or his vines, or, if I pouted hard enough, of himself. He wasn’t into selfies. Not like me, who narcissistically pummeled him with selfie after selfie, but I could usually cajole one out. They were always stunning, and I saved every one.
The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom, announcing that we were on our approach and everybody had to get ready to land. I stowed my bag and popped my seat up in a rush, as if complying could somehow get us on the ground faster. Of course, it didn’t, and the thirty-six minutes that passed from the pilot saying we were starting our approach to our wheels screeching across the tarmac were unbearable.
But then— “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to San Antonio.”
Wyatt, I landed!!!! I’m here!!
My promise to be cool had apparently flown out the window after the second extravagant exclamation point.
I’m at the airport.
