Page 102 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
I leaned into his touch, smiling up at him, chest aching with everything he’d said. We hadn’t been innocent, and neither had Angel. Where did that leave us? I couldn’t be sure. “So what now?”
Jamie looked at me then, in that moment, in a way he’d never looked at me before. He shook his head, a small smile playing at the very corner of his lips as his hazel eyes watched me carefully. The green in them showed a little more in the light that morning, but the honey I’d always loved still dominated, and I couldn’t look away.
“Be with me,” he whispered.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and nodded against his hand. When I opened my eyes again, he was grinning wide, and my heart nearly exploded. I felt it growing beneath my ribs, expanding, demanding more room to be felt.
“I hate to bring the moment down, but I think you have some things to take care of here before we make any other moves,” I pointed out.
Jamie’s smile fell and he nodded. “I know.”
I didn’t envy him, having to talk to the families, clear personal items out of each other’s houses, deal with the venue and the professionals they’d hired. Would they get any of the money back? I doubted it. But then again, I wondered if Jamie cared. He’d said that though he felt guilty, he also felt relieved, and maybe his family would see that, too.
“Wait for me?” Jamie asked, turning to face me completely. Both of his hands slid to frame my face and his eyes searched mine.
I leaned in, answering with a kiss that said more than I could. The truth was in that moment, right there, I’d have waited forever.
But I never could have seen what would happen next.
Jamie made slow, sweet love to me once more before driving me to the airport. When we’d checked my bag, he pulled me into him, kissing me long and hard and needy without caring who was around us. I held on tight to him, too — and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I felt an ending in that kiss. It was a period, a punctuation mark, and at the time I thought it was the end of that chapter. But later, I would mark it as the end of it all — the end of my addiction, my last taste of Whiskey, my final dance with fire.
Because when I pulled away, eyes bright and heart soaring, I asked Jamie to call me when he was ready.
And he never did.
• • •
I pounced back into Pittsburgh like a fuzzy, smiley kitten. Everything felt right when my feet hit the ground in my city, and I knew everything was finally going to work out. I just knew it. I felt it in every inch of my body, from my ears to my toes, and life had never been brighter than it was that Sunday. My lips were still swollen from Jamie, my heart full of his words — his promises — and the pit of anxiety I felt before I flew out Thursday had been replaced with a warm ball of relief.
While Jamie was back home handling what he needed to, I did the same.
I called things off with River, even though we weren’t anything official, because it wasn’t fair to him to let him think anything would come of it. As far as I was concerned, I was Jamie’s now — hell, I always had been. I was all giggly over it, gushing to Jenna on the phone and even telling my mom, whom I barely ever talked to about my love life. She knew what I’d gone through being away from Jamie in college, but even that had been mostly endured on my own. There was a pep in my step, a light in my eyes, and everyone noticed.
River wasn’t the only thing I had to handle, though. I threw myself into work, tying up loose ends and getting through my current projects so I could have a talk with Randall about slowing down a little. I told him I wanted to have more time for things that mattered a little more than work to me, and he smiled like a proud dad, telling me it was about time I stopped working so damn hard. He told me I was fantastic at what I did and slowing down a little wouldn’t change that.
But as much as I knew I was prepared to do long distance with Jamie, I also wanted to have options, so I researched a few publishing houses in South Florida, not putting in any applications before talking to Jamie but doing the work to have the conversation, at least. I loved Pittsburgh, and I loved Rye Publishing — but I loved Jamie more. And I was finally at the point where I was willing to make whatever compromises I needed to for us to work. So that’s how it was for the first few weeks — I handled my shit while Jamie handled his, and I waited for his call.
