Page 54 of All of You

“When I got to the show, they didn’t like the angle of me being a rich kid classically trained in music, so they left the details blank, but over the years, the label and even Nikki have dropped hints as though I came from poor, Kentucky roots. If anyone has ever made the connection to the wealthy Granthams of Louisville, they haven’t exposed me yet.” That familiar mixture of disappointment and regret churned in my belly.

“You don’t need to be ashamed because you came from money, Whit.”

“I know. I’m not, really. I never was. I’m ashamed of my family because they’re unfeeling and embarrassed by me.” My voice became a whisper. “And it makes me so angry, I can’t stand to think of them.”

His soothing hand ran over my back for a minute while I stuffed down all that anger and disappointment, knowing the poor me feelings weren’t going anywhere useful. “So that’s my sad little story that only you and a few others know.”

“Why does Flint call you Whit, then? He introduced you that way, anyway.”

He’d tucked his chin into my hair, and something about that, feeling his breath on the top of my head, made warmth spread through me to my toes.

“It’s actually always been my nickname with the cousins. Only the older generations ever called me Eleanor. But my parents enrolled me at school without indicating a nickname, and all the class rosters said Eleanor, my roommate had been given the name Eleanor… so only the people who really got to know me there knew me as Whit.”

“I hate to say this about anyone, but your parents are crazy.”

I hugged him the best I could. “Thanks.”

His stomach tensed like he was going to say something more, but he stopped and let out a slow, silent breath.

We sat like that, quiet in each other’s arms, his phone playing old Country by Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard and all the good ol’ boys until it died.

“Do you want to go out tonight?” he asked, his hand now stroking along my arm.

I took a slow breath. “Not really.”

“You know it’s Christmas Eve, right?”

I could hear a smile in his voice.

I sat up right next to him and studied his face, let my hand float up and touch the curve of his jaw, letting the prickly-soft hairs of his new beard tickle my fingers. “Are you missing your family?”

“A little. We never did have huge celebrations because my dad was often gone, so it’s not unusual for us to be apart.” He pressed my hand closer to his cheek and leaned his head into it.

That simple action made my heartrate triple, the beats tripping over each other in rapid succession so I got breathless just sitting there, touching his bristly cheek. “I’m sorry you’re missing them. Maybe someday, I can apologize.”

“I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” His blue eyes seemed somehow more blue, and infinitely more intense.

“I’d like to make it up to them,” I said, my voice useless. I glanced down at his lips, swallowed, flicked my eyes back to his.

He wore that half-smile that killed me now. “Don’t feel too bad. I’m right where I want to be.”

His eyes moved between mine, and we both knew it was coming. We both felt it was long overdue—of course, only I felt that, I couldn’t confirm, but when he leaned up just as I moved down, I knew it. Our mouths were inches apart, approaching each other so slowly, like we were in danger of frightening the other one off, my heart downright lurching toward his, throwing itself again my ribcage like it had to escape, had to get to his heart, or it’d expire.

Or maybe that was how I felt about our lips meeting, finally, after days of missing him. Just as our mouths touched, through the sweet shock of sensation in the smoothness of his lips and the slight tickle of his beard on my chin, the hotel room phone rang, the worst sound I’d ever heard, and we both jumped apart.

I put a hand to my chest, trying to calm the riot there and steady my breath, and he chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. He frowned at the phone on the bedside table and then answered.

“Hello?” His voice was nothing short of decadent, all gravelly and rough.

I couldn’t hear the answering voice, but I leaned up fully, straightened my dress. It was nothing fancy, but I’d wanted to look decent and festive. I wore a brighter green T-shirt dress, totally inappropriate for New York City on a snowy December night. But I’d never planned to leave the hotel, so who cared?

“Yes, Mom, I’m having a lovely Christmas Eve,” he said, arching a brow at me and widening his eyes like he couldn’t believe she’d called him on the hotel phone.

I gave him a bright smile and excused myself so they could have some privacy. I needed a minute and didn’t want him to feel bad about telling her he missed her.

Far sooner than I expected, he came to find me in the living room, curled up with a book I’d been staring at for a few minutes but hadn’t read a word of.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

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