Page 45 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

"Do we have to?" she grimaces, her nose crinkling and an adorable wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. "My feet kind of hurt. I had to conquer my nemesis walk again."

"Alright,” I say with a chuckle. “Then let’s go back to the hotel."

I quickly grab the bottle of wine I brought, intending to drink it with her while we catch up. But goosebumps are forming on her arms and I can see her shivering ever so slightly. It’s a cold evening, and I think I’d much rather have this conversation in the privacy of a bedroom with her.

But something’s different now. There’s an invisible wall between us, a quiet awkwardness that wasn’t there the last time. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there, shifting the air between us, keeping the sparks, the tension at bay.

"I wanted to tell you," I whisper, my hand itching to find its favorite place at the small of her back, but we’re not quite there yet. Instead, I push it into the pocket of my jeans. "But it never felt quite right." She glances up at me, curiosity in her beautiful eyes, and I find myself wanting to tell her everything.

"I really liked that with you, I was just Reed. Not Adam Walker’s brother, not ‘that actor’s’ brother or the guy from magazine covers, just me. And I guess I didn’t want to risk that."

"Did you think so lowly of me?" She suddenly stops, shooting me a glare that could kill, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.

"No," I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. "It’s not you, specifically, that I was worried about, or didn’t trust," I explain, but I can't help the grimace that follows. How do I explain this without offending her?

"It’s about me not trusting my own judgment," I continue carefully, trying to pick my words wisely. "You know, having famous brothers comes with a lot of people seeing you as the means to an end. They want a contract with Adam’s company, or for Jackson to get them a movie role, or introduce them to one of his co-stars. Or they adore Tanner’s voice and want his phone number or something." I take a sharp breath. “And I’ve picked the wrong people to surround myself with plenty of times and there are days I don’t trust my own judgement of people.”

"And you?" she asks in a whisper. "I refuse to believe that all those people want is only your brothers."

"You’d be surprised," I reiterate with a sad smile, the weight of the truth settling in. A model, after all, isn't nearly as useful as knowing an actor or a management company CEO.

"Don’t get me wrong, I’m still really fucking angry you didn’t tell me, but I guess I understand why."

"If you let me, I’ll earn your forgiveness," I say, lifting the bottle of wine. Her eyes light up, only noticing it now. I open it quickly with the screwdriver on my key ring, and we take turns drinking, walking side by side in silence for a while. The air between us is quieter now, but the tension has softened, just a little.

"You know, I thought about you a lot over the past year," Abby admits, her cheeks turning the most adorable shade of pink. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol taking effect or her admission that makes them turn darker.

"I thought a lot about you too," I admit, finally reaching for her hand. Relief washes over me when she lets me lace my fingers with hers, and she even gives my hand a soft squeeze.

"Do you think we have a shot?" she asks in a whisper, like she’s not quite daring to say it out loud, looking at me with big, sorrowful eyes.

"I think that depends," I answer, making her blink at me confused and knit her eyebrows.

"On what?"

"On how badly you want it us to work out." I squeeze her hand. "I missed you, babe." I lift our hands and press a kiss to the back of hers.

"I missed you too," she murmurs, and just like that, I’m done restraining myself.

I let go of her hand and lift my arm in invitation. Immediately, her hand snakes around my hip and she presses herself against my side, and it feels like everything falls into place, with her fitting against me like a missing puzzle piece to complete me.

It feels like, for the first time in a year, I can finally breathe again.

"Can we continue talking tomorrow?" she asks, hiding a yawn behind her hand, when our hotel comes into sight. At least I assume that’s where she’s staying.

"Of course," I assure her, I feel myself tensing, questions running through my mind. It’s the same as saying ‘we need to talk’ without any further details, just anxiety inducing.

Then she turns her head to hide another yawn in my shirt, making the tension fall off me again. She wouldn’t be here if she never wanted to see me again. Everything will be alright.

"Your room or mine?" she whispers as we walk through the lobby, waving at the security man. "I just want to stay close to you."

"Mine," I whisper, and pull her against me just a little tighter. "I splurged and got a suite this time."

"You know how to convince a girl." She lifts her head and grins at me, and I can’t help but press a kiss against the side of her head. "I’m so fucking tired."

"Busy day?”

“Probably the emotional rollercoaster," she explains with a grin. “Walking all the way from Notre-Dame here again. And, you know, the fact it’s almost midnight.”

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