Page 180 of Always Meant for You
“I do, too. But we’ve got a plan. We’ll tell my dad after the next farmers’ market, and then you can kiss me in public as much as you want. But fair warning—we’ll be making up for lost time. I hope your lips are well-rested.”
I smile. We’re both attempting to lighten the mood, but it feels too small for the weight pressing into my chest.
I let go of her hand, step out, and pull her bag from the back. She meets me at the tailgate. My fingers find hers again, locking tight. I shouldn’t risk it out here where anyone could see, but I need this. I need her. I need one more second of pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
The sun holds her in a warm glow, bringing out the golden hues in her dark hair. “I’ll text you when I land.”
“I’ll be watching for it.”
I release her hand, but our connection isn’t broken.
She presses her palms to my chest. “I love you. I love you with my whole heart, Cal.”
I look into her sky-blue eyes and memorize every detail of this moment—her lashes, the soft curve of her mouth, the strands of hair catching at her temple, and the rose gold chain resting at the hollow of her throat. The M catches the light, and the tightness in my chest gives way to something softer.
She touches the M, her fingertips barely grazing the charm at her collarbone. “I wouldn’t go anywhere without it.”
She wouldn’t.
I study theM. “Mabel, I?—”
“Are you two getting on this bus to the airport?” the driver calls, stubbing out his cigarette, impatience tucked into the lines of his brow.
She turns to him. “Yes, sir, I’m on this bus.”
He eyes his watch. “We’re leaving. Let me help you with your bag.”
I hand it over without a word. My throat is tight, every muscle strung high and sharp. Mabel steps toward the open door, then pauses, glancing back at me. I nod, because I know if I speak, God only knows what I’ll say.
She climbs aboard, and the bus swallows her as the low idle of the engine hums. She walks halfway down the aisle, slides into a window seat, and finds me. Her palm lifts and presses to the glass.
I wave, and questions form, hitting me like punches to the gut.
Why the hell couldn’t I get on that bus?
Why couldn’t I have spent a few days in New York City by her side?
We stay like that, gazes locked, my heart in my throat. The door hisses shut, and the bus jolts forward. The wheels crunch, scattering bits of rock into the weeds. The back swings wide, its metal frame groaning. Then it lumbers onto the road.
I stand there until the dust settles.
“What the hell am I doing?” I whisper, staring at the empty country road, when I hear my name.
“Cal!” Margaret’s voice carries from the diner. She’s standing halfway out the door, fanning herself with her order pad. “Are you all right?”
Pull it together, Horner.
I clear my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ve been standing there for ten minutes. You stuck?”
Ten minutes?
Stuck is an understatement.
“No, ma’am. I just dropped off Mabel.”
“She’s headed to New York, right?”
