Page 53 of Hang the Moon
He nodded, face twisted, looking pained. “I think I did?”
She laughed and reached out, wrapping her hand around his forearm to show him she wasn’t mad. “That was—that was strangely sweet, Brendon. No one has ever compared me to a potato chip before.”
A summer’s day had nothing on her favorite junk food.
His flush deepened to the point where even his freckles were obscured, his whole face a shocking shade of neon. “I was trying to say... you know what? I’m going to quit while I’m—shit, not even ahead. I’m going to quit before I insert mywholefoot in my mouth.”
She swept her thumb against his skin, her fingers brushing the fine dusting of spun-copper hair along the side of his wrist. “I’m not mad.”
Beneath her fingers, his tendons flexed.Unf.Not mad at all.
He was staring down at her, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes, but she could tell he was studying her, couldfeelit.
The mantra, remember the mantra.Do not kiss Brendon. London. Dating equals disappointment. Lots of strings. Tangled, messy strings.
She dropped his arm and stole several steps back, cringing when her hip knocked into the metal railing. That would leave a nice bruise. “I don’t want to pretend like I’m not partially to blame. For not having close friends in town. I got tired of being the one always reaching out.Usuallyreaching out. Eventually, Istopped. Inevitably, get-togethers tapered off when I wasn’t the one arranging them.” She shrugged. “Friendships need more TLC than plants. Who’d have thought?”
He reached down, the fingers of his opposite hand absently brushing against the wrist she had previously circled. “For what it’s worth, you’ll always have Darcy. You know she’s pretty upset, right?”
Seeing as she’d tried to use the fact England had a monarchy to sway Annie into staying,yeah. “She’ll be fine. She has you and Elle and—it won’t be any different than it was when I lived in Philly.”
Brendon tugged off his glasses, squinting briefly at the brightness. “Can I ask you a question?”
She dipped her chin.
“Why London?”
“London’s where the office is that I was offered—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I mean, why’d you take the promotion?”
“Other than the fact that it’s apromotion?” She laughed.
Brendon didn’t. His lips didn’t even twitch. “Feel free to tell me to fuck off if you want to, because I know it’s not my place, but the way you sounded the other night... you don’t seem to like your job.”
That wasn’t—okay, it was a little true. But so not the point.
“I’m tired of traveling, yes.” Tired of traveling alone, mostly. “But as managing director of the London office, I won’t have to travel as often. Once a quarter, maybe.”
“But it’s still HR, still not your dream job. You deserve to be doing something that makes you happy. Whether that’s workingin human resources or coming to steal Carson Daly’s thunder or anything in between.”
Annie gripped the railing until her knuckles turned white. “Sometimes a job is just a job, Brendon.”
“True,” he said quickly. “So if London isn’t your dream city and this isn’t your dream job, why not find another one? If a job is just a job, it should hardly be your whole reason for moving halfway across the world.”
It was more complicated than that. Unless she was making it more complicated than it needed to be? She shut her eyes and let the subtle rocking of the ferry calm her.
“You’re Darcy’s best friend. She misses you, misses having you nearby. She’s mentioned it. And if Philadelphia’s far, London’s even further.” He cleared his throat. “Four thousand seven hundred eighty-one miles. I googled it.”
She laughed. That sounded like something he’d do.
“You’ve got people here that care about you, Annie. People who would really like it if you were closer. Darcy.” He took a step toward her and another, until she had to crane her neck to look up at him. He’d crowded her against the railing, not quite touching, but close enough that all it would take was one deep breath and their chests would brush.
Her breath hitched, escaping her lips in short, staccato pants as he lifted his hand and rested it on the side of her neck, cradling her jaw. It was all so reminiscent of their kiss that she ached, her bare toes clenching and curling inside her sandals.
Her knees felt loose, like marionette limbs linked with string, stiff until they weren’t. Like she might collapse if not for therailing at her back. Her hands reached out, settling on his waist, clutching at his shirt.
His lids were low as his thumb swept against the curve of her cheek, tickling her skin with the rough whorls and ridges of his fingerprint. “Me.”
