Page 125 of Twist of Fate
She pushes her plate aside and lifts her mug, holding it with both hands. “I can’t believe I’ll be back home tomorrow.”
You and me both. “What time does your flight leave?”
“Early, I think,” she answers, staring at the steam rising from her cup. “Eight or maybe nine o’clock?” Which means she’ll have to be at the airport by five or six.
We’ll have to say goodbye tonight.
My stomach begins to knot. “Have you thought any more about what you’ll do when you get home?”
She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Um, a little.” Her freckled nose scrunches, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I like the idea of maybe going back to school.”
“Yeah?” That piques my interest. “Will you go back to Notre Dame, or?—”
“Oh, I have no idea yet. But I know I want to focus on European history.”
“Feeling inspired, are you?” I grin.
“It’s always been my favorite, but yeah, this was the kick I needed, I think.”
“You know, there’s no better place to study European history than in Europe—or so I’ve heard,” I joke. But to be honest, it’s barely a joke. I’d give my left arm to have her on the same continent as me.
“You know, I do believe I’ve heard that too.”
It’s not long before we finish our coffee and head back out onto the streets, walking and talking. Before I know it, the sun is setting, and the temperature has sunk well below the average for a spring day in May.
We duck into a little pub to eat and warm up. She tells me a funny story about one of the couples on the tour, and I share some of the crazier adventures I’ve had as a tour guide over the last two years.
We order drinks. She gets the waiter to take a photo of us to add to her growing collection. Eventually, I pay, and we head out.
We’re running out of time.
“I should walk you back to your hotel,” I say, even though it’s the last thing I want to do.
She nods, and we continue down the street, walking silently side by side as if we’re marching off to war. After a few blocks, she comes to an abrupt stop.
“You okay?” I turn, having to backtrack a few steps.
“Isn’t this—” She looks around the street corner, her eyes wide. I have no clue what she’s talking about until my gaze follows hers, and then I see it.
“This is where we first met.”
We stand there, silently staring at each other. “I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” she finally says, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
I take a step closer, closing the gap between us. “I don’t want you to go home either.”
I reach up to caress her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut for just a fleeting moment as she leans into my touch, savoring it. Memorizing it.
My heart fucking aches.
I wish we were alone. This is a side street, so there isn’t much foot traffic to begin with, but I still move us off the main path. She leans against the brick wall of a closed shop, its darkened windows giving us a sense of privacy. I huddle in close, trying to keep her warm while also needing to be near her.
We’ve kissed throughout the day, but it’s been mostly a PG affair since we’ve been in public. Always fleeting, never enough. Her hair is plaited down her back today. I’ve been dying to wrap my fist around it and lose myself in her.
I finally give in and do just that.
She gasps as I tug on her hair, using it as leverage to angle her head so I can take her mouth. Nothing about this kiss is PG. I devour her. With every swipe of my tongue, I show her just how much I want her. And how I never want to let her go.
By the time we break apart, we’re breathing heavily, and I’m so turned on that I’m seriously reconsidering that hotel offer from her mam.
