Page 62 of How to Get Lucky
I grab a pen from the glove box, scrawl out a sentence on the front of the bag, then bound up the lawn, around Nate and Eli’s house, and over to London’s studio.
I stop short when I see all the lights are off.
There is no barking pumpkin.
No London either. Where could she be? What if she left for San Francisco?
I shake my head. The interview was earlier today—no way would she have moved cities yet.
But that fear only reaffirms that I’m doing the right thing.
My heart hammers with worry as I set the bag down.
When she returns, she’ll see my note.
Happiness in life is entirely a matter of dog biscuits. And finding the person you’ve fallen in love with.
36
The next morning, I’m up at dawn.
Sleep is for another day. Today is for action. Today is for finding the woman I love and telling her that even one more day apart from her is too much.
I do send her a text though.
Because, you know, details matter.
Teddy: Hey! Are you still here? Are you heading up to San Francisco for the job? I can’t stop thinking about you, and I would love to see you. Ya know, today. ??
She doesn’t respond.
But it’s early. And if this past week is anything to go by, she doesn’t usually wake up till eight thirty. It’s only seven.
But I am amped up. I throw the covers off, swing my legs out of bed, head to the bathroom, brush my teeth, take a shower, and get ready for the day.
I leash up Bowie because he’s part of the plan. Because dogs should always be part of the plan.
A little after eight, we leave my place, he jumps into the back seat of my car, and we make our way to the dog park.
The first time I saw London here, she told me she goes to this park every Saturday morning. So I’ll wait for her. I have a tennis ball, a rawhide, and a hedgie, all with Mr. Darcy’s name on them.
I scan the park. No sign of her, but it’s still early.
I toss a ball to Bowie, over and over and over again.
For fifteen minutes, for twenty, for thirty.
Finally, my phone dings in my pocket, and my heart fucking soars above the stratosphere because it’s a text from her.
London: I’m here in LA. I slept at Emery’s last night with Mr. Darcy, and we’re on our way to the dog park. Confession: I was so excited to get your text this morning. How are you?
How am I? I’m amazing. Because everything makes sense. Everything feels possible.
And then, everything is incredible when a few minutes later, a gorgeous, fantastic, bighearted brunette opens the gate into the dog park, red glasses on, a Beverly Hills, 90210 shirt hugging her frame, and a blonde spitfire of a Chihuahua mix at her feet. London unclips his leash, and the teacup takes off, straight for Bowie.
I take off straight for her.
I’m grinning. My heart is flying.
I hope.
I hope so damn hard.
Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds, two, and then I’m right in front of her.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, but she can’t seem to hide the happiness in her voice and the smile on her face.
Her eyes are curious though. She’s waiting for me to take the next step.
That’s on me. I’m the one who broke things off. I’m the one who has to let her know how I feel. “I left a gift for you at your house last night,” I say. “But I’m guessing you didn’t get it?”
“I didn’t, but about ten minutes ago, Nate called and told me about it. I happen to love dog presents.”
“It’s for both of you,” I say, and I want to tell her everything, but I need to start with an apology. I set a hand on her shoulder as the dogs play. It feels good to touch her again. “I’m sorry about yesterday morning at breakfast.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I said all the wrong things at all the wrong times.”
She arches her brow as Mr. Darcy careens across the park, Bowie racing behind him. The little dog arrives at our feet first. London reaches down, takes the tennis ball he brings her, and chucks it across the park. He takes off after it, and Bowie lumbers after him.
“What was wrong with the way you said things?”
I squeeze her shoulder then lift my hand and run my thumb along her jaw. She moves with me, a soft breath ghosting across her lips.
I inch closer. I’m not sure if I deserve her. I’m not sure if I’ve earned her. But I want to try. The only way to know is to put my heart on the line and tell her the truth.
“I like to think I’m a good guy. I want to believe I do the right things. But nobody can do that all the time, and I’ve had my share of fuckups over the last two weeks. There are things I should have done differently,” I admit. I have my flaws, but I hope she wants me in spite of them. “But I want to do things differently from now on. The only thing I don’t want to change is this—I don’t want to lose you, London. You’re more important to me than the job, than the club, than what happens next in my career.”
