Page 136 of Booked on You
“I know. Just promise me you’ll actually think about what you want while you’re there.” He pulls away, meeting my eyes, and his hand runs through my hair. “Not what you think you should want or what makes sense. Whatyou,the real Scarlett, actually wants.”
My throat is so tight, I can barely swallow. “I promise.”
I have to renew my lease by the last day of the month, which means I have less than two weeks to decide.
We stand in his kitchen with his arms around me, and my face pressed against his chest. The clock on the wall ticks too loud. Willow jumps onto the counter and meows at us.
“I’m scared,” I whisper into his shirt.
“I know.” His arms tighten. “I am, too.”
“What if I make the wrong choice?”
“You won’t.” He pulls back to give me a smile.
I’ve been living in limbo for two years, paralyzed by fear and what-ifs. I came to Charleston to finish a book, but I found something else, something more real than anything I’ve written. I found someone who makes me believe in love again.
CHAPTER 30
EZRA
The next two days pass by too fast, and for once, I want to pause the clock.
Tuesday, I take Scarlett to my studio. She walks around, touching pieces with careful fingers, and asking questions about the charity gala while I organize the donations. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, catching in her hair, and I have to look away because I can’t help but think about how soon she’ll be gone.
We grab lunch at the sandwich shop downtown and eat on a bench in Marion Square. A woman takes our picture from across the park, and Scarlett waves at her with a smile. The lady looks shocked and nearly drops her phone. I watch Scarlett own who we are together, and something shifts in my chest. She’s not hiding anymore. She’s not afraid.
But I am.
That evening, several of my friends, who own businesses in town, came over to visit. Danny, Marcus, and Silvia brought barbecue from one of our favorite food trucks. I watched Scarlett laugh at Marcus’s terrible jokes and beat Danny at cornhole in the backyard. She so easily fits into my life, like she’s always been a part of it. When she was talking to the guys about herbooks, Silvia pulled me to the side and told me not to let Scarlett go.
It plays on repeat in my mind because it’s not about letting her go. It’s about letting her choose. And not knowing what her decision will be is what’s killing me, because I know how fast things can change when the pressure is ramped up.
Wednesday, we made no plans. We just existed together. In the morning, we went to the farmers market and bought tomatoes and peaches that we won’t have the time to eat together. That afternoon, we read on the porch, then cooked dinner side by side, moving around each other like we’d been doing it for years.
Last night, we made love without rushing, without talking about her leaving. I memorized every sound she made and how her body fits against mine. Afterward, she fell asleep in my arms, and I stayed awake for hours, just holding her and trying not to think about the inevitable.
When I wake, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Scarlett is still sleeping, and I take it all in.
I watch her breathe in and out and can’t help but count how many more hours I have left with her. Her flight is at three, and we need to leave by one. That means I have six more hours, and then she’s gone.
My stomach twists as I slide out of bed.
I go downstairs and feed Willow, but she just gives me a dirty look, then continues to stare out the window. The coffee brews. When it stops, I fix myself a cup, then walk out onto the back porch to watch the sun rise. Next week, I have the charity gala and will be working my ass off to make more pottery to be sold. It’s one of the biggest events I put on all year, and I’m passionate about helping new artists.
Thirty minutes later, the door opens behind me, and Scarlett steps out, wrapped up in one of my shirts. She has a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Morning,” she says with a sweet grin.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Not great.” She takes a sip from her mug. “I kept tossing and turning.”
“Me too.”
We sit in silence, watching the street wake up. A neighbor walks their dog, and a car drives past the house. Everyday morning things are happening while everything feels like it’s changing.
“Hungry?” I ask.
