Page 57 of The Last Kiss

I look up at the store and briefly wonder if you can go in swigging from a bottle of wine. I’m distracted from the famous drummer boy symbol by a shadow rushing towards me, a cloud on an intent gust of wind.

Hands clutch my elbows, but instead of screaming or fending for my life with my handbag as a weapon, I’m shuddering, breathing out a long held bated breath.

Breathing the same air as… as…

“Henri Carré.” His lips crush into mine, and I moan a deep and toe-curling sigh.

Fate, you wily beast, I thought you’d let me down.

It hits me how much I’ve been craving this moment, desperately waiting without wanting to give meaning to the ache festering under my skin. The grey of my world bursts into colour with the press of his lips.

Henri. The perfect name.

Henri.

I pull away, blinking up into his wide smile.

“I knew it was meant to be.” He presses his words against my mouth, my cheeks, and I’m disarmed by his open and frank emotional capacity.

In return I do what I’ve been trained to do in my role as British middle-class citizen. I shift from foot to foot until he chuckles, rumbling it inside of me until I’m all jelly and warm.

“And you are?” He prompts with a curve of his eyebrow.

“I’m Julia. Julianna Brown.”

His eyes dance. “I was so close with Juliette.”

“So close!”

His hands rest on my shoulders, burning through the loose knit of my cardigan.

“Did you really believe it was meant to be?” I whisper.

His smile, it’s so beautiful, so earnest, it’s like the first bloom of a daisy under the May sunshine. “I never had any doubt.” He tucks a wayward hair behind my ear. “So where are we going?”

“We?” I frown.

“Yes. I said, next time you let me in.”

Jeez, can he remember every word we’ve ever said? I glance at his chest. He’s not wearing a suit today, just a white shirt rolled at the sleeve and tucked into immaculately tailored trousers at the waist.

“Are you answering with that wandering hungry stare of yours, ma petite?”

I pat his pecs—because why not?

“I’m still adjusting to seeing you again. Here. Outside bloody Hamleys. What are the chances?” I pull back an inch. “Wait a minute. You aren’t following me, are you? Fate isn’t fate if it’s had a helping hand.”

“Me?” Holding his hands palm up he looks up at the sky. “I’d never mess with fate. She’s a mean mistress if you don’t do what she wants.”

I love how he talks. He’s like a poet, every word lyrical and layered with emotion and integrity. I’ve never met a single person like him in my life, he’s unique.

Unique. One of a kind. He’s been sent to me for a reason. I see that now.

I wind my fingers through the waves at the nape of his neck and pull his mouth down to mine, hungrily seeking that warm, succulent taste that sets off fireworks in every cell of my body. Uncaring of our standing outside a toy shop, I slip my tongue into his mouth, seeking him out. In return he greets me back and long needed oxygen explodes in my chest.

Then I pull back and smack him on the chest. “It’s been six weeks. I didn’t think I’d see you again.” My eyes sting, unexpected and unwanted, and I blink the tell-tale salt water away.

“I’m here now. So where are we going, or is it a mystery?”