Page 141 of Go Back to December

“Did you?” He wrestles my arms down, wraps them around his waist. “I thought I was Captain Obvious from the start.”

With his warm embrace, he assumes direct control of my central nervous system. I collapse into his heat, his scent. “In my mind, I’ve gone back to that night in December so many times, Baz. Even when it hurt too much to think about it, I couldn’t forget it. Or you.”

“Sometimes I thought I’d dreamed up the entire night. And you.” He huffs a laugh. “All of those things people say. About an instant connection. Falling for someone fast and hard, the moment you see them and hear their voice. I never believed it was true. Until you.”

His lips graze my forehead. “I looked for you, everywhere. I only stopped because one of the women in your old dorm complained. None of them would tell me your full name, or give me your address. I still have a list of the assholes who wouldn't give you my messages. If they knew what I could do to them, they’d never sleep.”

I give him a sympathetic squeeze. “If you were giving Bad Bastard energy, I would have stonewalled you too.”

He tips my chin up, his gaze more intense than I’ve ever seen it. “Eight years after you disappeared, I saw you leaving the University Club. Do you know, my knees got fucking weak? I ended up on my ass on the sidewalk wondering if I needed to call 911.” His breath catches. “By some miracle, someone overheard you mention the name of your organization. It had lost its funding. You needed work. And I needed an excuse to see you again.”

“So you convinced Blackhart & Steele to start the café.”

He laughs softly, still holding me. “When you didn’t recognize me the day you opened, I felt like a world-class creeper.”

“That’s why you made me think it was Lacy’s idea,” I say against his neck. “And I believed you. I didn’t think you remembered me.”

The words sound shaky, and I realize how hard it is to comprehend what he's done for me. Even in this moment, with Baz holding me, and all that’s happened between us, I’m still half expecting reality to call and cancel everything.

But as Baz strokes his hand down my back, I remind myself that I know better now.

“I’m so sorry, for doubting you.” I pull back so I can look him in the eye. “And for everything I did because of that doubt, that fear. The way I left the lake was impulsive and selfish and so, so stupid.”

“You were upset. I sure as shit was, and I knew what was going on.”

“I should have given you a chance to explain. But I was too afraid.”

“I know.”

“I was searching for an excuse so that I wouldn’t have to face it.”

He cups my chin. “What?”

And suddenly, the terror is front and center, and I don’t think I can gather the courage to confess the one thing I’ve wanted to say for so long.

Baz strokes a thumb across my cheek. Soothing. Teasing. Achingly familiar.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “What would you have said to me that first day at the café, if you knew then, what you know now?”

I lean into his gentle touch. “Hello, Baz Johnson. I remember you. We met at a party at the Jungle House.”

His smile flashes as thunder rolls, but he keeps me close. He won’t allow me to get skittish. “You were the beautiful girl alone in the yard.”

“I remember talking to you for hours and then floating home.”

“I remember wishing I had kissed you goodnight.”

The hoarseness in his voice lights a fire across my skin, but I swallow the moan rising from my throat. One sharp breath, one heated gaze, is all it will take before we tear each other’s clothes off. Before that can happen, I have to finish this.

Rain slowly pelts the deck, like skimming rocks. Baz wipes a drop from my cheek.

“I had big plans for kissing the next time we met," I say. "But I had to rush home for a family emergency. I never got the chance to say goodbye.”

“Or tell me your name.”

“And now,” I choke, “you’re one of the Money Honeys who reminds me of everything I didn’t do because of that terrible thing that happened right after we met. Whenever I see you, I’m going to remember how it felt to fall for that boy, and how much it hurt to cut off that opportunity.”

“Does it still hurt?”