Page 71 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
I adjust my bow tie, bound down the steps, and give my mother, dressed in her champagne gown, a peck on the forehead. “You look beautiful. I’ll see you there, Mom.”
Fiddling with her bracelet, she jerks her gaze to me curiously. “You’re not going with Jesse and me? I was thinking the extra ticket you asked me to hold might be for Hillary, Marisa’s daughter.”
I wiggle an eyebrow. “No, Mom. I found my own date.”
She gasps. Audibly gasps. Doesn’t even try to hide it as she smacks my elbow. “Tell me more, you little rascal.”
Franklin barks from his spot on the kitchen floor by her feet, weighing in. “He feels the same way. He wants to know. Who is she?”
I give her an impish shrug. “No time to get into the details. I have plans to put in motion.”
She clasps her hands in prayer. “Are you moving home?”
I give her a salute. “See you later, Mom.”
Then I spring out of the house, down the steps, and into my waiting Lyft. Once inside, I unfold my letter. The one I keep with me. I skip straight to the lines I need to brand on my brain.
* * *
There are some chances that only pass your way once, and you have to grab them. You have to seize them, clutch them, and hold them tenaciously with all your might.
* * *
I need to give the woman what she wants. I call my cousin, since he knows everyone, and Josh answers right away.
“Are things becoming even more clear?” he asks.
“Like crystal. And I need your help. You know everyone in New York, right?”
“Pretty much.”
I tell him what I need and ask how quickly he can line it up for me.
“I’ll make some calls right now.”
“I need it ASAP.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I figured that much. Did you forget I’m used to dealing with billionaire athletes who need everything yesterday? I’m on it.”
He hangs up, and I check my phone every few minutes for a message from him while the car makes for Times Square.
Then, as we weave down Broadway, my phone pings with a text message.
* * *
Josh: Working it. Almost there.
* * *
Hunter: Knew I could count on you.
* * *
Tension spreads through my bones because I want hard facts now. I want to prove to her that I’m serious. But I’ll have to wait a little longer.
As the car pulls to the curb on Forty-Fourth, I thank the driver and get out.
It’s Saturday night in Manhattan, and the streets are swimming with theatergoers, some in charcoal suits and black dresses, some in yoga pants and jeans. That’s Broadway for you.
I scan the throngs, searching for the woman I’m willing to make changes for.
Then I see burgundy, the color of a cabernet sauvignon. All the breath rushes from my lungs as my eyes travel up the dress that hugs the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Then up farther to pink-glossed lips and eyes like a cloudless sky. Her hair is pinned up in a twist, and her neck . . . my God, her neck.
Presley doesn’t see me at first. She’s scanning the crowd. There is something so tantalizing about catching a glimpse of your woman before she sees you, catching that moment of surprise.
I walk over to her, my hands itching to touch her, my lips needing to kiss that delicate skin. She must sense me because she turns as I reach her.
“Hi,” she says, taking me in. “Nice tux. I bet you own it.”
“A man should.”
“It’s working for me. The whole look is working for me.”
“Every single thing about you is doing it for me.” I run a hand down her arm, savoring the feel of her skin.
Then we kiss. It’s soft and tender, and it completely blows my mind. The lip-gloss taste of her, the honey smell of her hair, the feel of her melting against me—this is a chance worth taking. This is what I can’t lose.
When the world’s greatest kiss ends, she blinks, breathes, and says, “Hi, again.”
I don’t waste time. I don’t need to wait for Josh. I’ve got this. “I’m getting a place in New York. My cousin is helping me. When I come home, I can see you.”
Her eyes widen, glowing like a neon sign. “You are?”
“I know that’s presumptuous. But you asked how this is different. This is how. When I’m not on the road, I’ll come here instead of Los Angeles.”
“You will?”
In her question, I hear uncertainty. I need to respect that.
“It’s not often, Presley. I’m on the road a lot. I have months of shoots and travel already on the schedule, but I want to make time for us. I want to do it right and find a way to make us work. Home will be here, where you are, and we’ll start from there. Let’s make a go at it for real, no last-minute changes.” I set my finger against her lips, since I don’t want her to feel pressured to answer. “Think about it for now. But I want you to know what I’ll do for you. For us. To show you this time is different.”
