Page 76 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
After introductions, Vikas kisses my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says in a lovely British accent.
He surprises me—not the accent, because I knew he was born in New Delhi, raised in London—that he knows about me. “I hope it’s all good.”
“It’s all great.”
Hunter offers a sheepish shrug. “Remember when I told you I reached out to Vik about something recently?” He asks, reminding me of our conversation at the diner.
“Yes, but you didn’t say what it was.”
“It was the chute, and how after it malfunctioned, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I asked him for advice. Asked him what to do about the fact that I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
My skin warms, and I lift my chin toward Vikas. “And what did you tell our wild adventurer?”
Vikas grins impishly, like he has a secret. “It’s not what I told him that matters,” he says. “It’s what he tells you.”
Hunter squares his shoulders and answers Vik, but he looks at me. “Don’t you worry, old man. I told her I love her. I told her I want to be with her.”
The grin on his mentor’s face ratchets up ten more degrees. Vikas looks as pleased as the devil. “You’re a smart man.”
Hunter wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Told you Pat was wrong. I am smart.”
“You’re brilliant,” I say, dotting a kiss to his nose as his mother watches, looking thrilled.
“On that note, we’ll excuse ourselves for a refill. So glad you’re in his life,” Hunter’s mom says to me, and I reply, “Me too,” then she tugs Vik away.
A few seconds later, someone taps my shoulder. Expecting Hunter’s mother has something to add, I turn.
But it’s my boss.
What’s he doing here? “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Daniel is practically bouncing, his blue eyes like sparklers. “Given our Vikas connection, I thought it was vital. So I snagged a last-minute ticket. And then I came to find you. I have extraordinary news. It’s about Oliver, the London businessman.”
“The gentleman you’ve been talking to?”
“Yes. He handles a number of high-end estates here in the US, and I just struck a deal to partner with him. We’ll be able to expand. I’ll be able to start a whole new division dedicated to exactly the kind of work you’ve been doing on the Valentina estate—archival hunting through American art and collectibles.”
Now I’m ready to bounce too. “That’s fantastic.” I’m beaming, I can feel it—this is a far cry from Corey Kruger letters.
Daniel points at me. “I want you to head it up.”
This is the kind of opportunity I’ve been searching for. Something big, something meaty. This is why I busted my butt—in hopes that someday I’d have this.
“I’d love to,” I answer. Because what else would I say?
He rubs his palms together. “Great. I hope you don’t mind that it involves some travel.”
“Travel is cool.”
“Actually, more than some,” he amends. “You’ll be on the road nearly all the time. Traveling all over the US. Visiting estates. Cataloging them. Going to small towns. The schedule will be unpredictable, and you’ll be working a lot of weekends. But there’s no one better to do it.”
I glance at Hunter, and we exchange a moment of keen awareness at what this means.
We now have two complicated jobs. Two complicated schedules. It will be twice as hard to make this work.
36
Hunter
It’s not a lie, I swear.
It’s the truth when I meet her gaze and say, “I’m happy for you. Take it.”
When I say, “I’m so damn proud of you,” that’s the farthest thing from a lie.
Same when I haul her in for an embrace, whispering into her ear, “Told you you were a superstar.”
And I mean it when she pulls back, lashes wet, with a question or protest on her lips, and I say again, “Take it.”
Then Daniel tugs her away, saying he wants to tell her about the job, to call Oliver, to share more details.
“Go,” I tell her with a smile. “I want you to.”
But that . . . that is the lie. I don’t want her to go.
And yet, I have to let her. This is her dream. I thought it was writing books, but I was wrong. Her dream is more houses, more art, more history. It’s cuffs rolled up, pencil on her ear, iPad at the ready. It’s recording details, learning, cataloging.
Her words from earlier today echo a reminder of her true heart’s desire.
There’s also a part of me that would love to explore this country. Take a road trip. Stop in small towns. See all the little artifacts and art and collectibles that tell you about the people there.
This is her chance, and I can’t stand in her way. I’ve had so many opportunities, and I’ve seized them all, bitten down and savored every morsel with no regrets.
But my selfish heart is heavy because I don’t know how we’ll make this work. So I do what a man’s gotta do.
