I laugh. “No problem. See you soon.”
She tells me goodbye and I hand the phone to Tallie, who is now standing behind the register. She holds out her hand for the twenty dollars. I pull out my wallet and hand her the twenty.
“I would have paid ten times that for her phone call.”
• • •
I pace back and forth in the driveway.
What am I doing?
There is so much wrong with this. I barely even know the girl. I spent a few hours with her and here I am committing to writing a book about her? About us? What if we don’t even click this time? I could have been having a manic episode last year and was just in an exceptionally receptive and good mood. She might not even be funny. She could be a bitch. She could be stressed out over her flight delay and she might not even want to be here.
I mean, who does that? What sane person would fly across the country to see someone for one day who they barely know?
Probably not many people. But I would have been on a flight without hesitation today if we were supposed to meet up in New York.
I’m rubbing my hands down my face when the cab rounds the corner. I’m trying to mentally psych myself into believing that this is perfectly normal. It’s not crazy. It’s not commitment. We’re friends. Friends would fly across the country to spend time together.
Wait. Are we friends? We don’t even communicate, so that probably wouldn’t even qualify as acquaintances.
The cab is pulling into the driveway now.
For fuck’s sake, lose the nerves, Kessler.
The car stops.
The back door opens.
I should greet her at the door. It’s awkward with me being so far away.
I’m walking toward the cab when she begins to step out.
Please be the same Fallon I met last year.
I grip the door handle and pull it the rest of the way open. I try to play it cool, to not come off nervous. Or worse, excited. I’ve studied enough romance novels to know girls like it when the guys are somewhat aloof. I read somewhere those kinds of guys are called alpha males.
Be a jackass, Kessler. Just a little bit. You can do it.
She steps out of the car, and when she does, it’s like in the movies where everything is in slow motion. Not at all similar to my version of slow motion. This is much more graceful. The wind picks up and strands of hair blow across her face. She lifts her hand to pull the hair away, and that’s when I notice what a difference one year can make.
She’s different. Her hair is shorter. She has bangs. She’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, which is something she admitted to never doing before last year.
She’s covered in confidence, from head to toe.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hey,” she says, as I reach behind her to close her door. She seems to be happy to see me and that alone makes me smile back at her.
So much for playing aloof.
I literally lasted zero seconds when it came to the alpha-male alter ego I’ve been practicing.
I release a yearlong pent-up breath and I step forward and pull her into the most genuine embrace I’ve ever given anyone. I wrap my hand around the back of her head and pull her to me, breathing in the crisp winter scent of her. She immediately wraps her arms around me and buries her face against my shoulder. I feel a sigh escape her and we stand in the same position until the cab has backed out of the driveway and disappears around the corner.
And even then, we don’t let go.
She’s squeezing the back of my shirt in her fisted hands and I’m trying not to be obvious about the fact that I might be a little bit obsessed with her new hairstyle. It’s softer. Straighter. Lighter. Refreshing, and fuck, it hurts.
Again.
Why is she the only one who makes me wince like this? She sighs against my neck and I almost push her away, because dammit, this is too much. I’m not sure what bothers me more. The fact that we seem to have picked up right where we left off last year or the fact that last year wasn’t a fluke. If I’m being honest, I kind of think it’s the latter. Because this past year was hell having to go every minute of the day with her on my mind and not knowing if I’d ever see her again. And now that I know she’s committed to this idiotic plan of mine to meet up once a year, I foresee another long year of agony ahead of me.
I’m already dreading the second she leaves, and she just now showed up.
She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks up at me. I brush her bangs back with my hand to see more of her face. Despite how frantic she sounded on the phone earlier, she seems completely peaceful right now.
“Hello, Fallon the Transient.”
Her smile grows even wider. “Hello, Ben the Writer. Why do you look like you’re in pain?”
I try to smile, but I’m sure the look on my face right now isn’t an attractive one. “Because keeping my mouth off of you is really painful.”
She laughs. “As much as I want your mouth on me, I must warn you that a hello kiss is probably only going to be a six.”
I promised her an eleven. It’ll have to wait.
“Come on. Let’s go inside so I can find out what color panties you have on.” She’s laughing that familiar laugh as I grab her hand and walk her toward the house. I can already tell I have nothing to worry about. She’s the same Fallon I remember from last year. Maybe even a little better.
So . . . maybe that means I have everything to worry about.
Fallon
I wasn’t expecting this when he said to meet him at his house. I was more or less expecting an apartment, but this is a fairly modern two-story house. A house-house. He closes the front door behind me and heads for the stairs. I trail behind him.
“You didn’t bring luggage?” he asks.
I don’t want to think about how little time I’ll actually be here. “I’m heading back tonight.”
He stops mid-step and faces me. “Tonight? You aren’t even staying the night in California?”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to be back in New York by eight in the morning. My flight is at ten thirty tonight.”
“The flight is more than five hours,” he says, concerned. “With the time difference, you won’t even get home until after six in the morning.”
“I’ll sleep on the plane.”
His eyebrows draw apart and his mouth tightens. “I don’t like that for you,” he says. “You should have called. We could have changed the date or something.”