Though I thought we were getting closer…
Taking a deep breath, I climb out of the car and lock the door. Run a hand through my hair and tell myself not to appear too anxious.
Then I sprint toward the entrance and bust through the door as if I have no control over myself.
My gaze is everywhere, sweeping the interior of the small, dark deli. There’s music playing—pretty sure it’s Frank Sinatra—and there’s a pair of older couples sitting at a table near the back, chatting while clutching half-eaten sandwiches in their hands. I search for the familiar blonde head, worry making my heart race when I don’t spot her.
“Are you looking for someone?”
I turn to find a short, older man with a paunch and the thickest eyebrows I’ve ever seen standing behind the register, an inquisitive expression on his weathered face.
“I’m looking for my wife.” I take a step toward the counter, tempted to grab the old man by the front of his shirt and give him a shake. Demand to know where Charlotte is.
But I don’t. I have more restraint than that, and from what I understand, this guy helped my wife and I’m forever grateful for that. Thank God Grant isn’t here yet. He’s so unpredictable I’m afraid he’d knock this poor old man out before he could even give us any solid answers.
The man’s gaze turns skeptical. “What’s your name?”
“Perry.”
His gaze narrows. “That’s not her brother’s name.”
“Like I just said, I’m not her brother.” I grip the edge of the counter, fighting the frustration rippling through me. “I’m her goddamn husband.”
The old man throws his head back and laughs while I stand there fuming.
“Ah, to be young again. Full of so much emotion all the time. Follow me. She’s back here.” He waves a hand.
I follow him through a swinging door and into the back of the deli, my entire body becoming electrified. I know it’s because I’m close to Charlotte. This is what happens to me every time we’re in the same room, sharing the same air.
“Here she is,” the man says once we round a corner, a small table coming into view. An older woman with pitch black hair is sitting next to my blonde, beautiful wife. “Charlotte, you have a visitor.”
Charlotte lifts her head, her blue eyes meeting mine and she starts toward me…
And then hesitates.
Holy shit. Why did she just do that? Is she mad at me? Pissed I only showed up now? What if she actually wanted to be with—
“I didn’t think you’d actually come for me,” she whispers, her eyes welling with unshed tears.
Her words, her sad voice, carve my heart into tiny pieces. My thoughts from only a moment ago disintegrate.
“I will always come for you,” I tell her fiercely, like a promise.
She’s on her feet in moments, throwing herself at me, her arms winding around my middle. She presses her face against my chest, her voice so muffled I can’t understand what she’s saying and I reach for her. Cupping her face with both of my hands, I tilt her head back so I can stare into her eyes.
Eyes that are nearly overflowing with tears.
As I watch her, I realize I’m at a complete loss for words, which never happens.
Ever.
Instead of saying something stupid or obvious, I go on pure instinct and lower my head, brushing her trembling lips with mine. The kiss is soft and sweet, and I try to silently communicate with her as I kiss her over and over again.
I missed you.
You scared me.
You belong to me.