up into a messy bun, tendrils falling to frame her face, and she was an absolute smoke show even in black leggings and a hoodie.
The Moulin Rouge! hoodie, to be exact.
My heart leapt at the sight of her, and I fished in my pocket for my wallet, slapping a couple hundred-dollar bills on the bar and nodding at Dave before I hopped up from my seat. It only took me a few strides to reach her, and Belle didn’t see me until I was just a step away.
In the next one, I swept her up into my arms, and I held her tight.
I thought I’d be scared when I saw her. I thought I’d be nervous and timid and wouldn’t know the right words to say. But the moment I saw her standing in that bar, I knew the only thing that mattered was that I get her in my arms — and fast.
She was stiff when I first embraced her, and for a split second, I worried I’d ridden my hope too far. But she melted into me just as easily, and with a sigh, her arms wrapped around my neck, and she held me in return.
“Thank you for coming,” I whispered, squeezing her waist. She smelled like lemon and honey and rain, like summer in a new city. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
Belle shook her head, pulling back from my embrace before her eyes swept over the bar again. She nodded toward the door, and we stepped outside, into the cool summer evening.
“Don’t be,” she said when we were alone, crossing her arms over her chest. I hated that she wasn’t still wrapped up in my arms, but I gave her space. “It’s me who should be sorry.”
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my shorts to keep myself from reaching for her.
Belle sighed, biting her lip as her gaze found the traffic whizzing by. She watched it for a long moment before she looked at me again. “What you said, about me being a good time… it triggered me.” She blew out a breath, shaking her head. “God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“You can tell me anything.”
“The fact that I already know that is part of what freaks me out.”
I frowned. “Why did it trigger you?”
Belle smiled as if she were looking into a past life, glancing down at her feet before her eyes found me again. “I dated a guy for a really long time, practically all of college. He was good friends with Gemma’s ex-husband, and we sort of all hung out, this big happy foursome.”
I nodded, swallowing past the knot in my throat at the thought of her being happy with someone else. I didn’t care that it was years ago. The amount of possession I felt in that moment surprised me, and again, my hands twitched to hold her.
“Carlo proposed to Gemma at the end of our senior year, and I thought for sure Nathan was next. That’s my ex,” she clarified. “And so, I waited, and waited, and helped Gemma plan her wedding while I checked under Nathan’s socks and underwear in his drawer for a ring. But… he never proposed.” She laughed. “He never planned to.”
Idiot. Massive fucking idiot.
Maybe I should write him a thank-you card.
“Instead, the football-obsessed bastard broke up with me,” she continued. “He played for our college team, hence why I hate anything football-related now.”
I swallowed, but ignored that fact, focusing instead on the more important subject at hand — which was that this asshole had hurt her.
Belle looked like she was living in the memory when she continued, her eyes distant and sad. “He said that I was fun, that I was a perfect college girlfriend, but that he needed to get serious.” She laughed at that. “As if we hadn’t been dating for years. But what I hadn’t realized until that moment was that he’d met my family, and hung out with my friends, but… the same wasn’t true for me.”
I frowned. “He never introduced you to his family?”
“Nope,” she said, letting the word pop. “And that was the kicker at the end of it all. Nathan looked me right in my eyes when he told me where I stood in this world.” Her gaze met mine. “I’m a good time, but I’m not the kind of girl you take home to Mom.”
My own words from last weekend slapped me in the face, and even as tipsy as I was, I understood now why