know it will be the only time we’ll ever meet. Some open doors lead to closed ones and all that crap.
“I wish you the best,” I tell her with sincerity.
“I hope you meet a billionaire who buys you La Perla. And who’s an animal in the bedroom.”
“Ben prefers vanilla missionary.” I hate myself so much in this moment.
The sparkle in her eyes speaks volumes. “Not with me.”
She closes the door, and I walk away. Down the stairwell, out into the suddenly damp New York City air. I gulp in lungfuls of it. There’s something inherently cleansing about knowing for sure where I stand in the world. Soon, the rain will come.
Tori Russo: Just left Ben’s. I can meet you wherever you are.
Mike Mitchell: I’ll come to you. Text me your GPS location.
“Tori!” Even on a crowded sidewalk with my back turned after years apart, he still recognizes me. Just as I know his voice above the constant din of the city.
I turn around, and he’s there. The finest droplets of a light mist sparkle in the air between us like the most poetic montage of first love. His memory will always make me smile.
“Goodbye, Ben,” I whisper then turn around and make my way forward through the throngs of people.
“Tori, wait!”
I don’t. I have my closure.
It’s pouring. I never knew monsoons were a thing in New York City until today, but by the time I find Tori sitting in a window seat at a crowded cafe in Manhattan, my clothes are soaked through.
There’s no way I can go in there. I’ll only make a scene dripping water all over the shop, and I need to stay out of sight as much as possible. I knock on the window.
She startles, and her phone clatters to the tabletop. The second she locks eyes with me, she jumps up and collects her things then hightails it out of there to meet me on the sidewalk.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” she shouts over the noise of the downpour and car horns blaring through stalled traffic.
“Got in a fight with a frying pan and lost.” I shrug and add another item on my mental list about what will make Peaches swear.
She reaches out to touch the claw marks that are plain as day across my cheek then thinks better of it and lets her hand fall to her side. “Frying pans don’t leave marks like that.”
“It looked a lot worse hours ago before all the rain washed away the rest of the Mace.” I shake my head when she opens her mouth and cut her off at the pass instead. “How’d it go with Ben?”
“He’s engaged.”
I guess we’ve both had a shitty day. “Staring at each other while we get soaked to the bone is a little too dramatic for my taste. Can we get out of here?”
She frowns but nods. Then, she throws her arms around my waist and nuzzles her face against my chest.
She hasn’t been able to look directly at me since that night in the hotel room, but now she’s hugging me in the pouring rain in the middle of the busiest city in the world. Like no amount of embarrassment could hold her back.
I can’t remember the last time someone put my needs above their own so plainly, and I want to give her the same in return. I wrap my arms around her, squeeze back, and bury my nose in her wet hair. She smells like her nickname—peaches and sunshine. I never knew happiness had a scent before.
It’s not enough to shake off this shitty day, but it’s a hell of a start.
She pulls back and gazes at me with a furrowed brow. “Where are you parked?”
We wind our way through throngs of other rain-soaked people. She follows where I lead without a word, linking her arm through mine when the crowds threaten to separate us. She silently holds her hand out for the keys. I oblige. My head is pounding. With the concussion the ER doctor diagnosed me with, I’m in no shape to drive.
If the team docs find out I refused to be admitted for overnight observation…hell, if they find out about the concussion at all, I might be benched from off-season training activities.
Tori doesn’t press me for any more information. She’s got her hands full with heavy traffic, heavier rain, and my giant truck that was the only thing I bought for myself with my signing bonus.
It’s not until we’re on the highway headed