time, nauseous and anxious as I’ve ever been. Flying is fucking scary, how come no one ever told me that?
I tried to picture Ryan’s face the entire time and even snuck into my dirty memories to dream up that luscious body in front of me. That had kind of done the trick, and I’d drifted into turbulent sleep with thoughts of her perfect ass dancing in my head.
The directions Bowen had printed up on how to get to her office once I made it to the center of Copenhagen were completely wrong. I’ve been hopelessly wandering around for forty-five minutes, looking for some building with the name of the company she’s working on a project for. Not that the city isn’t beautiful, and I definitely want to explore when we’re all made up and have spent a couple of hours in bed … but I just want to get to her.
Finally, I spot it, the tall white building looking like some modern cube with windows that bubbled out from the concrete sides of it. I nearly get run over by three bikers as I try to cross the street, and I wonder again what this country’s fascination with bicycles is.
“I’m here to see Ryan Shea,” I say, a little frantically, to the security officer sitting behind the check-in desk.
The lobby is cavernous, with white marble everywhere, and the Dwayne Johnson lookalike, with bleach blond hair, eyes me suspiciously.
“Who?” he asks in a thick Danish accent.
I try to calm down, but he’s the only thing in the way of telling my girl that I love her.
“Ryan Shea. She’s working on a project for this company, as a consultant. Something about coding a system.”
Again the guy looks at me like he might slam my face into the marble check-in desk, or as if I might be carrying a hidden grenade. After a few beats, he picks up the phone and rambles something off in his native language.
“What did you say your name was?” he asks me.
I didn’t, which is probably why he’s looking at me so strangely, now that I think about it. “Fletcher Nash.”
He repeats my name into the phone and then says something else in Danish, and then hangs up.
Drumming my fingers on the desk, I search his face for any sign that she’s going to come down. “Well?”
“Back away from the desk, sir. You can sit on that bench over there.” The way he says it, it’s not a request.
Either I go sit down, or he’s going to break my arm or something. Stepping back, I pull my big duffel farther up my shoulder. I didn’t even bother booking a hotel when I left, thinking I’d just find something when I touched down in the city. Or, hopefully … I could stay with Ryan.
It all hung in the balance.
An elevator dings, and out she steps, her black locks piled on her head and a leather skirt cinching her waist. Fuck, why did she always have to wear leather? It really distracts me from every other thought I was trying to push out of my head.
“Fletcher?” Her jaw about drops to the floor. “I thought someone was fucking with me when they said you were down in the lobby. Wha … what are you doing here?”
I stand, suddenly feeling very awkward. Especially in front of The Rock here, who has this snide smile on his meathead face.
“Can we talk outside?” I throw my head in the direction of the door.
Ryan walks out before me, looking confused, shocked, and worried at the same time. The minute the revolving door lets us out onto the sidewalk, she turns to me.
“What are you doing in Denmark?” I think she might try to touch my arm, just to make sure this isn’t an illusion.
Ducking my head so that I can look her directly in the eyes, I shoot her straight. “I came here for you. To tell you that I’m in love with you, and I’m never letting you leave again.”
Ryan blinks, her caramel eyes trying to comprehend. “You didn’t let me leave. You told me to go.”
It’s an arrow to my heart, but one I deserve. “And I’m a fucking idiot, Ryan. I never should have said that. I was being a coward. I’ve never experienced anything outside of my hometown, it’s all I know. But the woman I love was asking me to go on the adventure of a lifetime with her, and I should have said yes. I’m here saying yes,