Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye - Jacquelyn Middleton Page 0,133

mouth.

“Hey, you know me—I always ask for what I want. And more than anything, I want to love and be loved.” She shifted in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ear, her hands unable to settle. “I swore I’d never risk my heart again, but sometimes it breaks its own rules.” Swallowing hard, Leia blinked into a hopeful grin. “All I know for certain is…I’ve missed you, Tarquin. I’ve missed us.”

He leaned in, breathless. “I’ve missed you like mad, Leia. Honestly, you’re all I think about.”

A rush of relief rippled through her, ten long months of tortured yearning and regret soothed by his confession. There was just one more question begging an answer. “So, do you wanna date me and be exclusive?”

Tarquin huffed out a laugh. “Like you have to ask! Come here!” He stretched across the table and she met him halfway, capturing his mouth.

Nervous anticipation melted into pure ecstasy. My god, I can feel this kiss everywhere! She threaded her fingers through Tarquin’s hair, tugging him closer, allowing his tongue to tease as he gently cupped her face. The gentleness of his caress, his fresh scent, and the determination of his lips spurred memory after memory, and the hope for many more. He feels so familiar, so loving… so mine. I never want to lose him again.

A loud tsk and a gruff “Get a room!” popped Leia’s blissful bubble, and she reluctantly broke their kiss.

“But we have to take it slow…” She giggled, happiness exploding through her as she sat back in her chair and ignored the judgmental side-eye from the next table. “See how it goes.”

“Fine by me!” Tarquin’s grin wouldn’t quit. “I just want to be with you, Ginger—fast, slow, no distance, long-distance…” He picked up his coffee.

Long-distance. The words kicked her in the ribs.

“When are you flying back to New York?”

“My ticket is for December 1st, but I’m thinking of staying—”

“Here?!” Glee sparkled like fireworks in Tarquin’s eyes as his coffee cup met the table with a loud clunk. “Permanently?!

He looks like I just said ‘I do.’ She gave him a wary grin. “Maybe? I don’t know. My situation has changed. Shantelle’s moving to Paris to live with Bastien.”

“Oh, good for her! But how does that affect you?”

“Last month, I signed a contract extension with her through award season. I re-read it last night and realized there’s no exit clause.”

Anger pinched Tarquin’s face. “You’re kidding! Your lawyer left that out? It’s their job to cover all eventualities.”

Leia shook her head. “The way it stands now, if Shantelle moves outside the States, I’m legally bound to style her. It doesn’t matter if she’s ninety minutes away in Canada or seven hours and an ocean away in France—I’m locked in.”

Tarquin blew out his cheeks. “That’s fucked up.”

“I know! My only way out is to break the contract, but I can’t. Shantelle would be so upset, and plus, I’d damage my reputation.” Again.

“But you and Shantelle are friends. Couldn’t you work something out? Suggest someone in Paris?”

“Shan is adamant about wearing Frill-Seekers and will only work with a stylist she trusts. If I bailed, I’d feel like I was abandoning her.” Crossing her arms, Leia slumped back in her chair. “And really, whose fault is this?” she grumbled, taking the blame. “I was busy planning my show and barely gave the contract a skim before signing—which is stupid because I know Shan can be flighty after she’s had a consultation with her psychic. If the psychic says, ‘Do a 180,’ Shantelle changes direction without a second thought.”

“She has a psychic on speed dial?”

“Yep, and she told Shantelle Bastien’s the one. But hey, what do I know? Maybe it is true love.”

Tarquin took a fork to his cupcake. “They were snogging up a storm last night. Even made it into The Mail. Frill-Seekers scored a mention, too.”

“Really? That’s cool…I guess!” She half-smiled. And strange! Feeling happy about tabloid coverage? That’s a first. “So, I have a choice: flying seven hours to Paris every time Shan needs me—which will be a lot—or staying in London for the foreseeable.”

Tarquin’s eyebrows peaked, but his expression remained neutral, refusing to sway her decision one way or the other.

“Both options are problematic. Flying between New York and Paris on Shantelle’s whim will probably kill me, but uprooting myself from Brooklyn is a massive headache. My entire business, my life is based in New York. That said, London has the one thing that Brooklyn doesn’t—you.”

Tarquin’s face lit up like her declaration gave him