Once More With Feeling (35 page)

He only smiled that specifically Alec smile, little more than the curve of his mouth.

‘I promise to count every single one of your freckles, all over your body, because they could change, and those are important facts that I need to be on top of,’ he said, his voice dropping then, becoming husky. ‘I promise you that you are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met, that you haunted me for years, that I blame you for my inability to really move on with someone else, and that I’m not at all sorry your marriage isn’t working.’

‘That’s the most romantic one yet,’ I managed to get out, but I was smiling despite myself.

‘I promise that I won’t hold it against you if you decide you can’t handle me – at least, not too much. And I promise you that if you give me a chance, I will celebrate you,’ he said fiercely, running his cold hand over my cheek, then using it to hold my face up to his. ‘I will spend every minute we have together making sure you know that in every way that matters, I will always choose you. I will always want you. I will. I promise.’ His eyes searched mine. ‘There’s nothing temporary about the way I feel about you, Sarah. There never was.’

I don’t know how long we stood there, gazing at each other, breathing the same air, soaking in all those promises. My hand snuck up to cover his. For a long time, I didn’t even notice the chill. I was too off-balance. Too wild inside. And I understood, at last, that this particular kind of out-of-control was a good thing. This was where life happened, this feeling. It couldn’t be regimented or regulated. That was prison. This was … joy.

Eventually, I led him inside, to stamp off the snow. To pull that silly hat from his head. He looked dishevelled and disreputable as he prowled around the big open floor plan of the house’s first floor, frowning at all the things I’d collected, few of which, I told myself, I would even remember once I left here. And even fewer that I would miss.

Alec roamed over to the couches set around the coffee
table, and sat down, leaning forward to run his hands over my old pack. He picked up one of the guidebooks that lay beside it and flipped through it.

‘I’m taking a trip,’ I told him. I felt almost bubbly with nervousness, as if I were carbonated. I drifted over to the couch across from him, considered sitting there as if this were an interview, but thought better of it. I circled the table and dropped down next to him. Close enough to feel the heat of him, to smell the snow against his skin. But not quite touching him. ‘A long one. That one I always talked about.’

He looked sideways at me, then back at the books. He picked up China, then New Zealand. He ran his fingers over India.

‘How long?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. A year?’

He nodded. ‘Alone?’

‘That’s the plan,’ I said.

But that didn’t seem sufficient. It was non-committal. It didn’t do justice to the things I wanted – and I was afraid it sounded like some kind of invitation. Which it wasn’t. If these last few months had taught me anything, it was that I needed to take some time on my own to figure out who I was. What I wanted for myself. I never wanted to feel like Goldilocks again, trying on other people’s lives for size. I wanted my own.

‘I mean, yes,’ I corrected myself. ‘Alone. Just me and whoever I happen upon along the way.’

He leaned back then, stretching that rangy body out next to me, his long arms along the back, and his gaze was so bright it made those bubbles inside me seem to fizz over.

‘Good,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘You should.’

Because to Alec, dreams were never crazy, no matter how big or grand or out there. It would never be a question of
why
. It would always be
when
.

‘Well,’ I said after a moment, trying not to grin like a fool, and not even really knowing why I felt so giddy. This wasn’t a magical moment. This wasn’t the kiss to build a dream on, or any of that nonsense. But then again, maybe that was why. Tim had kissed me. Tim had flattered me. Alec understood me. ‘It’s been a long time coming.’

He reached over and pulled a strand of my hair between his fingers and tugged on it, very gently.

‘A year is a lot longer than it seems,’ he said, studying me. And close. So close. ‘You might want to see a friendly face every few months. To get your bearings.’

I let myself grin then the way I wanted. ‘Would this friendly face be located in Africa, by any chance?’

He dropped my hair and traced a gentle little pattern along my jaw instead.

‘It would,’ he said. ‘You should think about dropping by. Maybe even making it a base of operations. The clinic could always use another good brain, you know. Especially a lawyer.’

‘You’re talking about work,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m talking
about a long-overdue journey to
find myself
. And I could end up anywhere, Alec. The Russian steppes. Machu Picchu. Possibly not in Africa at all.’

He shifted then, and stroked my hair back from my face, with so much tenderness that I thought for a moment I might weep. But I didn’t. I found myself smiling instead, even wider, and twisting around so that I faced him, one leg drawn up on the sofa cushion between us, touching him.

‘Wherever you are out there,’ he said, and his voice was strong and sure, ‘you’ll find what you’re looking for. I don’t have any doubt.’

‘That’s good,’ I whispered. ‘Because I do.’

He smiled then, a genuine smile. ‘You’re the only one.’

He didn’t want anything from me, I realized then. He had said all of those things, made all of those promises, and he wasn’t going to push me into making any declarations in return. As if he trusted me to make the decisions I had to make. As if he believed in what I was doing, whether that fitted into his plans or not.

Of course I had loved this man so much that losing him had set off a seven-year chain reaction of questionable choices and assumed identities. Of course. It wasn’t that I regretted Tim, or our marriage. I didn’t. But suddenly, I understood it better.

And in understanding it – and me – I was that much closer to free.

‘Maybe I will stop off in Africa at some point,’ I said.

He let his fingers trace over my lips, and his eyes burned, but he was still smiling.

‘Promise?’ he asked.

And I smiled back, because I trusted him, and I knew that this time, I would make sure to trust myself, too.

‘I promise,’ I said softly, knowing that to him, this was the only vow that mattered.

‘There’s this beach in Namibia,’ he said, his hand sliding around to cup the nape of my neck as he leaned closer, that serious mouth so very close to mine. Close enough to kiss. ‘Someday I’ll show it to you. I think you’ll like it.’

And he was right. I did.