Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Forty-Eight

PERRY

As I step through the door, I know I’m home. Truly home. For a moment I close my eyes as the truth of that hits me.

James takes my hand, leading me through to the kitchen, always the warm beating heart of the house. He holds on tight, as though he’s expecting me to make a run for it and jump on the next Brighton-bound train. I’m not going to do that. I’m never going to do that. I knew it from the moment he brushed his lips to mine and told me he loved me.

I watch as he makes tea. He’s clumsy, slopping the milk over the counter, squeezing the teabags out and dropping them on the floor before scooping them up and chucking them in the bin. The uncoordinated man stumbling around the kitchen is so far removed from the James I know that, despite the earthquake that’s rocked our worlds, I can’t help but smile.

He sits down opposite me at the blond wood table, just as he’s done so many times before. My heart lurches with the familiarity of it.

“I was such a fool for letting you go.”

He turns his mug around and around, spilling the tea he’s not attempting to drink. His eyes are downcast, as though he’s ashamed to meet mine. I place my hands on his, halting his frantic, nervous movements.

“You were, but I was a fool for not fighting enough to stay.”

He looks up, and there’s the ghost of a smile in his green eyes. We hold each other’s gaze. In the quiet of the kitchen, the fridge rumbles and gurgles as the clock ticks away the seconds.

“Elliot told me about the bungalow, that you’d made an offer, and I think it was then that it hit me. That place…” He looks away, his brow creasing as he shakes his head. “It’s not right for you, it was never right. All I saw was you fading, all your bright lights going out one by one. And I couldn’t let it happen.” His eyes flicker back to mine. They look tired, so, so tired. “I want you here with me, Perry. I want you to make this your home, I want us to make it our home, because without you here it’s nothing but an empty shell. Do—do you think you could want that too?”

His voice trembles, the muscles in his face are strained; he’s like a rubber band, stretched so tight the tiniest nudge will snap him. This isn’t the James I know, and it isn’t the James I love. I want that man back. I want the self-assured and confident man. I want the man who has that edge of arrogance. I want the man who can so often read me better than I can read myself.

I want the man who made me feel alive and loved, valued and cherished, the man who made me whole and complete.

That man, James Campion, he broke my heart so thoroughly I wasn’t sure it would ever be put back together. But here, now, as James gazes at me, his moss green eyes fixed on mine, he’s gathering all those broken pieces and making my heart whole once more. Only he can do that because without him I know, more than anything I’ve ever known before, my heart will never heal and never, ever be whole.

I get to my feet and James jerks back, his eyes wide, his face stricken and deathly pale, but I put out my hand.

“What do they say about home, James? It’s where the heart is.”

* * *

I yawn but don’t open my eyes. I’m warm and cosy, my limbs loose and relaxed as I snuggle into the strong arms wrapped around me, smiling as James nuzzles into my hair.

If either of us were expecting torrid make up sex, we were grossly disappointed. Instead we’d closed the bedroom door and the curtains, shutting out the world, and crawled into bed. Holding each other tight, within moments we’d fallen into the oblivion of sleep.

“I know you’re awake, sleepy head,” James murmurs into my hair.

Peeling my eyes open, I blink at the soft lamp light bathing the room, and I shift out of James’ embrace.

Propping himself up onto one elbow, James stares down at me. He still looks wrecked. His hair’s a mess, stubble’s shadowing his jawline, and he looks drawn and tired but his eyes, his beautiful green, feline eyes, are shining. My heart flips, because it can never not, not when this man looks at me like this. I reach up, and trail my hand over his cheek, along his jawline, and he presses into me as though seeking warmth and reassurance.

“We’ve got a lot to work out,” I say.

“I know, but we can. We can work everything out. I know that more than I’ve ever known anything.”

“Even more than loving me?”

He laughs, low and deep, that classic car purr that winds its way up my spine.

“Nothing could ever be more than loving you.”

He leans down and lays his lips on mine. The kiss is soft and gentle, almost reverent, but it’s also a promise of what we can and will be together.

From somewhere in the pile of my clothes at the bottom of the bed, my phone pings as a text drops in. I groan, knowing already what it is.

“I never got in touch with the estate agent…” I roll out of bed and rummage for my mobile.

Lots of texts, even a couple of missed calls, and I tap out a quick message: my situation’s changed… I’m withdrawing my offer… I won’t be relocating… I tap send and switch it off.Brighton, the bungalow, it’s like scraps of paper all scattering to the wind and I have no desire to chase them and gather them up.

Peeking through the curtains, I gasp.

“It’s snowing.” Fat flakes drift down, adding a layer to what’s already settled. All the houses in the small street are ablaze with festive decorations, bright and colourful beacons in the night sky. Christmas trees light up windows, festooned with softly glowing fairy lights. It’s a magical site, and I press my forehead to the cold glass.

“It’s beautiful,” James says as he joins me, coiling his arms around my waist. I lean back into his nakedness and he tightens his hold. “The tree arrived, it’s in the garden. I thought of giving it away…” I feel him shrug against me, as I hear the catch in his voice. I let my hand drop from the curtain, and twist around in his arms.

“I’m glad you didn’t. Tomorrow, we can bring it in and decorate it, just like we promised ourselves.”

“We can do all the things we promised ourselves. All of them.”

And we can, but the tree and all those promises, they can wait until the morning. For now, it’s nothing and nobody but us, locked away from the world.

Us, only us.

I crush my lips to James’ and kiss him hard. Tomorrow, when Operation Perry becomes Opearation Perry and James, can wait.

Taking James by the hand, I lead him back to the warmth of our bed.