Since You Happened by Holly Hall
Chapter 30
September
I smile fondly at the photo of Haley, Arielle and I, our faces smiling and tanned, and I run a thumb over the Colosseum in the background. It had been a sweltering day in Rome, but that didn’t stop us from setting out early and staying out all day long to explore. I peer closer and make out the double middle finger Arielle’s brandishing above mine and Haley’s heads. Typical. It’s a wonderful moment, suspended in time, our happiness leaping from the page. I turn to the album cover and place it in the very front.
We spent half of August traveling from city to city through four different European countries, accumulating a lifetime of memories. We made unlikely friends with an elderly doctor at a London pub, danced embarrassingly at a Scotch distillery in Scotland, got lost more times than I can count on the snaking, canal-side paths of Venice, and walked miles through museums in Paris. Somewhere along the way, it was like I was dunked into a vat of ice water and reawakened from a deep sleep. I feel like I’ve been living with a blindfold on, only allowing a few of my senses to experience the world. Now when people say they’ve caught the travel bug, I understand why, because how can you ever be satisfied with confining yourself to one city when there’s a million places, and billions of other people, begging to be seen?
I took over a thousand photographs to try and capture the essence of what my eyes were seeing, but a photograph doesn’t encompass the noise and the smells and the feel of a live city. Still, I printed the best ones and committed to organizing them in a scrapbook so I can remind myself what it was like to wake up every day filled with the sole purpose of exploration and discovery. I’m not going to go so far as to say a whole new version of myself has come out on the other side of this situation, but I feel immeasurably thankful to have a fresh perspective.
More importantly, this awakening couldn’t have come at a better time. There’s nothing like immersing yourself into foreign cultures for two weeks to help you get over spotting your ex with his new flame. When I saw the girl over at Landon’s place, it felt like a trapdoor had dropped out from beneath my feet. I never expected him to move on so quickly, but the ease with which he and the girl related to each other made it clear that what I was seeing wasn’t just the casual meet-up of two friends. I don’t mean to be overdramatic, but there was a history there—one that I don’t think he was completely honest with me about. Sure, I omitted things, but he could’ve at least admitted he’d been seeing someone when he showed up at my place of work to make amends.
I tried to keep my discovery from Haley and Arielle, but I’m generally way more easygoing than the crabby bitch I turned into in the weeks leading up to our trip in August. With the frequent reoccurrence of my unpredictable mood swings, they knew something was up. So naturally, I told them everything.
Arielle just stared at me wide-eyed, unable to picture Landon in the situation I was describing, but Haley, always the reasonable one of the bunch, immediately jumped in with possible explanations. She suggested that it could have been his sister, before I explained that he only has a brother, and his brother doesn’t have magnificent, platinum locks. We considered the coworker excuse, thinking she could’ve been another photographer from the paper, helping him with his assignment, but I remembered their closeness and knew with a certainty that Landon would not allow a mere colleague into his personal space so easily, even if she did look like a silver-haired queen.
I take a break to have a glass of wine, and as I’m wrestling a resistant cork from the bottle, there’s a knock at the door. I don’t have many visitors who show up unexpectedly at my apartment, and the last time someone did—ahem, Paul—it basically ruined my life for a few months, so the sound is ominous.
I pop onto my tiptoes to peer through the peephole, and all I see is a mess of thick, tawny hair. My visceral reaction is so strong it surprises me; my breath catches in my throat, and my pulse seems to speed up and slow down at the same time. I drop back onto my heels and place my forehead against the door, like I did so long ago when the sight of Landon bearing a bouquet of lilies was almost too much for my head to process.
Don’t be a coward.
I open the door, and Landon’s eyes spring up from where they were trained on the floor. They are flooded with relief.
“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” I say, resting the bottle of wine on my hip. I didn’t mean for my voice to be edged in ice, but I won’t apologize for it.
His brow furrows when he catches the frostiness of my tone. “To be fair, you didn’t. I promised I would, but . . . it’s been months.”
“I know how long it’s been.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
I can already feel the effects of his gravitational pull without him even entering my apartment. His hair is short again, though the top is just long enough that it’s starting to curl. I remember all too clearly how it felt between my fingers. I think of someone else running their hands through it and it makes me feel a little woozy. The stubble I always loved, though present, is neatly trimmed. I notice the black camera bag slung over his shoulder and conclude that he just came from a job—yet another reminder of the last time I saw him.
At my silence, he leans against the doorframe. “Come somewhere with me.”
I frown. “You can’t just command a normal person to come with you somewhere,” I state with indignation.
He smirks, and something inside of me melts a little. “You are far from normal, Blake, but so am I. Now, I’m on an assignment and I need an assistant. It’s kind of a big deal.”
He needs an assistant. Funny. I drum my fingers against the glass of the bottle, inspect my nails, try to keep my eyes focused on anything but the delectable, yet infuriating, male form that’s leaning inside of my apartment right now.
“Did I imagine it when you said you loved me two months ago?” he prompts, leaning on his forearm against the doorjamb. He’s so close our breaths mix between us.
Two months ago. It feels like everything has changed, but much is still the same. Everything I felt is still present, somehow unaffected by what I witnessed at his apartment.
“That was before you left your apartment with your arms around the silver queen.” Throughout the conversation, we haven’t left my doorframe, so my neighbors can probably hear every word of what we’re saying, but I don’t care.
“The silver queen?” He seems genuinely puzzled. Cute.
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch on.
“Wait . . . Lindsey?”
“Or Peewee, whichever you’re more comfortable with.” Apparently I’ve been gripping the neck of the bottle harder than I thought I was, because when I flex my fingers, the joints ache.
He emits a short laugh, running his hand through his hair before his shoulders relax. “That’s what she was talking about when she said she thought she recognized you,” he says. “Look, I’ll explain everything, but can I at least come in? You know how Karen feels about me.” His eyes dart to Karen’s door, which has miraculously stayed shut throughout this entire exchange. During one of our more . . . passionate moments, Karen came banging on the door and yelled at Landon for five straight minutes while he covered himself with only a throw pillow.
My shoulders slump. As much as I want to stand firm and make sure I’m not being played, I know Landon isn’t the type to explain so easily. And if I’m not going to get any wine-drinking done tonight, I at least want to set this bottle down. I leave my doorway and go into the kitchen to drop it off, before facing Landon, bracing myself for his explanation.
“Just to put it out there—Lindsey is my cousin.”
A retort is ready on my lips before I process what he just said. I close my eyes. What? I try to remember everything about that day to see if there was anything that could be deemed un-cousinly about their exchange.
He leans back against the opposite counter, his arms crossed, watching me with . . . amusement? “Yeah. My dad’s sister’s daughter. Here.” He pulls out his phone and swipes through it a few times before passing it to me, showing me the social media account of one “Lindsey Farrar.” Her platinum locks are immediately recognizable, as well as her apparent relationship status, as I can see from a photo captured mid-makeout with a blonde boy who looks nothing like Landon.
“Peewee is Lindsey?” I ask, slightly ashamed, and Landon gives me a satisfied smirk.
“Yes. She’s a junior photography major and spends all her time pestering me to take her along on jobs.”
Everything clicks into place. The familiarity with which he slung his arm across her shoulder, the fond nicknames. I try not to show how relieved and slightly ashamed I am. “How did she recognize me?”
“I have a few photos of you, and she really enjoys prying.”
I tilt my head. I can’t even remember him taking any photos of me. “I was so mad at you.”
He doesn’t try to get any closer, but he raises his chin confidently with a hint of a teasing grin on his lips. “So I hear. And now you’re not?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
At that, he crosses the space between us in my tiny kitchen and slowly brings a hand up, fitting it just behind my ear as his thumb grazes the line of my jaw. My breath snags in my throat. “Come somewhere with me.”
I won’t make him ask a third time. I swallow so my voice won’t tremble. How can he still have this effect on me after so many months? “Fine. But don’t assume this is a date.”
His dimple appears beneath his stubble, and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dare.”
I edge past him to the entry hall to gather my things, then pause in place. I’m still wearing the tank top and sweatpants I’ve been scrapbooking in, and they’re not the cute kind of sweatpants. “Anything I should know about this place? Should I be wearing special attire?”
“Not where we’re going. It will be pretty empty. You could wear your Christmas pajamas if you really wanted to.”
The last time I wore those pajamas was when he disappeared from my life for seven months. But that’s not going to happen again. I feel sure of it, now. I grab my keys, and we walk out into the hallway together.
I follow Landon down to where his car is waiting in a parking spot on the street, keeping a healthy distance between us. We climb into the car, but I don’t ask where we’re going, as I’ll soon be finding out. The music is on low—a country song that reminds me of the night we spent laughing and dancing at Mallory’s wedding—and I hum softly as I watch the lights of the city pass. We cut west for a few minutes, through downtown. Landon pulls into a space and I step out, dwarfed by the buildings rising into the inky-black sky around us.
I follow Landon, still unsure of our ultimate destination, and we approach the enormous Hyatt Regency hotel, glowing with light from what looks to be a million windows. He holds the door open for me, and I walk through to the lobby, immediately feeling underdressed amid the smartly-clad guests—still milling around despite the late hour—and all the gleaming surfaces.
“I thought you said it would be empty,” I hiss, my cheeks flaming.
“Where we’re going will be. Don’t worry about it, you look . . . perfect,” he assures me with a slow grin.
I narrow my eyes at him, still unwilling to admit he’s so easily gotten back to my good side. I walk as quietly as possible in my cheap flip-flops across the tile floor until I realize I don’t know where I’m going. Landon’s hand drops automatically to my lower back, and he herds me over to the elevator bank.
“How high are we going?” I ask, eyeing the buttons.
He pushes the button for the twenty-seventh floor, settling back against the wall opposite from me. I keep my distance as the elevator ascends, my eyes drifting over to him every so often, and each time I catch a glimpse of him, he’s baldly looking back at me. It’s unnerving.
“What?” I ask irritably, for good measure.
“It’s been a while,” he says simply.
“It has. Though I saw you more recently that you last saw me.”
“Yes, that.” His eyes drop, and he smiles at the ground. “I think I was going to . . .”
“Hipster Fest,” I finish for him. “Brayden told me.”
“Brayden?” he asks, his forehead creasing with confusion.
“I was determined to tell you that I was still in love with you. I stopped by the bookstore first.”
He opens his mouth to speak again, but the elevator pings, and we exit before a rowdy group of middle-agers piles in behind us. He strides confidently ahead of me towards a restaurant, just as an employee is closing the door.
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re closed,” the man says with an apologetic grin. I look over at Landon in question, but he just nods kindly.
“I’m meeting with Ralph. I’m the photographer,” Landon explains, shifting his camera bag around so it’s visible.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Farrar? I am the assistant manager, Juan. I’m sorry to say that Ralph is not here tonight.”
Landon grimaces. “Damn. He said he would be here to meet me and that it would be no problem if I came back. I have just a few more photos to take for this month’s dining section.”
The man’s eyes flick over to me, and I give him a tight-lipped grin.
“My assistant,” Landon explains, lifting his shoulder in my direction.
“Hi,” I stiffly offer my hand, and the man shakes it after just a moment’s hesitation.
“I’ll just give him a call. Maybe we can set up some other time.” Landon half-turns, as if to leave, but the man holds up a hand to stop him.
“It’s okay. We’re just cleaning up, but you are welcome to take your pictures.”
Landon turns his charming grin in my direction, and just like that, we’re given access to a swanky dining area with lounge spaces designated by low-slung leather sofas. But it’s not the sleek décor that draws my eye—it’s that every outer wall consists of nothing but glass that offers unobstructed views of the city.
I walk through a seating area, coming to a stop at the wall of windows where my nose almost touches the glass. From my vantage point, the city stretches before me in all directions, a breathtaking carpet of lights glittering up until the point where the dark forms of the mountains take over. The Rockies are difficult to make out in the dark, but I imagine that the beauty of the view is magnified ten-fold in the light of day.
I feel a presence at my side and turn to Landon, looking down at his unopened bag. “Don’t you have photos to take?”
“Oh, yeah.” He takes out his camera and removes the lens cap, pretending to mess with the settings, though his eyes remain steady on mine. I tilt my head, puzzled.
“I already have all the photos I need,” he admits in a murmur. “I wasn’t even supposed to meet Ralph tonight.”
“So what are we doing here?” I look back through the window, tracing the neighboring skyscrapers with my eyes.
“What, indeed?” When he says nothing more, I glance back to him. His eyebrows are raised, his face the picture of mischief.
“You did this to make me swoon over you!” I place my hands on my hips in indignation.
“That depends. Is it working?”
Though I try to keep a straight face, the corner of my mouth inadvertently tilts upward. “A little. Why haven’t I ever been here?” I look back out at the twinkling lights of Denver. In all my years in the city, I never knew I was missing out on dining with a view like this. Then again, this place feels very romantic, and up until a year ago, I didn’t have anyone I would’ve wanted to experience it with.
“Maybe because it’s a hotel. But everyone should come to this restaurant at least once.”
“Didn’t want to take me to dinner first, Farrar?” I tease.
The smile drops from his face, and I wonder if I’ve said something wrong until he tucks a stray hair behind my ear before his hand comes to rest at the nape of my neck. “It just wouldn’t have had the same . . . feel.”
I close my eyes against the cadence of his voice, overwhelmed by the drag of feelings threatening to pull me out to a tumultuous sea. “I think you’re right. This is much more us.”
“Us?” he asks, and when I open my eyes a smidge, one of his eyebrows is raised.
“That’s what you came here for, right? To make you and I an us?”
His hand grazes over my shoulder and down my arm to my hand, where his fingers slide through mine. “I know I promised to give you time, but, well, I know how stubborn you are. I knew that conversation wasn’t where our story ended, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t holding out for any other reason.”
I bite the inside of my cheek against my impending protest, knowing that, yes, I am stubborn, and yes, I was holding out for another reason.
“Landon . . . are you sure this is what you want?” I know I’m probably sounding repetitive, but with everything my heart has been through in the past year, I’m not sure I can subject it to much more.
“You’re asking me if I’m sure? For months, all I’ve been thinking about is how I want to sit on your floor and eat Thai, and make out on your couch, and make Karen angry. I want to wear funny pajamas and argue over Christmas trees. I want you to drink all my coffee so we can go get more together and end up lost down an alley trying to take a shortcut. I want to meet your family,” he says, bringing his hands up to cup my cheeks.
Despite all my efforts to stay strong, tears shine in my eyes and my knees feel like they’ve lost their strength. “Do you still have your stripy pajamas?”
He fights a smile, nodding slowly. “Still.”
“And you want to meet David and Emma?”
“If David doesn’t want to kill me for hurting his daughter.”
“Okay.” My answer is quiet, but he’s watching me so intently I know he can see my lips form the word.
He draws me close, but he pauses before his lips meet mine. “So . . .you said you were determined to tell me you were still in love with me.”
I glance up into his insistent gaze, my heartbeat stuttering. “I am still in love with you,” I breathe, and finally, he kisses me. It might not be the most passionate kiss we’ve shared, but it’s by far the most intimate. Everything we haven’t said in six months is communicated by our lips, our escaped sighs, our hands clinging to each other so fiercely it will be difficult to ever let go.
Landon draws back, putting just a few inches of space between us.
“We’re doing this?” he asks, an irresistible grin gracing his face.
“We’re doing this,” I confirm.
“All finished, sir?” Juan’s voice interrupts our moment, hiding his impatience with false-brightness.
Landon leans in again to where his mouth grazes my ear, and he whispers, “Not even close.”