Ten Thousand Words (38 page)

“Good to see you, too, asshole,” he replied, giving me a quick hug.

“Are we taking Gabriella?” I asked.

“No. She can take a cab.”

“Great. Let’s go by Xanthe’s house first. If she’s not there, then we’ll check Ellen’s store and Rex’s pub.”

“Has she blocked your number again?”

“No, but all my calls are going straight to voice mail.”

Within thirty minutes, I was banging on her front door. Trey waited in the car for me, in case there was no answer—or worse.

Rex opened the door.

“Please, man,” I begged. “I have to see her.”

“You just can’t get this shit right, can you?” he drawled.

“So it would seem! Seriously, I didn’t ask for this. It was a huge misunderstanding, and no lie, a fucking setup. Gabriella—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping back and allowing me entrance. “We’ve all heard.”

“Shit, there’s nothing you fuckers hold back from each other, is there?” I grumbled. I kicked off my shoes and was about to sprint through the house, looking for her.

“She’s not here,” said Rex.

No shit, it felt as though the entire world had just dropped across my shoulders. I slumped against the wall and let out a huge breath. “Damn it. Where is she?”

“She’s staying at Jaime and Ricki’s tonight.”

“Why?”

“I think she just needs to figure some shit out for herself.”

Sliding down the wall, I sank to my arse in the hallway. Running my hands through my hair, I looked up at him. “Does she really think I could have done something like that to her? Cheat on her, I mean.”

Rex sighed and sat down, facing me. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why isn’t she even answering my texts?”

“She turned her phone off. She just needed to get away from all of it.”

“Where do Jaime and Ricki live?”

Rex shook his head. “Just give her a little time, okay?”

“What’s happened since I left?” I demanded. “For fuck’s sake, I was gone for three fucking days, and the damn world has fallen to shit! I
need
to know!”

Rex’s head dropped back against the wall. “George is back.”

My throat closed, and I could hardly get the air out to gasp, “What?”

“She saw him outside the bookstore as they were closing last night. He’s out. And she’s scared.”

By the time I made it home, I was shaking with rage and terror. Rex had assured me she was safe, staying at Ricki’s, but my Xanthe was out there scared and hurting, and refusing to speak with me. I was losing my fucking mind.

What does she need to figure out? Doesn’t she get that I’m in this, for better or worse?

Her hell was mine, and leaving me in the dark wasn’t going to do much more than give me a goddamn heart attack.

Rex had told me that guys were watching their house, Ellen’s, and Ricki and Jaime’s, and that a couple were tailing Xanthe at all hours. How Ricki had these resources was beyond me, but like I’d suspected earlier, I had the feeling that man was a hell of a lot more than a fucking tattooist.

With nothing more for me to do, I sat down at my computer and reviewed
Ten Thousand Words for Xanthe
. Seeing the ten photographs of her I had chosen and my reactions to them told me that, all of this, whatever I had to live through to be hers, would be worth it.

Everything inside me was screaming to go out and find her, demand that she stop acting like this. She was going into self-preservation mode. After seeing George and then that fucking picture of Whitney and me, she really
was
just trying to sort shit out for herself.

Well, she wouldn’t be doing it without me for long. I uploaded my labor of love onto my website and then onto my social media pages. Lastly, I posted it to her author page.

I was reaching out to her with all I had, hoping that all I had would be enough.

Xanthe

Ricki dropped Jaime and me off at the bookstore on Monday morning. The tattoo shop was closed on Mondays, and he was going to go snooping with a couple of his boys for info on George. Aunt Ellen wanted to sleep in, so I was happy for Jaime’s company.

As she went around, flipping on lights and putting the kettle on, I plugged in my laptop to start my usual morning posts and updates. Clicking on my author page, I was surprised to see one post from—

What the…

OLLIE FAIRFAX:
DONOVAN DID FIND HIS LINDSEY. SHE SHOWED HIM WHO HE TRULY IS, SO HE COULD SHOW THE WORLD WHAT WAS IN HIS HEART.

In the post was a link to his website with two photos—one of me laughing in Central Park and the other of him staring at something right above the camera or maybe beyond it. He had a slight shimmer in his eyes and a half-grin on his bearded face.

I clicked on the link, my heart racing a million miles a minute. What I saw made me gasp in shock.

TEN THOUSAND WORDS FOR XANTHE

Three weeks ago, I met a woman who changed my life. I literally barreled her over at the airport and destroyed her early morning cup of coffee—a triple-shot mocha latte, to be exact. She deeply mourned that cup, and I immediately dubbed her Coffee Junkie in my head.

Pulling her to her feet, I was irritated when she looked up at me and already knew my name.

Coffee Junkie ended up on my flight. Embarrassed for being such a jerk and knowing I would never forgive myself if I didn’t make amends, I moved seats to apologize to her.

At first, she was reserved, giving nothing of herself away. She admitted she knew of my photography, and I ended up talking her ear off the entire flight. I was enchanted with her, and every drop of information she gave me was somehow precious and not nearly enough.

It is fate. It has to be. Not one second since the moment I knocked her to the ground and the coffee out of her hand have I been able to stop thinking about her. When I’m with her, my life is nothing but light and joy. When I cannot be by her side, I’m dreaming of when I can be once more.

I nearly lost her, and for a whole week, I all but went insane. When all I had left of her were these photos and the brief memories we had created, I knew I had to tell her how I felt.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

I chose my ten absolute favorite photographs of her to share and captured ten thousand words of my own emotions to show her how much she truly means to me. Each photograph of myself is my reaction to seeing the photo it is paired with.

My heart is now free, for it is hers.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my shaking hand coming up to cover my mouth.

At some point, Jaime had snuck up behind me and read the statement above the photos for herself.

“Holy shit,” she said, breathless. “Xanthe…”

Most of the photos of me were those taken in Central Park—
hell, there’s one of me with half of a hot-dog hanging out of my damn mouth!
—with the last two of me at the Manhattan signing, all dressed up.

But those weren’t the photos that had me bawling my eyes out. The ones of Oliver…he looked torn between immense elation and being utterly destroyed. He was smiling and weeping in most of them and flat-out laughing at the hot-dog one. I was stunned by the wealth of emotions pouring out of him. The last one, he had his face buried in his hands, his shoulders hunched over, positively overcome.

“Jaime—”

“Yeah. No shit. Get the fuck out of here. I’ll tell Ricki.”

Throwing on my jacket, I exploded out of the bookstore, realizing I had no idea where to find him. It was a little past ten in the morning. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I switched it on—
damn, that’s a lot of missed calls
—and pushed autodial.

“Xanthe?” he answered.

“Wh-where are y-you?” I stuttered, wiping my runny nose on my jacket cuff like a four-year-old.

“Are you okay? What—”

“Where are you?” I half-yelled.

“At the studio! Love, are you all right?”

“I’m coming to see you,” I said. “Please don’t go anywhere!” I hung up and started running.

Hopefully, the henchmen Ricki had tailing me weren’t out of shape because I was hauling arse, as I had never hauled arse before.

Ten minutes later, sweating and winded outside of FairFawkes Studio, I leaned against the building, trying to catch my breath. Once the stitch in my side dulled and I stopped wheezing, I pushed myself off and opened the door.

Inside was a handsome reception area with a desk where a cute pudgy brunette was sitting in front of a computer.

Trey was behind her, pointing something out on the screen, when he looked up and saw me. “Good God, are you all right?”

I nodded, still panting slightly. “Oliver?”

Trey smiled.
Damn, he’s a good-looking fellow.
No wonder Rex was all over that shit.

“Up the stairs. His office is on the left.”

I nodded again and took off. I found the door to his office easily enough. It had his name on it and was cracked open. I didn’t bother to knock but burst into the room.

Oh my God, I’ve missed him!

Seeing him sitting there, at his desk, I ached to throw myself at him. He slowly stood up, looking so tired and sad but so heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, alarmed now.

“No,” I replied. I was trying so hard to hold it together.

“What…” He sucked in a deep breath.

“I saw it. Your
Ten Thousand Words…
”

Dressed in slacks, a white button-down shirt, and—
God help me
—suspenders, Oliver came around his desk
.
His beard was looking fantastic—hell, I was dying to stick my nose in it and get a good whiff—and his hair had been recently trimmed and styled.

“Damn, you look good,” popped out of my mouth.

He smiled, and my knees went rubbery.

“You saw it?”

I nodded. “I think it’s gone viral.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“I…you…wow.” I had to look at his feet because if I kept looking into his eyes, I was either going to melt into a puddle of lady ooze or incinerate. “You were stunning, Oliver,” I told his left boot. “The emotions you captured…it gutted me.”

His boots were getting closer. My pits and tits were swamping.

“What did you read from it?” he asked, his deep voice gone husky.

“I…there was just so much. You looked so
devastated
.”

“I was,” he said softly.

He was so close. I could smell that aerosol heroin goodness wafting from his damn beard. I couldn’t help but look up into his eyes again.

“I love you, Xanthe.”

My whole face started leaking. As his arms wrapped around me, I was sobbing my heart out, blubbering all over his nice shirt.

“I’m sorry!” I wailed, my hands fisting into the fabric. “I was so angry—”

“Shh…” he whispered. “I would have been, too, if the situation were reversed.”

He simply held me and gently swayed us, kissing the top of my head, stroking my hair. That woodsy-minty scent lulled me into a nearly drugged state of mind.

“Love?”

“Hmm?” I grunted pleasantly in reply.

“I’m flying to London. I have to leave,” he said, pressing another kiss in my hair.

I pulled back, panicked. “How long will you be gone?”

“Just some hours. I’ll be back this evening.”

“Oh…”

Taking my face in his hands, his thumbs stroked over the tearstains on my cheeks. “I’d love to stay the night with you.”

I nodded. “Yes. Hell yes!” I cried as I threw my arms around his shoulders, holding on with all I had. “I’m sorry I wrecked your shirt.”

His arms wrapped around me and squeezed tight. “I’d very much like to kiss you, Xanthe.”

When I tilted my face up and closed my eyes, he kissed my brow, and I inhaled deeply in the hopes of keeping that scent lingering in my nostrils.

“Walk out with me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I sighed.

He shrugged into a dapper-looking coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Then, he shouldered a black suede man-bag. Taking my hand, he led the way out, down the stairs, and outside. Trey was already waiting in the car.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” Oliver said, releasing my hand and opening the car door.

I nodded. He was about to get in when I realized something.

“Oliver?”