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“He’s about to walk through these doors,” she continues. “It’s like he’s risen from the dead.”
My stomach nearly hollows out as he steps off the airplane, refusing to look at the swarm of cameras flashing around him.
His hair is long and wild, which puts a smile on my face. He’s amazingly sexy and strong, as I knew he would be. His facial hair makes him look closer to thirty than twenty.
My heart fills as I stare at him, longing for him. I’m holding so much tension that I don’t even realize tears are streaming down my face until a teardrop falls into my mouth.
With determination, the reporter moves closer and forcefully places a microphone an inch from his face. His eyes are cold and unyielding, staring directly into the camera as if piercing through the screen and into my soul. As if saying, “I see you, London.”
The butterflies in my belly flap their silent wings, making my body sing. The physical reaction I have to this man, even after my vow to never let anyone touch me again, is unsurprising.
My mom wraps her arm around my back as we stare at the screen. I flinch at her touch like I always do. “Jesus, is that him, honey?”
My breath hitches, and I dare not to take my eyes off him for even a moment, should this be another one of my dreams.
“How did he manage to survive out there for so long by himself?” she asks incredulously. She’s heard so much about Micah and Maison that she feels like she knows them.
I laugh to myself, thinking of Micah out there all alone, thriving. “Because it’s Micah, Mom. Everything he does is a miracle.”
The camera zooms on him again as he pushes through the crowd, and the weight of the world drops off my shoulders. It’s as if seeing him again was the trigger I needed to heal. The warmth he brings me is my cure, despite the chills in my bones from when he wrecked me.
The icy absence of feeling in my fingers.
“Well, I’ll give it to you, honey. He’s incredibly cute. I get what you see in him.”
The world might be watching him, and everyone will want a piece of him, but he’s mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
At least, I think he is…
“I have something for you back at the house,” she whispers, watching the melting pot of emotion pour out of me.
My brows narrow. “What is it?”
She bites her lip, looking suspicious. “Don’t be mad at me… I really didn’t think you would want to go.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“The town is finally hosting a wake for the deceased. They started planning it when Micah was declared dead.” I heard about this—the lack of closure and open wounds. The town didn’t feel it was right to hold one until Micah was found. I guess it’s time to grieve.
“Your father sent me the invitation. London, with the way you’ve been acting, I didn’t want to upset you.”
Leave it to Micah Matei to return in time to crash his own funeral.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” I ask as we settle into our seats, the weight and darkness of my thoughts returning.
That would be incredibly painful. And realistically, what should I expect? For him to sweep me off my feet and marry me like he promised? We were out of our minds when he asked me. That was then, and this is now. Everything is different.
I’m broken…
“He will, sweetie. I promise you that he will. You’ll find a way back to each other.”
“When is the wake?” I ask.
She swallows hard, studying me like I’m a fragile flower ready to crumble in the wind. “It’s next weekend.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t have gone. I’m not ready to face that town. I never believed Micah was dead, and I’ve already come to terms with Maison’s death. In fact, I spent a good, solid month in therapy dealing with Maison. It’s Micah that I can’t seem to process.
