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Months away and hours on the plane, and it was her address—rather than his own—that he plugged into the QuickRide app.
He wasn’t even sure she’d be home.
Still, there he was, duffle in hand, ringing her buzzer.
“Elliot. You’re back.” They were two separate statements. Two separate questions. And together contained his world. She hadn’t invited him in yet. But she would.
“I am.”
She looked from him to the duffle bag still slung over his shoulder and back again. “You . . . don’t need to go home first?”
“I’m where I need to be.” He adjusted the strap of his bag.
She stepped aside, wordlessly inviting him in. He’d known she would.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked. This was where he needed to be, so she was going to ensure he felt welcomed; it was that simple. They were that simple.
“Coffee’s fine.” She nodded in acknowledgment, popping a pod into the machine, and let it run.
It had become a game of waiting. They were always good at waiting. It was the after where things got hard. He was going to make sure this time it worked though.
“Two sugars, no cream?” She held up the mug and he nodded. Her order changed with the times and the seasons; his was permanent.
She handed him the mug wordlessly and joined him on the couch. She turned, tucking her legs under her and he saw what he knew was already there—The compass at her neck.
The coffee was so hot it nearly scalded his throat on the way down, but he continued to drink, needing to borrow time against the silence. Finally, it grew to be too much. “Thank you,” he said simply, and set the mug down. “Thank you, Liv,” he repeated, needing to add the intimacy of her name to it, as though somehow that, alone, would lay claim to her.
“You’re welcome.” There was a heavy, unspoken ellipsis in the way she said it. He wasn’t even sure if she was aware of it. You’re welcome, but why the fuck did you show up on my doorstep with a duffle bag instead of going back to your own house first?
“I like your necklace.” He smiled and appreciated the way her hand went up unconsciously to play with the pendant.
“Thanks,” she answered. “It was a gift from . . . someone that means a lot to me.”
He licked his lips, testing and sampling encyclopedias’ worth of words in search of just the right ones, needing to preserve the moment in amber.
“It suits you.” He reached out to trace the line of the chain, her skin hot under his touch. “I missed you.”
He saw her take a breath, and time seemed to extend in the moment until she spoke. “I missed you, too.”
She took another breath, licking her lips, her eyes wide as she asked what he'd known was coming. “Why did you come here?”
“I needed to see you.” He traced the line of her necklace again. “It’s been too long.” Too long, in so many ways.
“Yes,” she agreed. There was an edge to her voice, and she reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. “You grew your beard back.”
“I could shave it.” He would do pretty much anything at this point; she need only ask.
She shook her head. “I’m getting used to it.” He wasn’t. The sensation of his fingers on his face yet another thing he’d needed; yet another thing he’d missed from the far too few times he’d experienced it.
And then her lips were on his, leaning over him with her pendant hitting him gently, rhythmically in the chest as she sighed contentedly against him. This was why he’d come here. This was where he belonged.