Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(74)

I hit 'talk,' praying that she isn't pissed and hoping like hell that maybe she just didn't see my text because she was busy putting Max to bed. Her phone rings several times and then goes to voicemail. I hang up, immediately hitting 'talk' again. Nothing.

"Hey, babe," I say when her voicemail picks up the second time. "I'm so sorry I overslept, but I'm on my way now. I'll be there in about…“ I glance at the clock, “…thirty minutes. Do me a favor, will you? If Max is still awake, will you keep him up so I can see him before bed? Okay. Love you. See you soon."

Ending the call, I toss my phone on to the passenger seat and growl in disappointment. The thirty-minute drive feels more like an hour, and when I pull up to her house, I nearly sprint to the front door. A week or so ago she told me that I didn't have to knock before entering, but this situation feels a little different and I'm praying that she doesn't want to take my head off as soon as she sees me. Her house looks dark, but I can see a lamp on through the front window. I knock twice softly, just in case Max is already in bed. Then, I wait…and wait…and nothing. What the hell?

Digging my phone out of my pocket, I call hers again. I can hear my ringtone through the front door, but she doesn't answer so I hang up.

"Harley? Baby? I know you're in there," I say, knocking a few more times. "Please open up,” I plead, hoping I didn't totally f*ck things up. "I'm so sorry I overslept. Please don't be mad." Threading my fingers through my hair, I pace the length of her porch a few more times, trying to decide what the hell I should do. I peek in her window—nothing. The damn curtains are in the way.

My forehead falls to the front of her door in pure self-loathing and exasperation. What the f*ck am I going to—

The front light porch flickers on and I hear the lock on the door click. The heavy wood creaks open just a bit, and Harley peeks around the corner. She's rubbing her eyes as though I woke her up and her hair is piled on top of her head. As always, she looks sexy as hell. Her hand stills and her eyes widen with something that isn't shock—relief maybe?—before she opens the door wide.

"Tyson," she exhales, looking down at her pink cotton pants. "I, uh, I didn't think you were coming." Forget the pants, Harley’s wearing a white tank top that doesn't leave anything to the imagination. When she registers what she's wearing, she tugs self-consciously on her shirt, covering up the sliver of skin that was peeking out above her waistband. My hand itches to reach out and put it back where it was.

She clears her throat and I drag my eyes to hers. She opens the door further in invitation, and I slide past her. "Did you get my text?" I ask, taking her hand in mine. I walk over to the couch and pull her down with me.

She shakes her head, causing a piece of her hair to fall around her face. I tuck it behind her ear, letting my knuckles graze the side of her cheek before I pull away. "No," she says, her body trembling with the contact. "I didn't get it. I think I fell asleep waiting for you."

"I'm so sorry I'm late. My phone alarm was set to wake me up at six, but I left it in the living room and didn't hear it go off." She rests a hand on my chest, instantly calming my nerves. "I texted you as soon as I woke up and headed straight here."

Pulling her hand to my mouth, I kiss each of her knuckles, thankful that this amazingly kind and wonderful woman is mine.

Mine.

"When you didn't reply, I thought for sure you were pissed at me." Her eyes drop to our hands and she takes a shuddery breath.

"No…” she says, climbing out of my lap, "not mad." My body shivers at the loss of her heat, and I stand to follow her when she walks toward the kitchen. "Would you like a drink?" she asks, not turning to look at me.

"No, I—" Everything comes to a complete halt when I step into the kitchen and take in the scene in front of me. I'm speechless. I don't deserve her. If there is one thing I know, it's that she can do so much f*cking better than me. My eyes find hers and she looks away sheepishly. Her hands are twisting around the bottle of water she's holding and she makes a move to step away, but my arm shoots out, stopping her.

"This is for me?" I ask, my voice full of emotion and disbelief. She nods once but still won't look at me.

A lacy white cloth runs the length of the table. There are two plates, right next to each other, both overflowing with heaps of steak, potatoes, and vegetables. There are two wine glasses, one full and one empty, and the sight alone causes a small piece of my heart to crack. Sitting atop two glass stands in the middle of the table are two no-longer-lit pillar candles with wax dripping off the sides. Another fissure in my heart. I’m not sure how much more the damn thing can take.

One long stride and I’m cupping Harley's face gently in my hands, tilting it up to mine. "You did all of this…for me?" My voice is full of wonder because no one has ever done anything like this for me before. She nods again and I slam my mouth down on hers, claiming her with a fiery passion I didn't even know I had in me. Blood starts rushing through my ears as my body temperature rises, and only when I'm breathless do I pull away gently, continuing to pepper her swollen lips with kisses.

"I'm so sorry." Kiss. "I don't deserve you." Kiss. "Please forg—"