Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(13)

“Ethan Frome,” she said with longing, holding the flowers to her chest and closing her eyes dramatically as she let the back of her head rest against the smooth bark of the tree. “Can you imagine?”

“I can. And I’ll buy the first ticket on your opening night.”

“Promise?” she asked, peeking at him through one eye.

“I do,” he answered solemnly.

Her other eye opened and she lowered her chin, staring back at him intently, the way he might look at something he wanted, but couldn’t have. Her voice was soft and wistful when she said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Then?”

“On opening night, I mean.” She gestured to the stoop across the street from her tree. “This is me. Home. My apartment building.”

“Oh.” Preston looked up at the shabby, nondescript brownstone painted a dull, peeling goldish color. He felt sorry—incredibly sorry—to have to say goodbye to her. He wasn’t ready to watch her walk away.

“Thank you again for the flowers,” she said stepping away from the tree.

“Of course, but, I—”

“And thank you for walking me home.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’d like…I mean, Elise, wait—”

***

“Mr. Winslow,” she interrupted, turning to face him from the bottom step. She swallowed over the sudden and unexpected lump in her throat, and ignored the painful squeeze of her heart. “I have to get ready for the biggest audition of my life in three days…and you have two bar exams to study for. The timing’s just…”

“…shit,” he finished softly.

She nodded. “I was going to say ‘not good,’ but ‘shit’ works too.”

“So this is goodbye,” he said.

“I think it needs to be,” she said regretfully, hoping she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, palming the back of his neck as he stared at her, and she somehow knew that his brain was trying to figure out an alternate solution. When he dropped his hand listlessly to his side and sighed, she knew he’d been unsuccessful.

“It was lovely to meet you, Elise Klassan.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Preston Winslow.”

He held out his hand, and she braced herself before clasping it. She knew her palm would fit against his like their hands had been made to hold one another, and she knew it would weaken her resolve to say goodbye. She reached forward and his hand met hers, joined with hers, melted into hers, warm and strong, pumping gently before letting go too soon.

“Until we meet again,” he said, his intense green eyes seizing hers for a long moment before he turned quickly on his heel and walked away.

Elise watched him until she couldn’t see him anymore, and only when he was finally out of sight did she realize they never actually said goodbye.





Chapter 4


Preston walked the remaining thirty blocks to his apartment feeling a little dazed and not at all himself. He’d just found and lost the most amazing girl in the world, all within the course of an hour.

He’d never felt this way before, never experienced this painful pull in his heart to return to the place he’d left her and throw pebbles at her window until she came back downstairs. Preston had believed himself a pretty smooth operator before tonight, but he’d been leveled by a farm girl from upstate New York. How had it happened? And why?

She was beautiful, yes. But after walking with her and talking with her, he was fairly certain that her beauty was enhanced by something inside of her. It made her eyes shine and softened her face, it sweetened her smile and made her words sincere. There was an authenticity about her, a purity that appealed to him. She wasn’t over-eager or grabby with him. If anything, she was more reserved than most of the women he knew, which made him long for the thrill of chasing her, deserving her, belonging to her. It was completely absurd after an acquaintance of sixty minutes, but he couldn’t help it and he wondered…

Can your whole life change in sixty minutes? Can you say goodbye forever to someone wonderful just because the timing’s bad? Can your head force your heart to move on when it clamors for more wet-sidewalk, misty evening, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other magic?

It was times like these that Preston sorely wished his mother lived in the States and not London, where it was three o’clock in the morning. Or—if he was truly honest with himself—it was times like these that Preston longed desperately for his father: a man who had deeply loved a woman. A man who’d listen and give him advice and wouldn’t make fun of his sudden and intense feelings.

But his mother was in London. And his father was long gone. Brooks, his oldest brother, was in South Africa training the national team for their first bid as the America’s Cup challenger, not that he would have been much help. His nomad ways hadn’t left much room for a girlfriend over the past few years. That left Cameron, who was hot-headed and apt to piss off Preston more than help him, Jessica, who was just a kid, or Christopher, who was Preston’s youngest brother, but also the most sensitive of the bunch.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Christopher’s number.

“Pres?”

“Yeah.”