Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(21)

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he answered, his heart hammering with happiness and relief as she smoothed her skirt and started to stand.

“No,” he said. “Don’t get up. I’ll sit.”

She settled back onto the marble step and he dropped his leather bag between them as a little wall, lest she worry he’d try to kiss her again. He didn’t want her to leave. Feeling almost as if these were borrowed moments, precious and rare, he didn’t want to do anything that might cut them short.

“So?” he asked, turning his face to hers once he was seated. “How’d it go?”

She smiled, then started laughing, and she looked so beautiful, his heart pounded and fluttered, making him breathless. She’d gotten the part, just like he’d known she would.

“You did it!” he exclaimed, beaming at her.

She nodded, looking up at him. “I did it.”

“They offered it to you on the spot?”

“Mm-hm,” she said, her grin splitting her face. She pushed her hair over her shoulder, and Preston’s fingers twitched, longing to feel the softness of it against his skin once again. “They said I was perfect. I guess I was the last audition of the day, so they could compare me to the rest of the actresses, and…”

“And you were the best.”

“The best for the part.” She shrugged. “I guess.”

“You guess,” he muttered, shaking his head at her modesty. “You got it, didn’t you?”

“I did. I’ll be Mattie Silver in Ethan Frome at Lincoln Center from June first to July thirtieth.”

“I’m happy for you, Elise,” he said, and he was, truly, but he was also confused by her sudden appearance. Twice now she’d told him to back off, and both times he’d lost concentration, lost focus, lost part of his sanity thinking about her. He didn’t know how many more times he could do this: put himself out there only to watch her walk away.

He glanced at her. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she said softly, looking straight ahead.

“I’m just...You were pretty clear with me on Sunday night that—”

“I know. I insisted we say goodbye.” Her smile faded and she bent her head, scratching the back of her neck and peeking at him through long brown lashes. She sighed, and he noticed the slight tremor of her breath as she exhaled. “The truth?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“While I was auditioning, I couldn’t… I mean, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’ve never had a muse, but…it was almost like you were there with me, Ethan to my Mattie.”

“Saddest story I ever read,” he said softly, wishing he could ease the fierce hammering of his heart as he processed her words.

“You finished it?”

“I had to find out what happened.” He paused, massaging his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. “Almost wish I hadn’t, though.”

“Because it was sad?”

“Because it made me miss you.”

She raised her eyes to his, and the nakedness he saw there, the truth born of struggle, took his breath away. He held her eyes, noticing her tongue dart out to lick her lips only peripherally, but his body tightened in response to the slight action.

“When I got the part,” she murmured, her blue eyes focused on his, “the only person I could think of…I just… the only person I wanted to tell…was you.”

His breath caught and he looked away from her to hide how much her words meant to him. He rested his hand on the top of his bag, his heart soaring when she took it, lacing her fingers through his.

“So I came here and made a deal with myself,” she continued. “I’d sit here and wait until closing, and if you walked down the steps, it meant…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that I’m supposed to give this a chance.”

“This,” he whispered, holding his breath.

“You and me.”

His heart thundered with excitement, but common sense intervened, refusing to let him throw caution entirely to the wind. “But the timing’s still shit.”

“Yep,” she agreed. “I’m about to be in my first real show, and you’re taking the bar in a few weeks.”

Unwilling to drop her hand, he reached over his body with his free hand, pushing his bag down to the next step and sliding closer to her, because he couldn’t bear having her so far away anymore.

“Then again, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he pointed out, “and you can’t stop thinking about me.”

She nodded, then scoffed softly and shook her head, giving up her internal struggle and letting her head fall wearily to his shoulder. Preston decided that the soft weight of her burdens resting gently on his destroyed shoulder was a pleasure, and he had a quick thought that that small, broken part of his body belonged to her now. She would always be welcome there—always, no matter what, for the rest of his life.

“Maybe we can…”

“…figure it out,” finished Preston, dropping her hand so her could put his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer.

“Yeah,” she said, sighing like she was done fighting something that had proven it wasn’t going away.