What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(101)

Our breaths evened out as the soreness between my legs made itself known, but I smiled at it this time, at the memory of how it came to be. We’d only just finished, and I already felt that energy sparking to life again, my hips rolling of their own accord, clit rubbing against the heat of Reese’s thigh. I moaned, pulling him into me, and something between a growl and a laugh left his throat.

“Woman,” he murmured against my neck.

I chuckled, kissing his forehead. “Mm?”

“Don’t give me that innocent ‘mm’,” he said, wrapping his arms around me tighter to hold me still. “Recovery. I need ten minutes. You forget, I’m an old man.”

“Fine, but I’m setting a mental alarm.”

Reese laughed, shaking his head before he rolled on a groan, balancing his head on one hand so he could look down at me. His smile slipped, that crease I loved so much making its presence known. I reached up to trace it, tapping his nose before I let my hand fall again.

We watched each other for the longest time — fingertips tracing, hearts beating steady, bodies finding warmth and comfort under those sheets. Reese’s eyes skated over every inch of my face, like he was memorizing where each freckle was, and he shook his head.

“What?” I asked on a whisper.

He shook his head again. “I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re mine, that we’re here, that this is happening.”

“Are we crazy to do this?”

“Do what?”

I reached up to brush his hair back, swallowing. “This. Moving to New York. Without a plan. Without anything but each other.”

Reese smiled, leaning down to press his lips to mine before he propped his head up again. “Maybe. But if the one thing we do have is each other, I think the odds of us making it are pretty high.”

“Yeah?” I asked, smile mirroring his own.

Reese nodded, framing my chin as his eyes searched mine. “I’d bet everything I own on us.”

“Me and you against the world, huh?”

His smile doubled at that. “I like the sound of that. What do you think?”

I threaded my arms around his neck, pulling him down into me for a long, tender kiss. And in that moment, I knew without a doubt that I would do the same. If anyone could make it, if anyone could defy all the odds and somehow emerge even stronger on the other side, it was us.

It was him, the broken man too bruised to feel, too scared to love, who somehow found a home in me.

It was me, the scarred woman too afraid to trust, too busted up to believe, who somehow found music again in him.

And it was us, the unlikely couple, the man too old and the girl too young, the teacher and the student who weren’t afraid of what others would say, what they would think, what they would assume.

If it really was us against the world, one thing was certain.

I couldn’t ask for a better man to have on my team.

“I think nothing can stop us now,” I answered on a breath.

And I knew nothing ever would.





Three Years Later

Sarah



It must have been a fun house mirror.

That’s the only thought I had in my mind as I stared at my reflection in the crisp white room, the bright lights that surrounded the mirror casting my skin in a golden glow. I traced every edge of the reflection that stared back at me, half with wonder and half with disbelief.

It couldn’t be me.

It couldn’t be me, standing there, confident and strong and collected. It couldn’t be my eyes that glistened in the light, couldn’t be my lips that parted, letting out a long, steady breath. It couldn’t be my face that was framed by those short, tight, bouncy curls — each one hairsprayed to perfection. I reached one hand up, the reflection mirroring the movement, and touched one curl — just to be sure. I felt the rough tendrils of it, plucked it down before letting it bounce back into place.

Still, it couldn’t be me.

It couldn’t be me, standing backstage at Carnegie Hall, less than an hour from playing for nearly three-thousand people.

It couldn’t be my hands — those cold, clammy things at my side — that would play the piano tonight.

It wasn’t possible, and yet, it was true.

I was here. It was me. This was my literal dream come true.

Nerves fluttered to life in my belly like a hurricane of butterflies, and I pressed my hands against it with a smile, smoothing my palms over the silky fabric of my black dress. My eyes fell to where my hands framed my stomach in the mirror just as a knock sounded on my dressing room door.

“Come in,” I said, still marveling at my reflection. When the door opened behind me, my eyes shot to the tall, dark figure who entered, and my smile slipped from my face like sand through an hourglass.

I turned, letting my eyes drink him in from head to toe as Reese let the door close softly behind him. He was doing the same as I was, his eyes trailing from my face, following every smooth inch of fabric that covered me all the way down to my crystal high heels before they climbed their way back up. And I took in every inch of him — his long, chestnut hair, neatly styled and flowing down just past his shoulders, his broad shoulders stretching the charcoal tuxedo he wore, the slacks hanging off his hips in a way that made my stomach spring to life with a completely different set of nerves.