Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Thirty-Eight
Joshua
Never in a thousand years did I think I’d make so many trips to Boreham-bloody-wood. Hopefully this would be my last.
As I got to the top of the second flight of stairs, nerves tumbled in my stomach. Stella had once described Hartford as a truth bomb, and she definitely had a lack of filter at times. And she deserved the same unfiltered truth in return. From me.
I pulled in a breath and knocked on her door.
I couldn’t help but smile as she appeared before me in scrubs, her hair piled on her head in her usual bird’s nest arrangement, her face bare of make-up. She was perfect.
“Joshua!” She didn’t look angry, more . . . surprised. That was as good a start as I could have hoped for.
“Hartford.” I wanted to snake my arms around her and drink in her familiar scent of cinnamon. “I’m sorry to just stop by. I had a few things to say and I didn’t want to wait.”
She glanced down at the suitcase I’d brought with me. “What’s with the case?”
“I’ll explain later. Things should be said in order.”
“Come in. I was actually going to reach out. I saw your campaign against Calmation. It’s . . . it’s wonderful, Joshua. So smart and thoughtful and I think it’s really going to work.”
I couldn’t ignore the warm buzz in my belly that came with her words. I was pleased she’d seen it and that she approved. She’d been the inspiration, after all. “I hope it works.” I followed her into her tiny flat.
“I do too. But if it doesn’t, you know you did what you could.”
She offered me a glass of water and we awkwardly took seats across from each other at the small folding table under the window. I spotted what looked like a theatre program on the windowsill. I craned and made out ballet dancers on the front and the Royal Opera House logo on the top right corner. “You went to the ballet?” For some reason, hope bloomed in my chest that it was a sign that things might be salvageable between us.
“I did. I hope that’s okay.”
“More than okay. Did you enjoy it?”
She pulled in a breath and exhaled slowly. “More than enjoyed it. Thank you.”
Perhaps next time, I could go with her. I was getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should change tack and tell her that I should have realized my feelings for her were life-changing when I’d gotten the box at the ballet on the off chance she might use it.
“You see?” She glanced around. “I told you I could make Borehamwood look nice with a few bits from IKEA.”
I hoped she wasn’t too attached to the place, but I was skipping ahead again.
“It looks great. But anywhere looks great if you’re there.”
A small smile curled around her lips before she smothered it with a frown. “Joshua.”
I glanced across the room at pink ribbons strewn across the sofa. “Are they ballet shoes?”
Hartford nodded. “Yes. I’m . . . laying to rest some old ghosts. And having some fun outside of work at the same time.”
I grinned. “Sounds good.” I was happy she was happy. Even if it was without me. I just hoped she’d be happier with me. I exhaled. I had to bite the bullet and tell her my whole truth. “Being with you over the last few months has brought a lot into focus for me. I’ve never had a real relationship other than Diana, and looking back, what we had wasn’t that real.”
She nodded as if I wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know already. But I had more.
“You’ve told me about your forcefield . . . Subconsciously, I developed a forcefield of my own because of what happened with Diana. One borne out of fear of getting hurt again. Fear of being vulnerable with someone. Fear of being embarrassed again.”
She shifted in her seat and reached to smooth her hand over mine. “I’m sorry.”
“What I’ve realized since you landed at Heathrow three months ago is that I’d been living with a Hartford-shaped hole in my life for years.”
Her freckles bunched as she screwed up her nose. “A Hartford-shaped hole? Sounds . . . painful, my arse is not small.”
“Your arse is perfect. Anyway, my forcefield was wearing camouflage or something. Unlike you, I’ve never been particularly aware of it. And then the last time I saw you, when you asked me to step up, I became painfully aware of the walls I’d built around myself.”
I turned my hand over and threaded my fingers through hers. She didn’t pull away, and I said a silent thank-you.
“I couldn’t tell you what I wanted in the hallway because my forcefield wouldn’t let me. I’m here today to tell you, I’ve yanked the power supply from that thing and my walls are down.” I took a breath and wondered how I’d kept away from Hartford for these past couple of weeks. I’d missed her so much.