So, I'd been in St. Ives for exactly three months.
I was doing okay. I wasn't crying into my cereal anymore, and I'd actually managed to go a full week without thinking about the ridge or that stupid contract.
I spent most of my time shelving romance novels at the bookstore and walking along the beach until my feet hurt. It was quiet. It was boring. And honestly, it was exactly what I'd asked for.
Then, on a Tuesday night while I was sitting on my couch in a pair of oversized sweatpants eating cold pizza, my phone buzzed.
I didn't even have to look at the screen. I knew it was him.
"Hello?" I said, trying to sound like I hadn't been waiting for the vibration all day.
"I just wanted to hear you breathe," Julian said.
His voice hadn't changed. It was still that low, scratchy rumble that sounded like he'd been up all night drinking scotch and thinking about things he shouldn't. It wasn't fancy or poetic; it was just Julian. And hearing it hit me right in the center of my chest.
"That's a bit creepy, don't you think?" I leaned back against the cushions, closing my eyes. "Stalking me with letters wasn't enough? Now you're doing the heavy breathing thing?"
"I'm not breathing heavy, Alina. I'm just tired. London is a headache without you here to tell me my tie looks like shit."
I laughed, and I hated how much I liked the sound of his voice on the other end. It was weird. Three months of being "independent" and "finding myself," and one minute of him talking about ties had me feeling things I definitely shouldn't be feeling while wearing socks with holes in them.
"Your tie probably does look like shit," I muttered.
"It does," he said. There was a pause. I could hear him shifting, probably sitting in that big leather chair in his office. "What are you doing?"
"Eating pizza. Thinking about going to bed. The usual thrilling life of a bookstore clerk."
"Are you happy?"
"I'm not miserable," I said. "It's different."
But the longer the silence went on, the more I started to notice how fast my heart was going. His voice was doing that thing, that low vibration that made the skin on the back of my neck tingle. I started thinking about the way he used to look at me in the kitchen in London, and suddenly, the cold pizza felt like a really bad substitute for what I actually wanted.
I shifted on the couch, my legs feeling heavy. The house felt too big. The sea outside was too loud. I missed the way he used to crowd into my space until I couldn't think straight.
"Julian?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm done being alone for a bit."
I bit my lip, feeling a flush creep up my neck. I wasn't going to be subtle about it. We were past the point of playing games.
"How fast can you get a plane to Cornwall?" I asked.
I heard him catch his breath on the other end. "I can be at your door by sunrise."
"Don't wait for sunrise," I said, my voice dropping. "Just get here. I'm tired of talking to a phone."
"I'm leaving now," he said.
He hung up, and I just sat there in the dark, my face hot and my pulse racing. I looked at the cold pizza and then at the door.
I knew I was probably messing up my "healing process" or whatever, but in that moment, I didn't care. I just wanted the shark back in my room.