Six Month Rule (Kingston Ale House) (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The taxi pulled up in front of the W at half past six, and the fashion show began at seven. In the world of professionalism, he had never cut it this close. But in all her six years, Sophie had never been so sick. He’d almost missed the show altogether until her fever finally broke yesterday morning, and he’d been lucky enough to get a flight in just enough time.

According to Will’s internal clock, it was already after midnight, and he was running on fumes. He handed the driver a wad of cash and grabbed his small weekend bag. He’d only be here for two nights before heading back to England for good. Well, he guessed that all depended on Holly.

This was
not
supposed to be how their reunion went. There was going to be coffee or beer or wine. And a quiet space, like a corner booth at Kingston’s. Her kitchen. His hotel room. After missing his chance to ring her on Christmas Eve, he decided the only way to do this was in person. They would have a chance to sort
them
out, if there was still a them, before a perfectly amazing event that would earn Holly an office with a door and Will his year to leave everything behind to focus on his daughter.

He found Tallulah in a lounge just next to the ballroom, one that would serve as the dressing area for the models. She was putting finishing touches on her pieces now that the women were wearing them, and there was Holly, lining them up in the order they would enter the room and take the stage.

His breath caught in his throat, and his first instinct was to go to her, but he wouldn’t interrupt her moment. This evening belonged to Holly, not him. So he watched her from a distance, heart pounding in his chest.

“There he is!” Tallulah called, her long black hair swishing across her shoulders as she strode toward him. “This is sound, Billy. Really sound. I mean, I loved the photos you and Holly had in your presentation, but seeing this place in the flesh? Just brilliant.”

Holly looked up, her eyes meeting his. He smiled, because how could he not? She was the woman he loved, and no matter what came of this evening, he couldn’t react to her in any other way. Holly’s eyes widened for only a second, and then she returned the gesture.

Marisa burst through the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“We need to get everyone backstage,” she said. “It’s just about go time!”

Holly tore her gaze from his and nodded in Marisa’s direction. “Here we go!” she said, and led the line of Tallulah Chan–clad women out the door.

He let out a breath as he watched her exit, his eyes finally registering the dress—black lace hugging her skin at the bodice, long bell sleeves, and an asymmetrical skirt that hit just below midthigh. Her
bare
midthigh. A Tallulah Chan original. But it was what came next that nearly drove him to madness, his eyes raking down her legs that were covered from knee to toe in ruby-red suede.

“Your lass is quite a stunner, yeah?” Tallulah said, sidling up to him.

“She’s not my…I mean, we aren’t…”

She nudged his hip with her own.

“Bollocks, Billy. Pick your chin up off the floor and come watch my show. Then she’s all yours.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but he was obviously an open book.

“Maybe you could refrain from the whole
Billy
thing at least.”

She laughed. “Is that what your…” She cleared her throat. “Is that what
Holly
calls you?”

Will closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’d actually welcome that at the moment. But no. I think she has a larger vocabulary of words to describe me these days.
Arsehole. Wanker. Bloody prick.
”

“Ah.” She grinned. “It’s worse than I thought. She’s quite a talent, too. The whole package. Well, don’t let my little show get in the way of your love story.” She winked at him and then sauntered toward the door, graceful and poised as if she was about to take the runway herself. “I saw the way she looked at you,
William
,” she called back to him. “You’ve still got a shot. Don’t blow it this time.”

He loved Holly. A month hadn’t changed that, but his timing was shite. And the distance that had grown between them since he’d blamed her for his own insecurity as a parent? He had to hope one evening would be enough time to get from one end to the other.

He stood at the back of the ballroom and watched as Holly Chandler and Tallulah Chan took the stage hand in hand as the DJ played Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way.” The industry professionals stood for the women, applauding as they took a lap down the runway together. Holly had gotten what she wanted. She was a star, and he only hoped she knew how brightly she shone. He clapped, too, hidden behind the crowd that was already transitioning to New Year’s Eve party mode.

When designer and director exited the stage, he hurried back to the dressing area to catch up with them, to grab a few precious minutes to tell Holly everything he should have said weeks ago. But as soon as she entered the room, Andrea was already there doling out champagne. Someone from the
Sun-Times
walked past, flashing a press pass and asking to speak to the two women, and he watched as Holly beamed, nodding yes but asking the guy to wait a moment while she grabbed a bag from a nearby dressing station and pulled out a folder and a pen. She opened it on the table and bent to sign a page before handing it to Andrea.

So she’d made partner, not that he doubted she would. He realized this was
her
night, though. And he had no business making it about him. So he backed out of the room, letting her have her moment.

Even if it meant he might not get his.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Gemini: Just because you make the rules doesn’t mean you can break them. Or does it?

After the W had gone from fashion show to fashionable New Year’s Eve festivities, Holly headed back to Kingston’s. She’d originally planned to stay at the W long after the show had ended, but when it had sunk in after Christmas that she’d be staying alone—well, that had altered her plans. Jamie had offered up the bar for anyone who wanted a more intimate celebration.

Once Holly arrived, though, she wasn’t quite ready to put her party hat on. She stood at the foot of the stairs. Annie’s boyfriend, Brett, was on the upper level playing DJ for the after-party, spinning a perfect sixties- and seventies-inspired set that continued the boho vibe from the fashion show. “Benny and the Jets” had Jeremy dancing behind the downstairs bar while Jamie stayed composed as he filled pint glasses for those who’d taken the shuttle from the W. Everything was—dare she say it?—perfect.

Everything except that sinking feeling in her stomach, the one she’d felt when she saw Will leave the hotel without so much as a congratulations.

“I’ve already seen pictures online, Holl. You were amazing tonight,” Brynn said, sidling up beside her. “So what’s with the frowny face?”

Holly eyed her sister, taking her in from head to toe, pausing at her feet.

“When did I lend you those boots?” she asked, and Brynn laughed.

“I might have snuck them out when you were putting the finishing touches on your hair.”

Holly let out a sigh.

“Do
not
walk in the snow with those. You took a cab here tonight, right? Please tell me you took a cab.”

Brynn gripped her sister’s shoulders.

“It’s a wind chill of negative eleven out there. I took a cab from the bathroom to this end of the bar.”

Holly rolled her eyes.

“Relax, honey,” Brynn continued. “You did it. And, um, you look gorgeous.”

She curtsied and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Is he here yet?” her sister asked, and Holly knew she meant that certain Brit.

She shook her head. “I’m guessing he’s not even coming. He was at the show, but he left without really saying a word to me. I think this might have been it, B. I think it’s really over.”

“Then you guessed wrong,” Brynn said, nodding to the door.

There were times Holly wished she could conjure a thought and just as quickly have that thought become reality. Like when she ran out of ice cream. If she could think about Häagen-Dazs salted caramel and make a pint appear on her counter, that would be fantastic.
This
season’s Jimmy Choos? If she could think those into existence, she’d have Carrie Bradshaw’s closet in no time, and she’d probably live in it—happy and fulfilled with all the shoes. Or Choos. Either way.

But as much as she’d been thinking about Will, she couldn’t conjure the right words, especially if the words included
good-bye
.

“Oh, shit, honey,” Brynn said. “
Look
at him.”

He was taking off his coat and handing it to one of Kingston’s servers who was acting as coat check. Holly knew Brynn wasn’t referring to the fitted red sweater or the shirt and tie underneath. Yes, he was gorgeous. But he looked how she felt—bone weary and dejected, and she wasn’t sure she could handle more.

“I know he said hurtful things, Holl. But I can also tell that man is hurting himself.”

Holly shrugged.

“Our six months are up,” she said. “That’s probably all he has to say.”

“Your six months are bullshit,” Brynn countered.

Holly had no argument left in her, so she just watched him as he scanned the crowd, his eyes finding hers. Jeez, the two of them were dressed like they were ready to pose for their own couple’s Christmas card. But they weren’t a couple. Not anymore. And not ever, if they were going to get technical about things.

Holly turned toward her sister to argue, but Brynn was already behind the bar helping Jamie and Jeremy.

Traitor
, she thought. And then she heard the voice she’d longed for since that awful day after Thanksgiving.

“Everything all right?” he asked, and she nodded, then shook her head.

A small smile broke through his morose, Eeyore-like expression, and Holly realized that’s what she must have looked like for the past few weeks.

“I don’t mope,” she said, and Will’s brows drew together.

“Okay—” he began, but she wasn’t going to let him. The floodgates were open, and she suddenly had everything to say.

“I don’t mope, not over relationships. I walk away unscathed. I dust off my sleeves and go back to life as it was before. No harm, no foul.”

He crossed his arms and nodded. They stood off to the side in a quiet nook of unused tables, a stream of figures striding up and down the stairs behind them.

“And I get that you have Sophie and that your life is in England and that you said some really awful things because you were in a really awful situation. And as much as it hurt for you to blame your insecurities on me—because that’s what they are, Will,
your
issues that
you
need to straighten out—I should be over it by now. I should be over
you
.”

He grinned. Dammit, he freaking
grinned
, and he looked so good doing it she almost forgot she was giving him hell for making her fall in love.

“May I have permission to speak, Ms. Chandler?”

Holly huffed out a breath and tried to think of something else to say just to spite him, but she couldn’t. She’d just about said it all.

“Fine,” she told him. “Permission granted.”

He took a step closer, enough that she had to back up against the underside of the stairway, enough that she could smell him, and she had to fight not to let her familiar urges win out over logical thought.

“I am an arse,” he said, and she nodded. He laughed, and again it took effort not to smile back. “Thank you for agreeing.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she ached to do the same, to run her fingers over the world-weary lines at the corner of his eyes. She had to remind herself what had weighed on him from the start—how they’d ended up where they were now.

“Shite,” he said. “I don’t even know where to begin. I probably should have planned this better.”

Holly rolled her eyes.

“Maybe that’s part of the problem,” she said. “Trying to fit everything into a plan.” She knew she wasn’t only talking about him, but he had the floor. “Why don’t you try just saying whatever it is you want me to know without worrying about the right words or the plan or—”

He placed two fingers gingerly over her lips, and she stopped talking.

“Fine,” he said. “No plan. Just me telling you that I’ve been a mess since Thanksgiving. That I never should have let the past month go by without speaking to you. That my behavior was inexcusable. But I didn’t know how to fix what I thought couldn’t be fixed.” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t blame you for what happened at the museum, Holly.”

“Aquarium,” she corrected. Then her own hand flew to her mouth. “My bad,” she said, the sound muffled through her hand. “You sound like you’re gearing up to something good, so I’ll just zip it.”

Sure, zip it and hope she didn’t let out a sob or some other sort of ridiculous noise that would be the culmination of a heartbreaking month, an amazing show, and the man she loved hopefully realizing he was lost without her.

Dramatic? Of
course
she was being dramatic. What came next meant
everything
.

He wasn’t smiling. Not yet, but God, she hoped there was a yet.

“I’m so sorry, Holly. I’ll never forgive myself for speaking to you like that, for not calling on Christmas Eve when I meant to because I had to take Sophie to hospital and I just have not been myself and—”

Holly’s hand slid from her mouth.

“Will, what happened to Sophie?”

Her heart sank. Here she’d been thinking of only herself, of how Will would win her back if he was, in fact, trying to do so. She still hoped he was. But she hadn’t once thought about what had been going on with him.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Sophie’s okay now. But she was quite ill, and I was bloody terrified, and do you want to know what I kept thinking for the past week as I waited for her to get well?”

She shook her head, afraid that this was the closure she was seeking. But it was hard to want closure when he was standing there being so—so
Will
.

“I kept thinking that if
you
were there, you’d have been strong for me like you were at the aquarium. You would have touched my cheek, my arm, or my hand and told me I’d get through it. You’d have sat next to me in the hospital overnight while they administered fluids and brought Sophie’s fever down. And when she went home with Tara and Phillip after we missed having a proper Christmas, I wouldn’t have had to go home alone. I wouldn’t have faced the past week alone—the whole time wishing you were by my side. And it’s not just because of the holidays or Sophie getting ill. London, Chicago—it doesn’t matter where. Your touch is home, Holly.”

She couldn’t help it. Holly lifted her hand and rested it on his cheek.

“Yes,” he said softly, leaning into her touch. “Just like that.” He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “I know Sophie comes first for me and Trousseau for you, but I think there’s room at the top for more than one
first
. I don’t deserve it, but I’m hoping there’s some ridiculous reason you’ll forgive me.”

She bit her lip because it was trembling, and she sniffed hard to keep the tears at bay because she didn’t mope over relationships. She didn’t mope over a guy. And she wouldn’t mope over Will Evans begging her to forgive him and then leaving for good.

But after that, how could she not let him off the hook? She wouldn’t let this beautiful man punish himself any longer.

“I have one,” she said. “A ridiculous reason to forgive you.”

Will bent down, resting his forehead against hers.

“Tell me,” he pleaded.

He tucked her hair behind her ear, and she didn’t shy away from his touch.

“I’m in love with you, Billy.”

Well, dammit. The first tear fell, which meant the floodgates were open.

He barked out a laugh. “I hate that bloody name,” he said. “But I’ve been going mad, I’m so in love with you,” he added.

She let out something like a laugh, but the tears made it sound more like a sob. He swiped his thumb across her wet cheek.

“What do we do now?” Holly asked. “You’re leaving.”

He nodded. “And you’re staying.”

She threw up her hands. “Then what are we…
Why
are we having this conversation?”

He smiled.

Why? Why was he freaking smiling?

“Tara and I had lots of time to chat while Sophie was ill. She and I are splitting our time with Sophie next year. Fifty-fifty. For the first two weeks of the month she’ll live with me, and for the second two she’ll live with Tara and Phillip. I was hoping for the time that I don’t have her—when she doesn’t have any obligations I wouldn’t want to miss—that I’d come here. To Chicago. To be with you. Even with the sabbatical, I’ve racked up enough of those damned frequent flyer miles, so we won’t have to be apart for long stretches. Not if we don’t want to.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if
you
don’t want to.”

Holly sniffed again. Although this time it was because her nose was running. She reached around him to an unused place setting at the table and stole the napkin so she could dry her leaking face.

“You’re going to come to Chicago every month? For me? But I thought you hated being away from Sophie.”

He nodded. “I do, but I think it will be different now that I get to be more than a weekend dad. And if I don’t make things right with you, Sophie might disown me anyway.” He laughed. “We need to wait out this six-month rule of yours first, though. You never know. Your timing could be off, and you might be hit with a wave of indifference by tomorrow.”

Enough of this. She grabbed his sweater and pulled him to her, but he stopped short just as their lips were about to meet.

“You didn’t say
may I
, Ms. Chandler.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “May I…break the rules, Mr. Evans?”

He dipped his head and brushed her nose with his own.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Holly kissed him, even though she couldn’t stop simultaneously smiling and crying. His hands were in her hair and hers fisted in his sweater. Cashmere.

She loosened her grip.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“I’m not going to ruin a beautiful knit,” she admitted, and this only made his smile broaden.

“I guess you’re going to have to find somewhere more suitable to place your hands.”

She giggled, letting her hands slide down his torso to the top of his jeans, sneaking his sweater up and pulling his button-down free, her finger teasing the small patch of exposed skin. He sucked in a breath.

“I guess I am.”