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Recalling the day that I stood in this very same place, with the nerves months ago. How things are different now.
What if she doesn’t want me anymore?
What if her divorce filing was what she wanted and I have no chance?
I raise my hand and knock on her front door, eagerly waiting for her to answer the door.
When the door swings open, I’m standing there, speechless as I take in her beauty.
She looks absolutely breathtaking and comfortable in her pajamas with her hair up and it’s as if I haven’t seen her in months, when it’s only been weeks. Not one part of me feels like backing down. I will fight for this woman, and I will prove to her just how much that I love her.
I love her.
I really do love her.
Chapter Twenty
“This one time in Vegas, I was at the Bellagio when someone tried to rob it.”
PEYTON
The knock on the door in the middle of a Saturday afternoon surprises me. It’s not often that we have people knocking on our doors, unless one of us can’t find the keys.
But, Quinn is passed out, likely hungover from last night in her room. And I’m lounging around in my flannel pajamas watching The Greatest Showman.
I open the door, wary of who is on the other side and once I see him, my heart begins to pound.
He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days, with dark circles under his eyes and his clothes are wrinkled. He has a bag thrown over his shoulder and gives me an exhausted smile as I open the door fully.
“Hi,” I say, unsure of how else to greet him.
“Hey,” he replies, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.
“What are you doing here, in LA?” I ask. I look to his feet and Scout is sitting patiently, wagging his tail, waiting to be acknowledged. “Hey Boy,” I smile before returning my gaze to Max.
“Well, I’m here for you. For us.”
I blink, unsure of what he’s talking about.
“What do you mean?”
“Can I come in?” he asks. “Can, we come in?” he motions to the dog as well.
I move aside and he walks past me, with Scout trailing behind him. Even though, he looks crumpled, I smell his familiar scent and my memory comes back with the yearning to touch him.
I refrain, and watch as he moves to the couch to sit down, and sets his bag on the floor, with scout turning in circles before settling beside his feet like a trusty companion. I sit at the opposite end of the couch and wait for him to start explaining why he’s here.
“Max?” I prompt him after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.
“I love you,” he blurts out.
When I open my mouth, he holds up his hand and continues on.
“I love you and I am not going to let you go as easily,” he digs into the bag beside his feet and pulls out a large envelope to toss between us, “I’m not willing to sign the divorce papers, because I am in love with you and want to make us work. I will do anything to make us work.”
“Max,” I begin. “I told you that I can’t move.”
“That’s why I’m moving here. A month or two ago, I put into motion the plans to open an office here in Los Angeles. In fact, I will be signing the paperwork this week, to add the final touches on the contract for the lease and to begin holding interviews for staffing.”
