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Okay. Uber. Yes. That’s what I’d do.
My hands were shaking as I pulled up the app and scheduled a ride.
Fifteen minutes?
This was L.A. There were Ubers everywhere. Why was it fifteen fucking minutes?
I took a deep breath and tried to call him again.
But he still didn’t answer.
Had he taken an earlier flight? Was he already gone? Had he moved on for good?
I jumped out of the car and jogged out to the driveaway, checking the app every five seconds to see if the pickup time had improved.
Fuck, the driver had canceled. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I scheduled another ride, whimpering when I saw it would beanotherfifteen minutes.
Frantic tears were sliding down my face, and I was contemplating fucking hitchhiking if something didn’t go my way in the next minute.
I shouldn't have let him leave this morning. I should have figured my shit out sooner. Should've talked to him sooner.
I fucked up, but I wasn't going to give up.
I wasn't going to lethimgive up either.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: We're not breaking. You said you wouldn't let us, and I'm saying it now. You're mine, Ari Lancaster. You’d better not get on that fucking plane.
And then…
There was a shift in the air, and I knew…without even seeing him.
My breath hitched and I lifted my gaze from my phone to the end of the driveaway. And there stood Ari, a windswept constellation I was desperate to see.
I wiped at my tears knowing I looked a mess as he walked towards me. No makeup, baggy sweats, wet hair in a bun…
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, as if he could read my mind.
“You’re here,” I sniffed, and his steps quickened.
Before he could take another step though, I was running, and he was scooping me up in his arms.
I was breathing him in. My tears all over him, peppering his face with kisses because I was so fucking relieved. My legs were wrapped around him, his hands on my ass, and my arms around his neck.
I was touching him. He was here. He hadn’t gotten on that plane.
“Hi,” he finally breathed, and I giggled, staring into his green eyes that I realized I never would have seen in anyone else–because no one else’s compared.
"You didn't leave,” I whispered.
"Nope."
“You blocked my ex.”
“I did,” he said, with absolutely no remorse in his voice.
