Puzzled, he squeezed her hand. “We have so many memories there.”
Her sigh of frustration was even more baffling than her scowl. She tugged her hand free of his and sat straighter in her seat. “I’m going to miss my plane.”
He backed out of the parking spot and once they were in the flow of traffic, he asked, “You don’t like that house?”
“I do,” she said, “but I already have a house. You already have a house.”
“But we don’t have a house.”
“And maybe someday we will, but it won’t be that one.”
Maybe he did understand where she was coming from. “Because it’s next door to Sara’s.”
“No, because I don’t want you to link me to a place. I don’t want to think that sometime in the future you might erect a shrine to me in some beach house and not let yourself move on. For years. I won’t have that hanging over me. Over us.”
“So I should start preparing myself to get over you?”
She covered her forehead with both hands, curling forward, her shoulder straining against her seatbelt, and shook her head. “No, I hope you never have to get over me. I hope we live a healthy, happy life together until we’re both in our nineties and die in each other’s arms at the exact same moment. That’s what I hope.”
The hard knot in his throat loosened slightly. “I knew you were a romantic.”
“Kellen, don’t buy that house. Please don’t tie me to a place.”
“How about a bed? Can I tie you to a bed?”
She laughed, and the horrible tension that had built between them the second he’d mentioned buying the beach house lessened.
“You can tie me to all sorts of beds. Don’t limit me to just one.”
And then he truly understood where she was coming from. Maybe. “I guess we can make memories together in a lot of beds and on various pianos.”
“I sure hope so.” She shifted and laced her fingers through his. “When Sole Regret’s tour is over, I want you to come see me in L.A. and maybe come with me to Europe.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you before the tour is over, Dawn. We’ll find a way.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. Her lips were pressed together, and her eyes were glassy. “Hey,” he said, elbowing her gently, “we’ll find a way.”
Her smile was a bit wobbly, but genuine. “I have the feeling this meeting tomorrow is going to change my life and make it harder to be with you, not easier. And then . . . and then I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Don’t worry about that until you know for sure.” He shook his head. “Actually, don’t worry about that at all. If opportunity is knocking on your door, you’d better fucking open it.”
Her smile brightened. “We’ll find a way,” she said.
Traffic into Houston crawled—nothing unusual about that—but he was now worried that she’d miss her plane and opportunity would miss the opportunity to knock.
“When is your meeting?”
She glanced at the clock. “In about eight hours.”
“So if you miss your flight?” He squirmed in his seat, wishing the rental car had wings so he could soar over stalled traffic.
“I’ll miss the meeting and maybe my flight to Prague. My life will be over.”
His eyes widened, and he whipped his head around to stare at her. She winked at him and leaned over to rub his thigh. “It will be fine. If I miss the flight to L.A., I’ll just hang out at the Houston airport until my flight to Prague leaves tomorrow.”
“They must really need to see you to put such a burden on you. You’re going to be exhausted for your performance.” Momentarily glad they were sitting on a freeway-turned-parking-lot, he brushed her hair from her face and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll be okay, and I’m sure they didn’t do this to me because they need to see me immediately. They’re in a rush because it serves their Hollywood agenda. I’ve no doubt that my hectic schedule didn’t even come into consideration when they made their plans.”
Traffic inched forward and after they’d creeped through a relatively mild accident scene, the interstate opened up and the rest of their journey was swift. A bit too swift. Kellen had been planning to drop her off at the door and make his way to New Orleans, but he needed more time with her. He pulled into the parking garage, and Dawn shook her head at him.
“I’m not the only one with a tight schedule here. You have a concert to get to.”
“I have plenty of time,” he assured her. He unfastened her seat belt, needing to touch her as much as he could.
Once he started kissing her, he didn’t want to stop. He almost had her convinced to venture to the back seat when she pulled away.
“I have to go now,” she said, succumbing to one more kiss before she opened the door. “You sure don’t make this easy on a girl.”
He grinned. “I don’t want you to forget me while you’re away.”
“As if I could.”
He climbed out after her and opened the trunk, lugging her bags out. She had four, and it hit him again that they wouldn’t be returning to the beach house.
“You should have just dropped me off at the curb. Let someone else handle my bags.”
“They wouldn’t have let me linger.”
She shook her head, but her soft smile told him that she was pleased and that maybe she didn’t want to part from him any more than he wanted to part from her.
Glad her expensive-looking luggage set—he was pretty sure it was genuine leather—at least had wheels, he grabbed her two large suitcases and slung her carry-on over one handle while she carried her smaller suitcase and her purse.
“When you get back from Prague—”
“I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can,” she promised. “I hope to see you by Friday.”
Less than a week, and yet it stretched out before him like a desolate eternity. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “How to be together.”
“We have to,” she said as they exited the parking garage and headed for the terminal.
They found her airline and got in line to check her luggage.
“What’s your house like?” he asked, realizing they hadn’t discussed things like that over their weekend. He needed more time. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way. This wasn’t a forever goodbye—not like the one he’d had to suffer through with Sara—but that knowledge didn’t make separating any easier.
“It’s a condo, actually. Ground floor because my piano wouldn’t fit on the elevator.” She grinned. “Another reason why I decided to rent a place to compose. My neighbors were starting to complain about the three a.m. writing sessions.”
“If you ever need a quiet place to work, my cabin doesn’t have neighbors. At least, not any you can see.”
They moved forward a spot in line, which got her closer to leaving. He placed a hand on her back and shifted into her warmth. He didn’t want her to go. How would he get through the next five days without seeing her, touching her, tasting her? He hoped she liked talking on the phone, because at the very least he’d need to hear her voice.
“You live in the wilderness?” she asked.
“Surprised?”