Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(69)
Author: Mimi Strong

I looked over at Keith, who seemed stunned. I joined him on the bench and rested my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“You had me fooled,” he said. “I damn near walked out of here right after you left.”

“You deserve someone better than me, but in the meantime, you’re stuck with me for one more night. We’re each other’s rebounds, and we have one last night to unbreak each other’s hearts.”

He was quiet, and when I looked up, he was smiling. We sat there for a few minutes without talking. I let my breathing relax and deepen. What I didn’t tell Keith was how tempted I’d been. To my shame, I’d considered the other offer. Dalton had a way of throwing me off balance, and I’d liked it, the way kids love twirling on carousels and getting dizzy. Part of me wanted another night of that carousel ride (on a pony named Lionheart, no less), but then Keith had literally given me the shirt off his back. He’d covered me with his T-shirt so I wouldn’t be exposed.

There is no such thing as a small gesture; gestures can realign lines of fate.

Because of Keith’s gesture, and a hundred other sweet things he’d done for me, I got dressed and left the studio that day with him.

I looked around the parking lot for the green van, which should have been easy to spot. Keith led me to a little sports car, an Alfa Romeo.

“What’s this?” I asked.

He rubbed his eyebrow, which was red and swelling from being punched, and put on a pair of sunglasses. “Nice car, right? Borrowed from a friend. The owner of the restaurant I took you to the first night. He really liked you, and insisted I show you off in proper style.”

“See? I knew I made the right choice. Dalton’s car is boring.”

Keith laughed and held open the passenger door for me. I settled in and put on my big sunglasses for the ride.

We drove through the city, me pretending to be cool behind my sunglasses, but gawking around to see if anyone was looking at me. The car was flashy enough that we got a few looks, but nobody was staring. It was LA, after all.

We drove up along the coastline on a sun-soaked road locals call the PCH—that’s the Pacific Coast Highway to Washingtonians such as myself. On one side, there’s nothing but blue water, beaches, and surfers. On the other side, you see mountains dotted with mansions, every one with a spectacular view.

One last night.

As I admired the scenery, I felt homesick for the lush woods of Washington, seeing familiar faces everywhere I went, and even the misty rain.

After the drive, we had dinner at Keith’s friend’s restaurant again, where my money was no good. We danced, alone on the dance floor, lost in our own world.

Then we went back to Keith’s place for our final night together. Keith showed me so much affection, my heart healed and then broke all over again, because I was leaving in the morning.

We lay nestled together under the top sheet, and he practiced his Italian phrases on me. I was exhausted from the day and drifting in and out of sleep. He murmured things that sounded intimate and personal—things that sounded like Italian for love.

I fell asleep in his arms, and when I woke up, I was alone.

Morning had come quickly, and my first thought was that I would miss the light. Keith’s apartment got fantastic morning light through the blinds if you didn’t pull the blackout curtains.

I got up and gathered the clothes I hadn’t packed in my travel bag the night before.

Even though I was probably a completely different person than I was nine days earlier, I planned to wear the exact same outfit I’d arrived wearing, because it was comfortable for traveling, and feeling good is important. I pulled on my black leggings, a pair of Keds, and a red shirtdress with a black belt.

I found Keith in the kitchen, making blueberry pancakes.

“Early flight,” he said.

“Wouldn’t feel so early if someone hadn’t kept me up so late.”

“You weren’t complaining last night, unless that’s what those moans were.”

I took a seat on one of the stools at the counter and tried not to get emotional. Mitchell had already sent me a text message wishing me a good flight, which made me miss him already.

“I’m going to take a cab to the airport,” I said.

Keith peered over at me, but didn’t say anything.

“Because I hate goodbyes,” I explained.

“Peaches, nobody likes goodbyes. Everybody hates them. My parents are already driving me crazy, and I don’t leave for a few more days.”

“You’ll do great in Milan. I can feel it.”

“You could change your flight and stay here a bit longer.”

I grinned, fighting back the emotion choking me. “If we try to top last night, somebody’s going to break something. I need to leave right now, for the health and safety of both of us.”

He chuckled and served up the pancakes, alongside fried eggs and stunning toast made of marbled dark rye and sourdough. Then he sat beside me, and we both ate, barely making a dent in all the food. I would miss this. Sharing a meal with him. Everything about this borrowed relationship felt so good, but it was a loaner, like the Alfa Romeo. A rebound.

I looked up the phone number for a cab and made the call, despite Keith’s protests.

Five minutes later, the driver was there, and Keith insisted on hauling my luggage out. My suitcase was packed tight, and I had two shopping bags as well, with my haul from the boutique. I had a third bag, with Mitchell’s roommate’s dress, and I would be dropping it off at the dry cleaner’s on my way to the airport. Yes, everything was going according to plan. So, why did the movements of that morning feel so wrong?

“Maybe goodbyes shouldn’t be so serious,” I said to Keith. We both stood beside the cab as the driver waited patiently inside.

Another cab pulled up behind it, and the older woman I’d seen near the courtyard pool stepped out. It was eight in the morning, and she wore a black cocktail dress and spike heels. She gave me a wave and an embarrassed smile as she entered the courtyard.

“Walk of shame?” Keith said.

“I’d say so. Good for her.”

“Yeah! Good for her.”

“Peaches, I want to tell you something.”

I shifted back a few steps. “I should go.”

He took my hands so I couldn’t slip away. “I used to struggle with my addiction, but I found my cure in the truth. As long as I always tell the truth, and take care of myself, I’m not tempted to start using again.”