His nickname for me stirs a forgotten part of my soul, a place I thought had withered and disappeared a long time ago. The sound of it cracks open something raw and unguarded, and my voice struggles to find its way out.
“How did you know where I was?”
It’s been twenty-four years since I saw him, and he still looks the same as the day I last laid eyes on him—the day I married Ryder.
His hands disappear inside his trouser pockets, and he leans back slightly, a familiar smirk forming.
“You know I have my ways.”
Stirred from the ashes, my broken heart, ripped to shreds at the loss of Ryder, begins to violently put its pieces back together, one slow stitch at a time. The pain is excruciating as each stitch weaves through old scar tissue, binding and mending the wounds that Ryder’s death tore open.
After Fallon left, he remained in his self-imposed exile, thinking he was protecting me by staying away—stupid man—but he didn’t disappear. While Trevor filled the role of CEO at Montgomery Pharma, Fallon started a nonprofit for battered and abused women and poured himself into a mission that carried him across the world. He saved lives, rebuilt brokenfamilies, and touched countless hearts. I’m proud of all the good Fallon has done in the world. All the people he has helped and the families he has rescued. I’m not the only one who changed after our time together. Fallon may have saved me, but in some way, I’d like to believe that I saved him, too. I wouldn’t be the woman I am now if it weren’t for him. Ryder and I wouldn’t have had our second chance at love without him. And even though Fallon has maintained his distance all this time, there has never been a day where I haven’t thought about him or missed him terribly.
Fallon tilts his head in that special way he used to do whenever he looked at me. “Secret for a secret.”
A surprised laugh escapes, trembling on the edge of a sob.
“I’ve missed you,” I confess, still in disbelief that he’s standing right in front of me.
With a tentative breath, I rise from my chair. I’m afraid to blink or look away, half expecting him to be a figment of my imagination.
Fallon reaches for me, his hand soft on my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek, rough and gentle, yet so careful. No man has touched me like this—not since Ryder. The remnants of my grief tangle with the joy of Fallon’s presence, the latter chipping away at the fortifications I was forced to build in order to survive these past three years.
I gesture at my small bistro table. “Would you like to join me?”
I’m eager to hear about his life—the places he’s been, the people he’s met, the dreams he pursued after he left town two decades ago.
Fallon never tried to contact me, but I kept informed of what he was doing through Trevor and Aurora…and Ryder.
Fallon had joked once that it wouldn’t surprise him if he had a dozen half siblings roaming around. He wasn’t far off. Overthe years, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know most of the newfound Montgomery siblings scattered around the country, but I’m closest to Aurora. She married Elijah’s cousin, JD, and they live in Highland, not too far from the Montgomery estate.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m neither clueless nor ignorant. I know Fallon didn’t stay away. He came home on numerous occasions over the years. He had a family to take care of. He had board meetings to attend at Montgomery Pharma with Trevor and a nonprofit to run with Aurora. When Ryder got sick, I know Fallon visited him in the hospital. And when Ryder passed away, I also know that Fallon was at the graveside service, hiding in the shadows as he paid his respects.
For a moment, Fallon simply looks at me, as if gathering words that will do justice to everything we haven’t had a chance to say. With one final brushstroke of his thumb across my cheek, his hand falls away.
“I’d like that.”
He pulls out my chair, and I smooth down my skirt before taking a seat. I can feel his eyes on me, how his hands flex on the seatback, feel his body heat, and smell the spice of his cologne. All my senses have become hyperaware at his closeness.
He sits down across from me, and I soak in the changes I see. He may look exactly as I remember, the years not aging him at all, but he seems…bigger. More muscular. The laugh lines that crease his eyes are intriguing, but it’s the ink on his hands that immediately snares my attention. Beautiful designs cover each finger and run up both wrists before disappearing under the cuffs of his long sleeves.
“Qualcosa da bere, signore?” the waiter asks, coming to our table.
Fallon glances at my coffee. “Caffè. Nero. Grazie.”
A gust of wind ruffles my hair, and I brush the flyaway strands from my face.
“You look good.”
I blush at the compliment, not expecting it, nor do I believe it. I stopped caring about my appearance a while ago.
“So do you.”
Fallon was always gorgeous, even more so now. It’s not fair that men age gracefully as they get older, while women get to experience the joys of menopause and hot flashes.
Leaning forward in my chair, I can’t stop staring at him. Online photographs and the occasional magazine or newspaper clipping do not do him justice.
Holding my obvious stare, he reposes back, those sky-blue eyes filled with so many stories I want to know.
