She pushed up onto her feet, moving before she had time to second-guess herself and threw open the door, deciding then and there that she was going to stop being so afraid and knock at his door.
But her breath hitched when she saw that Joe was still standing there. In the hallway, where she’d left him.
Waiting for her.
She took a tentative step forward, wishing he’d just close the distance between them and kiss her, but Joe didn’t move. She’d already told him no, she’d already pushed him away, and the only thing that moved was his eyes as he tracked her. She knew that he was waiting for her, that it was her choice whether anything happened or not.
Mia opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
‘Mia,’ he said, his voice husky, the way he said her name crushing something inside her.
Mia barely remembered moving. One moment she was standing with her back against her door, and the next she was on tiptoe, claiming Joe’s mouth as his arms wrapped around her waist.
His lips were so warm and soft, and she slipped her hands to the back of his neck as a tear slid down her cheek and his lips brushed hers.
He pulled away, his thumb ever so gently wiping it away, his eyes searching hers.
Joe was giving her an out, but she didn’t want one, and if she could have found her voice she would have told him that she wasn’t sad, that she was crying because she was so happy. Instead she stood on tiptoe and kissed him again, and it only took him a moment to pull her hard against his chest, his mouth over hers as he walked her backwards against the door to his room.
She’d spent too long grieving what she couldn’t have, but she wasn’t going to let her sadness dictate her life any longer. He framed her head with his arms on either side of the door, his eyes roving over hers.
‘Are you sure you want this?’ he asked.
Mia reached up and stroked his jaw, before slipping her fingers to the base of his head again and drawing him closer,her fingers threaded through his thick hair, telling him with her touch that there was no question about what she wanted.
She’d never been so sure of anything in her life.
19
FRANCE, 1938
Hope couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so happy. There was always the lingering worry over not having met Gus’s family yet, and fretting about what they were going to be like when she did. But for now it was as if they were living in a bubble, just the two of them, and it was exactly the way she liked it. When they weren’t busy with work, they were exploring the outdoors, and their long walks at the weekend had become what she looked forward to most. Gus never tried to hurry her, happily waiting for her as she looked at the trees and marvelled at the lakes, and she felt as if she were living part of the childhood she’d been denied. One day she’d felt like that little outdoors-loving girl all over again, as she’d twirled beneath the bright blue sky with her arms extended, before sunbathing as she leaned against a tree and ate the picnic they’d brought with them.
Gus was busy working for his father still, and although it was often on the tip of her tongue to ask if he’d told them about her yet, or to see if she could visit him at work and at least meet his father, she’d stayed quiet. Because if she said anything, she had a feeling it could taint what they had; and what they had was wonderful.
At night they made the short trip to their little distillery, where Hope had become Gus’s right-hand woman. She knew just how many hours they needed for each production, and it was often Hope who would come during the day to check on their absinthe, so that Gus didn’t have to make excuses. The last time he’d gone to Paris for work, she’d stayed home and kept things going, happy to be busy and to feel as if she was at last succeeding at what she’d turned her hand to.
Sometimes, like today, she came a few hours ahead of Gus, making the labels and sticking them to the bottles, or like now, packing them into crates in preparation for transport. She smiled as she thought about the moment weeks earlier when she’d finally perfected her fairy illustration—she wasn’t sure who’d been more excited, her or Gus.
She heard a noise outside and paused, but Gus whistled to alert her that it was him. It was easy to become complacent, when the distillery had come to feel like a second home to her, forgetting that what they were doing was illegal.
Hope placed the last bottle onto the bed of straw in the crate and straightened, stretching her back as Gus appeared through the sliding wooden door.
‘I thought I’d find you here.’
He closed the door behind him, putting down his things, rolling up his sleeves and coming to greet her. She smiled against his mouth as he planted a kiss on her lips, enveloping her in a hug. Hope was always pleased to see him.
‘You didn’t need to do all this,’ he said, looking around and seeing the crates she’d already packed.
‘You know me, I like to keep busy,’ she said. ‘I only wish I could open those doors up and let the sunshine stream in during the day.’
Gus kissed her again before stepping away and looking around.
‘I’ve also bought some more herbs, just a small amount, and from different places, as you suggested,’ she said.
‘Here I was, thinking you’d be painting all day, every day,’ he teased. ‘You know I don’t expect any of this. I don’t expect you to work your fingers to the bone.’
Hope only laughed. She’d caught sight of herself in the mirror before she’d left their apartment, and noticed how bright her eyes were, and that was from Gus, but also from having a purpose again. From loving what she was doing.
