Page 26 of The Perfect Heart

Halle said the words so quietly I couldn’t initially puzzle them out. I had to turn them over a few times before they made sense, and then I chuckled to hide my surprise. Where had that question come from?

“No. I’m single. Not seeing anyone at all.”

I almost continued, nearly told her I would stay single because I had my eye on a particular girl, but I decided to keep it to myself. That question would bring up other questions, such as who the girl was.

How would Halle react to my answer when I told her it was the girl sitting before me? I wasn’t ready to find out yet.

It gave me a small bit of hope, though, that I thought I saw relief in Halle’s response to my reassurance that I was single, her shoulders dipping as though she had been holding her breath.

I chuckled and nudged her foot again. “So we’re all good now?”

Halle’s smile was a lot brighter, her body language more relaxed as, this time, she nudged my foot with hers. “Yes, we’re all good.”

The awkwardness between us evaporated with our conversation, and we were back to joking and laughing with each other, a solid unit as the bar filled with patrons.

And Halle let me drive her home again. She must have been flying high on her relief because she talked all the way back, a peek at the old, cheerful Halle I had missed. The sight had warmth swirling in the center of my chest, a happiness I hadn’t felt in a while. It was enough that I leaned over before she could get out of the car and gave her a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

Her skin was soft and warm, and my lips lingered for a heartbeat longer than they should have. I hoped she understood the message, and when I pulled away, she was blushing.

I chuckled. “'Night, Halle.”

“Goodnight, Nash.”

But even with the words, Halle didn’t leave the car immediately. Those beautiful, dark eyes stayed trained on me until I had the impulse to kiss her again, but this time on her mouth.

And then she turned and opened the door, slipping out into the dark and cold.

“Good night, Nash,” she said again, folding briefly to flash me a smile before the door closed, and she made her way to the steps.

I had half a mind to follow her, ask if we could watch another movie. But instead, I started the engine again and took the car out of park, the snow crunching under the tires as I drove away.

Chapter 13

Halle

A FLASH OF SALT HIT my tongue as another tear slipped down my cheek. My sobs had finally subsided, reduced to quiet gasps and sniffles, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

I had cried. A lot, especially lately. Or maybe longer than lately. It was hard to remember, the memories stuffed down until they became a blur, moments of hiding in my car and crying, waiting until he had left to cry, waiting until I was in the shower to cry, taking a walk to cry.

How long had it been like this? How long had life been a march of miserable moments broken by only an occasional break in the clouds?

Sniffing, I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand, knowing I was smearing mascara and eyeliner, but I didn’t care. Jack wouldn’t be awake to care any time soon, either. I could just see him from my place at the long table that separated the open kitchen from the dining room, his arms spread like he was surrendering, one leg hanging off the couch, his snores echoing against the high ceilings.

I pushed to my feet and crossed the room, over the hardwood floor Jack had had flown in from some country near the equator to the enormous picture windows custom-made for the space. Shoving open the sliding door, the low hum of the city greeted me, the warm air soft against my wet cheeks as I padded to the railing to look out.

From my vantage point high in the hills, Los Angeles spread out before me, the valley awash a carpet of light, from the Hollywood Hills to the high rises and skyscrapers downtown to the ocean in the distance, invisible in the dark.

The valley, an inversion of the mountains in which I had grown up, the weather, the climate, the beaches, the sheer number of people, all so opposite to my life until the end of high school. What had felt like a prison growing up, the one I had escaped, now suddenly seemed like utopia, the metropolis in the valley to which I had fled more like the jail.

Or maybe it was this house that was the ivory tower in which I was locked away, my prison made of marble and exotic woods, an enormous kitchen and custom embellishments, six-figure cars in the garage, and a view that very literally cost a million dollars.

More than a million.

Was this what I had wanted? Was this my dream?

When had my dream become a nightmare?

From inside, I heard Jack moan, and I tensed, my head whipping around, only to see him shift on the couch and settle back down. Only when I was sure he was asleep did my shoulders come down from my ears.