More Than Words
Page 58

He glanced at the papers I’d dropped, moving to gather them, but I reached my hand out, stopping him. “It’s okay. They’re just … uh …” Copies of something, nothing important. “I mean, they can be replaced.”
He bent anyway, gathering up the drenched pile, unmoving now, made heavy by the water and stuck to the pavement. “Still probably shouldn’t litter,” he said as he stood.
“No,” I said, my eyes moving over his face as if he might not be real. “I mean, yes.” I shook my head, trying desperately to clear it. It’d been so fuzzy lately. “Yes, littering is bad.”
His smile widened, and it was so beautiful. He was so beautiful, I almost began to cry. Someone brushed past his back and he stepped forward, guiding me closer to the wall of a building, out of the way of people walking on the sidewalk. He still held the umbrella over our heads, creating an intimate space perfect for two. It made me picture that small room we’d shared in the Loire Valley and a wave of emotion washed through me. Hope, both tentative and strong. “What are you doing here?”
He used the hand not holding the umbrella to run through his damp hair, slicking it back, and then ran his hand down his thigh to dry whatever wetness it had come away with. “I was on my way to your apartment. To see you.”
“You were?”
He nodded, staring at me for a moment, so much longing in his eyes that my heart jumped again. He patted the pocket of his jacket as if he’d just remembered something, and then reached inside, pulling out a folded piece of paper. When he held it toward me, I could see that his hand was trembling. He cleared his throat. “This is for you. I, uh, wrote it for you.”
“Music?”
He shook his head. “No, ah, no. A letter. Just a short one.”
I sucked in a breath. A letter. “You—you wrote it?” Oh my God. Oh, Callen.
He nodded, the expression on his face filled with such raw vulnerability that tears burned in my eyes. “Please don’t laugh at it, Jessie.”
I let out a tiny sob, taking the paper. “I would never laugh at you.”
He shook his head, grimacing. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just … It’s just a start. I’m not very good yet. But Madame Pelletier says I will be.”
“Madame Pelletier?”
“My tutor.”
“Oh, Callen,” I breathed, swallowing down the lump in my throat that threatened to choke me.
He nodded toward the note, putting his hand in his pocket as he watched me.
I unfolded the piece of plain white paper, my own hands shaking as his had a moment before. Inside, in childish-looking blocky letters, the ink bleeding in several spots where it looked as if he’d stopped and then started again in great concentration, read:
Dear Jessie,
I’m sorry and I love you.
Callen
The most gorgeous love letter ever written in the history of life on earth.
The tears broke free, a sobbing moan rising in my throat as the love in my heart burst forth, mixing with my pride in him, the aching loneliness of the past four months, the worry, the doubts, the pain, and the fear.
“Jessie,” he croaked. “You’re not supposed to cry.” He moved forward, brushing the tears from my face.
I shook my head. “I’m just so proud of you. And y-you wrote this for me. And the songs,” I gasped, “the beautiful, gorgeous songs.”
Callen had moved in even closer and was kissing the tears from my cheeks now. “Jessie,” he murmured. “I have so much to explain to you. That day in my hotel room, I—”
“I know about that,” I whispered. “Nick came to see me.”
He nodded. “I know. He told me.” He smoothed back a piece of hair that had stuck to my damp cheek. “But I’d still like to explain myself to you in my own words. I want to undo the hurt I caused you. I want to earn your forgiveness.”
“I do forgive you, Callen. And I want you to forgive me, too. I never meant—”
He put his fingers over my lips, halting my words. “There’s nothing to forgive. You can tell me how it happened, but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. You’ve only ever brought me gifts.” He paused. “And in a way, that was one, too, Jessie. Funny as it seems. You saved me once, and then again, but I needed to save myself.” He ran his knuckle down my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. “You were right about that. You were right about so many things.”
I smiled. “Oh, Callen, I—” A gust of wind blew straight at me, causing me to step backward as my coat flew open, my dress plastering itself to my body. I turned my head against the gust, and when it changed direction, I opened my mouth to continue the sentence I’d started. When I looked back to Callen, he was staring down, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly parted.
His eyes flew to mine, his forehead creasing. “Jessie?” He reached down, running his palm over my swollen belly, just beginning to round with his growing baby.
“I tried to call you,” I said, nerves assaulting me. “But your number was changed.”
He blinked, still staring, as if in shock. “I changed my number when I moved to France,” he murmured.
France? “Oh. Um, well, I didn’t know how to reach you, and I didn’t have anyone else to call. I tried to look Nick up, but I didn’t have his last name, and Los Angeles is a big city … lots of, ah, website design companies. And then I thought after I received your music that you’d get in touch with me … I was waiting … I’ve played your songs so many times.” I let out a strangled laugh. That was an understatement. I had the entire soundtrack memorized, every note, every chord. “I’ve played them all to the baby, too,” I whispered. “I wanted he or she to know you right from the beginning … and … I felt your heart there. I …” Oh God, say something. Anything.
Something seemed to break inside him as he let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing and a slow smile overtaking his face. “We made a baby that weekend in that tiny attic room, in that tiny bed.” His grin widened even more, and he laughed, a sound full of joy.
“Yes. I … You’re … happy?”
“Jessie.” He laughed again, dropping the umbrella on the street and reaching for me, pulling me into his arms. “I’m happy. It’s a miracle.” He brought his lips to mine, laughing as we kissed, and he spun me around in the dwindling rain. Elation gripped me, a relief so intense that it felt like my knees might buckle. But Callen held me tightly, not allowing me to fall. Rescuing me.
After we’d kissed for a few more minutes, he pulled back. “You told me you weren’t pregnant, that night at your work dinner.”
“I didn’t know. It had only been two weeks since that weekend. And I guess I just figured I wasn’t. Maybe I … maybe I even hoped I wasn’t. I didn’t know how to feel. Things were so—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Callen kissed me again, holding me close.
After a minute I tilted my head, his words from earlier penetrating. “Wait, you moved to France? When?”
He smiled. “Yep. A few months ago. I bought a house in Giverny. It’s really old, has tons of history, and a beautiful private garden in the back with so many rosebushes you can smell them in the air when you step outside.” His expression sobered. “It has plenty of extra bedrooms. There’s a small one next to the master that would make a perfect nursery. It has this window seat and lots of light …”
I let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, not sure whether I wanted to laugh with joy or cry with unspent emotion. Maybe both. I cupped his cheek in my hand, running my thumb over his cheekbone. “You’ve been there all these months by yourself?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, I have a dog now. Pierre. She’s good company.”
I raised a brow. Pierre? “She?”
He laughed. “Yeah. I didn’t look closely enough before I named her. By that time she was already answering to it. I’ll tell you all about how I found her later.” He leaned in, resting his forehead on mine. “We have so much to talk about, Jessie. I have so much to tell you.”