Page 117 of Xander

I almost jumped when someone spoke from the table behind me in a distinctly American accent, “What do you think they’re fighting about?”

The voice, spoken level with my ear, made me want to jump out of my seat. I barely managed to stop myself from screaming. It can’t be, I thought, as my heart began to pound. There was no way.

“What, no theories?” he pressed when I couldn’t force myself to turn around.

A smile played at the corners of my lips at the voice that was all too familiar to me. It had been ingrained in my soul so deeply that I could never yank out.

Instead of pulling my eyes away from the altercation and glancing back—because I knew once I looked at him, everything else would cease to exist—I kept my gaze steady on the couple. “He definitely checked out another woman in front of her.”

He laughed, and the sound twisted my heart until I thought I’d die. “Such a big reaction for such a small crime.”

I pouted. “It’s not a small crime.”

“Trust me. It’s not something I’d ever do, but does it deserve the punishment he is getting?” he asked as the woman picked up her purse and smacked the man with it.

I burst out in laughter. As I wiped away a tear at the corner of my eye, I asked, “Fine. What’s your theory, hotshot?”

“Cheating, for sure,” he replied smugly, his voice so deep that it was almost tangible. It made me want to whimper from need at just the sound of it, and I hadn’t even been graced with the power of his looks.

Such was his effect. He wielded a power that could make any woman lightheaded and weak in the knees, just like I was right now.

I shook my head. Stay strong. Focus on the task at hand.

“No way!” I told him. “If he cheated, there wouldn’t be a public fight. They’d be at home, and she would be lighting his stuff on fire.”

“Maybe she already did that, and it wasn’t enough.”

“Was there a fire in Paris, according to the newspapers?”

We continued concocting elaborate narratives about the couple's disagreement, each theory more outlandish and amusing than the previous one. Despite not facing him, his presence anchored me to earth, like I’d been floating without him, and my soul had finally been returned to me.

“Can I say something?” I asked after the woman stormed out and the man chased after her.

“Anything, jailbird.”

“I love you.”

He was quiet for so long that I was unbelievably tempted to turn around, but I knew I'd break completely if I looked at him.

“Can I say something?” he said at last, his voice thick and heavy.

It made my own voice choke, nearing tears. “Yes?”

“I love you so fucking much that I can’t breathe without you. I’m dead without you, Jordan.”

And that did it. I broke down in tears as his big arms wrapped around me from behind. He picked me up as I cried and placed me on his lap, the comfort of it making me think that I could happily die right now.

Fuck, it had been so long since I’d felt him around me. I wanted to melt into him and never let go. His scent overruled the delicious smell of pastries and coffee, rewiring something in my brain that told me it was okay to feel alive again.

He let me sob uncontrollably in his arms, even though I couldn’t get myself to look at him.

Other people watched us curiously as we created a giant scene in the middle of the café. I bet another young couple was making up stories about our dramatic encounter as it unfolded.

I didn’t care.

At some point, Xander had twisted my body so my face was nestled against his broad chest, seeking solace in what I thought I’d lost for good. I couldn’t look at him; I wasn’t ready, and he didn’t push me. Repeatedly, he kissed the top of my head, telling me how fucking sorry he was and how much he loved me.

As his thumb kept wiping away the tears that fell, I sniffled and said, “I have to tell you one last thing.”