It Had to Be You, Georgia Clark [phonics reader TXT] 📗

took one of her volunteer coordinator jobs there. There was a hurricane— Wow, you really have impeccable timing, Clay.”

“Text me her flight number.”

Silence. It sounded like Darlene was driving, the wet squelch of the windshield wipers moving rhythmically against glass, Jimi Hendrix playing low.

“Darlene, I messed up. I let Illusion Clay—it’s hard to explain but I need to see her. Apologize. For everything.”

Darlene sighed. “I’ll text you. But if you hurt her like that again, I will end you.”

“Sounds good.” Clay hung up and whirled around. He had to put on shoes, call his driver, grab a jacket—

Wait. He came to a halt. Shook his head. Took a breath.

He wasn’t really doing this. Was he really doing this? Running to the airport to get back the woman he loved?

And there it was: the woman he loved.

“Russo,” he groaned, thumping his forehead with the heel of his hand. “You’re such an idiot.” He stabbed a call to his new assistant. “I need a plane ticket. To anywhere. Leaving from”—he checked Darlene’s text—“uh, I don’t know. Wherever Flight HA51 is leaving from.”

The assistant babbled some questions.

“I don’t know what airport!” Clay shoved his foot into a sneaker, hopping around on one leg. “I’ll forward you a text. Wait, can I do that?”

The assistant kept blathering.

“I don’t care about frequent flyer miles!” He had the shoe on the wrong foot. He almost lost his balance as he tried to switch it, the phone still jammed under one ear. The comic absurdity of it all struck him. He had a wild urge to laugh. “No, I don’t need luggage! No, don’t come back!”

In the three separate films where he’d done a run-for-your-love scene, there had never been any logistics. But this is what he wanted to remember—the messy, confusing, silly thrill of it. The parts of his life that were just for him. And just for her.

77

The sight of Darlene was water to a man dying of thirst. Her curls were natural and she was dressed simply in jeans and a blouse the color of a sunflower. She was the most beautiful woman at the party, in America, on the entire bloody planet. And she was here. In his parents’ home. Staring at him with full, expressive eyes. Zach’s heart, sensing the antidote to its current state, banged against his ribcage like a prisoner demanding sustenance.

“My—my name is Darlene. I’m Zach’s…”

Zach didn’t blame her. What was she to him? What was he to her?

“Ex-girlfriend.” Is what she landed on. “But we also play—played—music together. And while I’m pleased, and honestly a little surprised, that Zach is getting into politics, I thought someone should acknowledge what a unique talent Zach Livingstone is.”

Some of Zach’s music buddies—really, they were Zach and Darlene’s music buddies—called, “Hear, hear.”

“Zach auditioned for me about two years ago,” Darlene said. “He was forty-five minutes late”—the room chuckled, unsurprised—“so I was pretty annoyed when he finally showed up. Certain I’d never work with someone so unprofessional. But then, he started to play. I’d never seen anything like it. No sheet music, no warm-up. He just sat down at the piano and played like it was pouring out of him. I asked if he could play any other instruments. He was like, ‘Yeah, a little guitar.’ ”

A collective titter at her impression of Zach. Mark’s face was dark, but Catherine laughed too. Zach couldn’t take his eyes off Darlene, a weird, warm feeling twisting up inside him. “And he picked up a guitar and started ‘Voodoo Child’ by Jimi Hendrix. Which, if you don’t know, is a really tricky song to play, and Zach was basically doing it with his hands tied behind his back.”

“I was just trying to impress you,” Zach said, and everyone laughed.

“It worked,” Darlene said, and her smile turned his insides into a squelchy, melted mess. “Zach has an amazing career ahead of him as a professional musician, if that’s what he wants to do. And, I hope he does want that, because, well, I need him. I say this without any disrespect, Mr. Livingstone, but if Zach turns into someone who is only responsible, mature, and sober-minded, the world has lost the most charismatic, most hilarious, most fun person I’ve ever met.”

The younger generation broke into applause. Zach felt himself smiling for the first time in a very long time.

“So let’s all raise a glass to Zach.” She looked right at him. “Just as you are.”

The guests toasted him, then his mother insisted it was time for cake. Everyone flowed toward the kitchen.

Zach hadn’t stopped staring at Darlene. She inclined her head, drawing him to an empty corner of the room. “D-Dee,” he said, once they were alone. “That was lovely—”

“Zach, I’m sorry,” Darlene spoke over him. “I’m so sorry for what I did. There’s no good reason for you to trust me. But I hope that you do. I need you to.”

The world around him stilled. “Why?”

“Because…” Her eyes shimmered with emotion. “Because you’re the one for me.”

In the kitchen someone was calling for him to blow out the candles. Zach didn’t hear it.

Darlene continued. “These past few weeks apart have been the hardest of my whole life.” Her voice quavered. “I’ve been afraid to let myself love someone. Let someone love me. But I’m not afraid anymore.” She gazed at him, and it was just them, just the two of them. “I love you, Zach. So much it’s kind of freaking me out.”

Zach let out a breath. The painful ache in his chest was gone. In its place was pure, peaceful warmth. He smiled, and it felt like leaping over a wall. Darlene smiled back, and goddamn she was beautiful. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She let out a sound of relief and circled her arms around his neck. She felt so damn good, so damn right. He would never let her go. Ever. “I love you too, Dee. I always bloody have.”

He pressed his lips to hers and