“Thanks for supporting our vets tonight with your donations. Have a wonderful night!” Maia waved goodbye and stepped backwards until she was through the curtain opening. She held her smile in place until they dropped shut, and the audience disappeared from view.

Gathering yards of fabric, she hiked her dress up enough to give her thighs room to move more than three inches. The gown was exquisite—when she’d put it on, it was like wearing a second skin. However, she’d had to walk like a Barbie doll all evening, and getting out of the building and away from London was her top priority.

I remember everything.

Good-luck kisses. Healing kisses. Kisses full of true love.

Everything.

“Maia.” Her assistant, April, speed walked by her side. Her ever-present tablet was tucked under her left arm, and her hair had been pulled back in a severe bun that made her cheekbones and puffy lips stand out like a supermodel’s. “There’s a car waiting for you out back—you don’t need to rush.”

“Yes, I do.” Maia made it to the small dressing room. “I’m changing.” She shut the door in April’s shocked face and leaned against it to breathe. Just breathe. Nice clean air that didn’t smell like London’s signature cologne: Juniper & Clover. She smacked her palm against the door. Darn that London. Even his cologne wasn’t what she wanted it to be. She wanted him to stink so it would be that much easier to say she’d made the right decision when she left Dallas—and him—nine years ago.

“Maia?” April’s concerned voice easily penetrated the plywood door. The dressing room was for visual privacy only.

“I’m fine.” With an ease that came from thousands of costume changes, Maia slipped out of the borrowed dress and shoes and into heavily pleated black pants with a tall waistband and a tight sweater. Her mind drifted to another lifetime, and her hands worked while her eyesight blurred with the sands of time. She hung the dress on the hanger and wrestled it into the garment bag. Then, she laid the shoes back in their box.

“Is she in there?” The door rattled.

Maia froze, afraid to make a sound and give away her position. Even if she hadn’t followed London from Perdue to the Wranglers and finally to the Titans—listening to the few interviews he’d given along the way—she’d know it was him by the way every part of her responded to the deep timbre of his voice.

“Sir!” April said sharply. “You can’t go in; she’s changing.”

Maia smiled at the image of her five-foot-two assistant glaring down all six feet four of London.

“Yeah, she does that,” came London’s reply.

Maia glared at the door. I changed? Me?! She wrenched open the wooden door, feeling it shake on its hinges. “I’m not the one who closed himself off.”

London ran his open palm down his face. He did that when he was sorry, but it always looked to her like he was checking for pain. “It slipped out. I didn’t mean to—”

Maia held up her hand. “Don’t—just—” She drew in a fortifying breath. “Let’s not do this tonight.”

April looked back and forth between them. “I’m going to … go over there.” She pointed to the right and took off.

They stood there for a moment—taking each other in. London had grown. He’d always been big and strong—she’d loved that, loved how protected she felt having him close. He’d gotten bigger, wider, harder. His cheeks hollowed out, giving full definition to his jaw and high cheekbones. His carefully groomed facial hair was a work of art. Even with all of that going for him, it was London’s eyes—the key to his soul—that called to her most.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So, how’ve you been?”

Maia weighed her answer much more carefully than she probably needed to. She wanted to make sure she was addressing the right question. If he was asking how she’d been since them, then the answer was not so great, lonely, like half of a whole. “Fine. Things are good.”

“I saw the poster for your movie. That’s a big deal.”

She nodded. “A long deal. I’m under contract for promotional appearances for the next five years.”

He whistled through his teeth. “I’d kill for a five-year contract.”

She chuckled. “I thought you landed one, Mr. Hardest Hitter in the NFL.”

He kicked his foot and ducked his head. “You saw that?”

Maia berated herself for saying too much. London could always loosen her tongue—even when she didn’t want to talk to him. Her resentment of his superpowers channeled into her tone. “The whole country saw it.”

He shrugged. The move so relaxed, so humble, so him. He’d never been one to seek the spotlight—her complete opposite. Her grounding rod. “Yeah, well, football’s just a game, right?” His eyebrows transformed from straight lines to wavy ones. He even had more muscles in his eyebrows than the average man.

She huffed. He did remember everything. “Right.” She laced her fingers together in front of her. “You’ve done well, London. I’ll bet your dad’s bursting at the seams with pride.”

“Dad’s the same as always.”

“He still pushes you?” London’s dad had been to every game. He filmed every play. He ran extra practices with London every Saturday. They spent hours talking football. And he’d hated Maia—thought she was latching herself on to London’s star, trying to hitch a ride on his rise to fame and fortune.

London laughed mirthlessly. “No. Dad doesn’t push me anymore.”

Maia wasn’t sure what to do with the unexpected verbal acid London spewed. “O-kay.”

April waved, giving her an out if she wanted it.

She wanted it. Leaving now would save her from saying words that were better left to daydreams and fairy tales. Maia unclasped her hands. “It was nice seeing you again, but I have to go.”

London nodded and stepped back, giving her enough room to pass without making physical contact. “It’s been nice to see you, too. I wish—I wish you all the best, really. You deserve every good thing.”

Maia searched his gaze, falling right into his heart, where every emotion was as easy to read as a teleprompter: sincerity, regret, hope, honesty, and—as always—something she couldn’t pin down. That last one was the reason she’d said goodbye the first time, and it was the reason she didn’t want to say goodbye this time. Whatever haunted London Wilder was beyond her reach.

“Thank you, London. You too.” Her hand itched to reach up and brush along his jaw—for old time’s sake. She held back, barely. Tearing herself away caused her body to shriek in protest. Her heart pounded against her ribs, crying, “Listen to me!” Her skin burned with the need to make contact.

April held up her jacket. “You okay?”

“Nope. But I will be.” She’d gotten through the separation withdrawals once before; she could do it again. “How soon can we leave Texas?”

“Six hours.”

The best medicine was distance. “Let’s do it.”

She looked forward to returning to her beach house, where nothing would remind her of London and how wonderful and easy it would be to fall into his arms.