Page 47 of The Road to You
LENA
I ’m curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a soft blanket and a steaming mug of tea nestled in my hands.
For once, the house is quiet, with no call times, no frantic script changes, and no makeup smeared across my cheekbone from a shoot.
Just the crackling of the fireplace and the soft rustle of pages as I flip through the last few chapters of a book I’ve fallen hopelessly into.
It’s the first time in weeks I feel like myself.
We are almost done with the movie. We have a few scenes left to reshoot after the Christmas festivities, but the majority of it is done.
Thankfully, because this time, I felt drained of my last drop of strength.
It was the most beautiful role I’ve ever played, but also the most challenging one.
I had to shed all the layers protecting my heart to get into the main character’s head, and at some point, I didn’t know if I could get out of it again.
It was scary how my thoughts didn’t feel mine at all out of set.
My parents and my sister Maddie are flying in for the holidays in two days.
I’ve already planned the menu, cleaned the guest rooms, and bought more fairy lights than strictly necessary.
The house smells like cinnamon and pine—it smells like home.
I can’t wait to hug them and let my mind be distracted from the smiling brown eyes haunting my dreams since this summer.
God, I miss him. I miss his smile, his hugs, his chatter, and even his history rants.
I miss Michele so much it almost hurts, no matter how many months I spend trying to focus on my job and anything else.
There is always this hole in my chest with the shape of him that I can’t fill.
I wonder when I’ll be able to bring up the memory of him without feeling my chest imploding.
I’m just about to finish a chapter when the doorbell rings.
My brow furrows. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Setting my mug down, I get up and pad barefoot across the hardwood floor, making a list of who it could be.
All my contacts here in LA are either with their families or on some exotic vacation.
When I reach the small screen that shows the front gate camera, I press the button and freeze.
No. It’s not possible. I blink and lean in closer, sure that my eyes are playing some weird trick. But it’s him. It’s really him.
Michele.
Standing at my front gate in jeans, a jacket, and that expression I know too well, nervous, determined, and hopeful. His hair’s a little longer, and he looks like he hasn’t slept much, but it’s him. I slam the gate release button and run, forgetting I’m barefoot.
Out the front door, down the porch steps, bare feet hitting the cold pavement of the path that leads to the gate.
My heart is galloping in my chest, wild and unsure, but my legs don’t stop.
My blood is rushing, and my heart is flying.
I reach the edge of the drive just as he opens the gate and steps inside.
He closes the gate behind him and looks up at me, and time fractures into before and after. We both freeze. My breath is caught in my chest in a battle to get out.
I drink him in like I’m starving—because I am. I missed him with an ache that never faded, a hollow space that no role, no city, no spotlight could ever fill. And right now, all that ache is rushing out of my chest, leaving me breathless, and letting hope take its place.
His smile is tentative, like he’s afraid to hope. “Hi.”
A breath escapes me. “Hi.”
Neither of us knows what to say, and for a bit, the silence is almost deafening.
“I, uh…” he rubs the back of his neck. “I just came from the Galaxy training center. I signed the contract this morning.”
His words come out in a rush, as if they’ll lose their truth if he keeps them inside any longer.
My brain struggles to keep up, and when it registers its meaning, warmth fills my chest in waves.
I never dared to hope something like that would happen because the heartbreak of discovering it was just a dream would kill me.
My heart skips. “You’re playing in LA?” My voice comes out small and trembling.
It’s difficult to process this news without considering the implications, and I don’t dare hope.
He nods, his voice steady but soft. “Yeah. I’m here now. For good.”
Is this really happening? If I wake up right now and discover it’s just a dream, I will scream.
I take a step forward. He watches me, eyes bright, glistening just a little. “Why?” I ask, even though I already know.
Something gets loose inside my chest, and a wave of expectation hits me in the gut. I’ve never believed in miracles, but this looks a lot like one.
He swallows. “Because I couldn’t spend one more day wondering what would’ve happened if I had the courage to try.
I don’t know if long distance would’ve worked.
I don’t know if anything will. But I know I’m in love with you, and I had to come and ask if you’d give me a real chance to make this work. ”
My heart cracks wide open. Tears threaten to spill, but I keep them at bay. I don’t hesitate. I don’t think. I just run the last few steps and lock my arms around his neck and inhale deeply.
He grabs my waist firmly and encircles me with a laugh before pulling me against him even more tightly, like he never plans to let go again. I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing him in. He smells like sunshine, cologne, and home—my home.
“I love you too,” I whisper. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He pulls back just enough to kiss me, and when our lips meet, it’s not just a kiss. It’s a homecoming.
It’s the unraveling of every lonely night, every aching morning, every what-if.
It’s slow and reverent, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth, and I kiss him like I’m afraid he’ll disappear again.
My hands cradle his face. His thumb brushes a tear from my cheek.
His lips whisper things mine have been starving for.
We kiss like time stops for us. And maybe, for once, it does.
When we finally break apart, I press my forehead to his, breathless, overwhelmed, and completely whole for the first time in four months.
“You came back,” I murmur.
His smile is pure sunshine. “I never really left.”
The world clicks back into place, and on this random December Wednesday, I know this is our second chance, and this time, we won’t let it slip away.