21. Leyland

Leyland

WHERE WE FIRST MET…

“Mr. Graham, right this way,” the door attendant said, ushering me into the grand hall before returning to his post.

I scanned the room as I stepped further inside, a blend of nervousness and anticipation swirling in my chest. My three paintings were displayed prominently in the center of the gallery wall. Even from a distance, I could see guests pausing to study them, their quiet murmurs and contemplative expressions filling me with pride.

The first piece was vibrant—a meadow bathed in the golden hues of a rising sun, with children running and playing in the open space. It represented new beginnings, the promise of a brighter future. The second piece was more intimate: a young child releasing a lantern into the night sky, their small hands outstretched toward the stars. This one captured resilience, the unyielding ability to dream despite hardship. The third was abstract, a swirl of warm tones blending into silhouettes of families holding hands. It represented community and the power of love in the face of adversity.

Each painting held a part of me, a truth I’d poured into the canvas. They were my way of contributing to the hospital’s mission—a message of hope, not just for the children they served, but for myself as well.

Still, as much pride as I felt seeing them displayed, there was an ache in my chest I couldn’t ignore. My gaze shifted back to the entrance, scanning the flow of new arrivals for the one person I wanted to see most.

I told myself not to get my hopes up for this to be exactly like before. Still, the thought of seeing her here filled me with a sense of anticipation I couldn’t shake.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours, and the crowd thickened. My shoulders sagged slightly as I tried to accept that perhaps she wouldn’t be here after all. I turned back toward the gallery, preparing to focus on the conversations I’d surely have about my work.

And then I saw her.

Clementine stepped through the grand double doors, her presence commanding the room without effort. She wore a deep emerald gown that accentuated her figure in all the right ways; it was the same color she’d worn before, though the gown itself was different. Her hair, too.

Before she’d worn it in a slick bun at the nape, but today it was in its natural state, curly and dancing from her head in every direction as she preferred it. Her smile was the same, a reminder that she illuminated everything around her with it.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

The memory of her in our other life collided with the reality of her standing here now, and the sensation was overwhelming. She was here—real, tangible, and fucking breathtaking.

I started to move toward her, but before I could take more than a step, the director of the AVAA intercepted me with a broad smile and an outstretched hand.

“Leyland! There you are. Come with me—I’d like to introduce you to some of our benefactors,” she said, tone enthusiastic but insistent.

My gaze flickered back to Clementine; she was already being drawn into a conversation with a small group, her smile gracious and engaging.

Reluctantly, I let the director guide me toward a circle of well-dressed patrons. The next several minutes were all handshakes, polite laughter, and discussions about my art. I answered questions about my inspirations and techniques, all the while feeling like part of me was standing on the other side of the room, tethered to the moment I’d seen Clementine walk through those doors.

Out of the corner of my eye, I tracked her movements. She was effortlessly captivating, her laughter like music. I watched as she gestured animatedly during her conversations, the light catching the shimmer in her pretty brown skin. Every so often, her gaze would shift, and our eyes would meet.

Each time, it was like a spark.

Was she as aware of me as I was of her? Did she still feel the same pull as before, the same quiet urgency to close the distance between us?

Her smile softened as the man beside her pointed to the second painting, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the lanterns reminded her of something—a moment, a feeling, a dream she couldn’t quite place.

The pull to be near her grew stronger with every passing second. When I saw her slip away from her group and head toward the terrace, my feet moved before I could think.

Excusing myself from the director, I followed her out into the cool night air.

The terrace was quiet, the noise of the gala muffled by the heavy glass doors behind me. Clementine stood at the edge, her hands resting lightly on the railing as she gazed out at the city skyline.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” she said without turning around.

I smiled as I stepped closer, the sound of her voice surrounding me. “I didn’t want to harp on memories you hadn’t experienced,” I replied, my tone soft. “But this is where we met.”

She turned to look at me then, her expression curious. “Is it?”

I nodded, stepping to the railing beside her.

“Yes. It was a night just like this—same lights, same city. Only then, we hadn’t experienced all we have so far.”

Clementine tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching mine.

“How do you feel?”

“Like no matter what, you’ll always be meant for me. That if I wake up tomorrow and none of this was real, I’d somehow find you again.”

For a moment, silence surrounded us, but I had more on my mind—more to get off my chest.

“This place,” I went on, breaking the quiet, “it’s special to me. Not just because it’s where we met, but because of what it represents. Hope, healing, and second chances. I see all of that when I look at you, tiny.”

She dropped her gaze before meeting mine again. “You have a way of saying things that make me feel like... like I’m the only person in the room.”

“That’s because you are. I can only see you, even when we aren’t sharing the same space.”

I reached out and brushed a curl from her face, my fingers lingering against her cheek. She stepped closer, finally allowing that pull to draw her to me.

“Your paintings are beautiful, Leyland. They feel... personal.”

“They are,” I admitted. “They’re about resilience, about hope. But mostly, they’re about you.”

She regarded me closely, her eyes searching mine for something specific.

“You really love me, don’t you?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I admitted. “With everything I have and everything I’ll ever be. I love you in ways that I didn’t think were possible. Across lifetimes, tiny. In every version of reality, it’s you.”

She took a deep breath, and I could see the emotions swirling in her eyes—fear, mostly. But beneath all of that was something else, something softer and more vulnerable. Hope.

Clementine turned back toward the skyline, gripping the railing with both hands as though she needed something solid to hold on to. I gave her the space, leaning against it beside her.

“It’s a lot,” she said finally, her voice almost lost in the night air. “Hearing that. Feeling it. It’s... overwhelming.”

“I know. And I don’t expect you to say it back, not yet. But you asked and I couldn’t lie.”

She nodded slowly, her curls shifting with the motion.

“Everything I thought I knew about love—about life—it doesn’t fit anymore. You’ve turned my entire world upside down, Leyland.”

I couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across my lips.

“Good, because you’ve done the same to me.”

She laughed then, a quiet, breathless sound.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not. Loving someone isn’t easy. But when it’s real, when it’s worth it, you don’t mind the work.”

She stepped closer, fingers brushing against mine on the railing. I turned my hand over and caught hers.

“What if I can’t be what you think I am?” she whispered.

“You don’t have to be anything else. Just you. That’s all I need.”

Clementine turned fully toward me and said, “I’m choosing you.”

I couldn’t stop myself from stepping closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel her body against mine.

“And I choose you,” I murmured.

Her lips curved into a broad smile as I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“You might just ruin me, Leyland Graham.”

“Or maybe I’ll put you back together.”

“Promise me something,” she said in a rush, like the words had left her mouth without permission.

“Anything.”

“No matter what happens, no matter where this goes... don’t let me run.”

I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. “I won’t let you go, Clementine. Not in this life, not in the next, not ever.”

The sound of laughter drifted through the glass doors behind us, and she pulled back slightly, glancing over her shoulder. “We should probably head back inside.”

“Probably,” I agreed, though I made no move to let her go.

She laughed softly, brushing her fingers against my cheek. “Come on, superstar. We’ve got a room full of people waiting to fawn over your brilliance.”

Superstar.

Her playful grin made it impossible not to smile back, but really I couldn’t help be smile because she’d used her nickname for me. The same one she’d been using in my dreams.

“Lead the way, Dr. Warren.”

As we walked back inside, our shoulders brushed, the contact subtle but enough to send a jolt through me. The night wasn’t over, but I already knew it was one I’d carry with me forever.