How to Ruin a Wedding(97)

Anders breaks the silence. “Why did you leave?” he asks. “And why did you ignore me when I reached out?”

I tilt my head back to face him. “I wanted to stay with you, but I didn’t want to either,” I answer. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Then make it,” he says softly.

I suck in a breath. “I think I was worried that what Mathew said was right. That everything I touch gets ruined. That somewhere deep in my subconscious, there was someone who used people, and if I was using you, then I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to. But then I wanted to be with you so much, so badly, and wished that it was all real, of course, but if it was and I ruined it, how could I forgive myself? And after what I did, I wondered if you could forgive me at all anyway?”

He doesn’t falter as the melody changes to another slow ballad, but his hand travels to my face as he cups my cheek. The act is sweet, tender, but his words are hot. “That pisses me off,” he says, “that you thought he was right, that you assumed how I would feel without coming to me first.”

I try to look down, but he pulls my face toward his.

“I thought,” I explain, “it was better not to know than to risk finding out that you couldn’t forgive me. That it would hurt less if I left it all open instead of letting you shut the door between us.”

“But that’s not everything,” he notes.

“No. I needed some time to try to figure myself out. To try to heal a little of what I didn’t even know was broken. Honestly, I’m not sure if I fully have. I’m probably still a little broken right now. So maybe it’s wrong to be here with you, like this. You’re supposed to love yourself first before anyone can love you, right?”

“Even if you haven’t figured out how to love yourself fully,” Anders says, “I have fallen in love with you easily and fully, so no, you don’t have to love yourself for someone to love you. I already do.” When my legs buckle, he wraps his arms around me and leans down. “But I’d like for you to see yourself the way I do.”

“Anders, wait”—I hold out my hands—“this is not what I was planning. This is not my vision. We’re skipping steps. I need to say sorry, and then also make a humiliating mention of how many times I stopped myself from reaching out to you, how I called you to hear your voice. Then I was hoping, you know, you had some equally, if not worse, embarrassing moments for me, so that way I don’t feel like such a moron for not just reaching out. We can equally just realize that—”

“Please”—Anders grips my face with both hands—“take a breath, Lucinda.”

He’s so focused on me that we bump into a couple of dancers nearby. Anders pulls away, one hand remaining on my waist as he apologizes.

This close, I see it’s the blond man Anders was talking to earlier. Then, a bulb flickers so bright in my head it burns. I hold out a finger toward him. “You’re the sexy plumber!”

“Excuse me?” both he and Anders say at the same time, the latter very much annoyed by the statement.

I wave him off, then push the finger to Anders’s chest. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” he says, then immediately shakes his head. “I mean, not well. We went to high school together. We haven’t spoken in a while.”

He’s not looking me in the eyes. “So you’re actually not a better liar.”

When his lips twitch and he pulls away so I can’t examine him closely, I know he’s lying.

“You’re my luck,” I say, more and more pieces forming into warm, jagged, sweet pictures. “You told him to give the shelter a discount.”

“Lucinda, I don’t know—”

“I bet if I called all our vendors, they’d say they know you, like you, and have spoken to you about K9 Friends.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He fully steps away, looking around like someone can save him.

“Anders.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to feel like I was overstepping, or taking anything away from all you worked for. I just thought, you know, even if I couldn’t help directly, I wanted to try and ease some burdens for you. It’s a lot, owning a business, and you moved down to a new place on your own, and you barely have any staff.”

“Anders”—I hold my hands to his chest—“you have been keeping tabs on me this whole time? It hasn’t been just me?”

“Of course, Lucinda, how could I ever get you out of my head?”

I grip his face, pull him down to me, and press my mouth to his. As soon as I feel the softness of his lips, the warmth of his touch as his hands wrap around me and press me closer to his body—harder and harder until there’s no space between us—my heart races so fast I’m sure it’s leaving tire marks in my chest.

The feel of him, his very presence, fills every gap of happiness that has been left open since he’s been gone.

I pull away, my chest pounding, heat rushing through every muscle in my body. “Anders, I’ve missed you.”

He presses a hungry kiss over my lips in answer.

I pull away again, and he groans.

“Anders,” I say, “I love you.”