Just Friends(71)

My face tingles in disbelief. All I ever wanted was to be wanted by him. Even when I hated myself for it.

“Then don’t pretend anymore,” I beg in a broken, barely audible voice. “Why would you pretend?”

“Because I thought you were leaving for New York soon. And I want you to stay, but I thought it would be like the college fight all over again. You wanting to pursue your dreams. Me standing in the way. Asking you to stay for me. I didn’t want to lose you again.”

I sigh, searching his entire face in disbelief. “Did you ever consider that I wanted to leave because I couldn’t bear the thought of living here if I could only be your friend?”

His brows furrow.

A shocked chuckle escapes me.

“You didn’t see how much of my indecision with the cottage came from it being across the street from you?”

Declan’s mouth parts to speak but nothing comes out, like he’s so stunned by the realization that a cough of a laugh escapes instead. “I must be daft, I guess.”

“Yeah,” I chortle. “And British.”

The corner of his mouth curls.

“Declan, why would I not be thrilled to be given a beach-side cottage?”

“Because it wasn’t what you planned. Because you’ve been dreaming of this job and moving to New York for years. You can see my confusion, right?”

“Yes. Totally, I do. Because all of those things are true. But the truer thing, the little detail I had to leave out when talking to you, was that I couldn’t stand living in Seabrook if it wasn’t going to be with you.” The words are irreversibly out, and I am weightless, untethered from anything solid as I wait for his response.

“Then let’s stop pretending.” He brushes his thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear I didn’t feel. Then he presses a kiss to the soft skin of my cheek. The right and then, slowly, the left. The grazing warmth of his lips sends tiny fizzes exploding through my nerves, and I shiver.

“Come to my dad’s charity gala with me,” he whispers.

“What?”

“It’s soon, and we can dress up, eat a meal, dance together. Consider it our second first date.”

“Wait, wait.” I shake my head, pushing myself off his lap and settling beside him. “Everything I said was true, but I still don’t know if I’m leaving at the end of summer yet.”

He pauses, passes a hand fleetingly over his mouth in consideration. “That’s fine. Honestly, I’m willing to do this with you if you want to, Blair. I’ve let enough come between us to know none of it was worth not having you. Distance or not, you can take all the time you need to figure it out, but if I’m that big a part of your consideration, we might as well start now.”

My brain can hardly process the words coming out of his mouth being reality. And perhaps it is my inability to process this being real that makes me so bold. I grab the hand fiddling over his jaw.

“I’ve done enough friendshiping with you for a lifetime, Declan. And enough living without you, too. If I haven’t made my intentions clear, I’d like to never do either of those things ever again. Please.” I try for ironic, gripping his wrist dramatically, but the words are true. He barks a laugh at my delivery, and I feel an electric bolt of satisfaction.

“And now that I know that”—he kisses me between the words, cradling my head with the hand I was holding—“I want to make my intentions very clear.” His eyes bore into mine like he’s been set free from invisible shackles. “I want you. And I will do whatever it takes to make you remember why you wanted me.”

My heart takes off without permission from my brain and I let it. There’s no running after it now. “I can get on board with that,” I whisper, and picture myself accepting the award for biggest understatement of the century. A satisfied smile blooms across his face, and I press my lips to his to taste it.

Little does he know, remembering why I want him isn’t the hard part. It’s trusting that I should.





Chapter 22


The next day, I follow my mom around to the convenience stores to help her make a list of things she needs to get done or hire someone else to do. We’re driving home when we pass the turn that leads to the house Lottie left me.

“Can we stop at the cottage? I forgot something there when I stopped by Tuesday,” I tell my mom.

“Of course, honey,” she replies eagerly. A beat passes and I can somehow hear the cogs in my mom’s brain turning over before she says, “You went to the cottage by yourself?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum. “Is that surprising?”

“No!” she says, overly cheery like her real answer is yes. “I thought you were feeling some mixed emotions toward it. That’s all.”

“I was. Am, I mean. But Declan looked at it with me, like you suggested, and he even sketched this little blueprint with ideas to spruce it up.”

My mom gasps, delighted. “He did not.”

“He did. Did you know he renovated his own house?”

“No, I did not. But it doesn’t surprise me. That boy is very determined.” She shakes her head in awe.

“Don’t I know it,” I mutter, and smile to myself.

After a few pacing steps to search for the crewneck I could have sworn I left here, I give up and look for where my mom has wandered off to. Through the bedroom’s clear doors, I find her standing in the garden. She’s brushing her fingers over the lavender heads in the sun’s gentle glow, just like Declan did when I brought him here. They’re so fluffy, you can’t help but touch them.