The Wake-Up Call(96)

“Deep down, I think you’re all heart,” I whisper, shifting closer.

He gives me a small smile at that.

“And I get that it’s made you a little prickly about cheating. But I do need you to trust me. Even if I’m chatting with a guy.” I laugh as he winces. “Lucas.”

“Yes, I know. I do trust you. I do. I’m sorry.”

“And I know I’ve jumped to conclusions more times than I can count in the last year—I’ve always assumed the worst of you,” I say, looking down at our twined hands. “I was horrible when you told me about your hotel management course, and then when you tried to open up about Camila . . . I just couldn’t fit it together with the guy I was so sure you were. It freaked me out that you were . . . I don’t know. I needed you to be a dickhead, so that I could stop myself from falling in love with you. But you kept being lovely and interesting.”

He squeezes my hand for a moment and then lets go, letting me explore him, my fingers tracing up to his elbow, his bicep.

“I promise to think the best of you from this moment on. To ask you, if I think you’ve done something hurtful. I promise never to be unkind.” I smile slightly. “Though I kind of like that you’ve seen that side of me. The worst of me. People tend to think I’m super nice, and I do try to be, obviously, but . . . Sometimes everyone’s a bit of a bitch, aren’t they? I get a bit exhausted trying to keep it up nonstop without ever slipping up and swearing at bad drivers or complaining about guests, you know?”

“Ah, yes,” Lucas says, and his bicep flexes under my palm. “Angelic Izzy. I never thought you were that, by the way. Not even when you were nice to me.”

I laugh. “No?”

“No. You have . . .” He reaches for my other hand, the one that isn’t working its way over the muscles of his arm, and pulls me closer, until one of his knees crosses over mine. “You have too much bite to be an angel. Too much sting.”

I take the invitation and lean forward to press my teeth to his neck, then suck—not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to make him chuckle and pull me against him until I climb up into his lap. He wraps his arms around me, and I feel something new. He’s held me like this before—my legs framing his, his face buried in my neck—but this time having his arms around me settles something that I didn’t know needed settling. I feel safe.

“Meu amor,” he whispers, his lips against my ear. “My love.”

I close my eyes and move against him. It still feels frightening to tell him I love him, even with his arms locked around me, holding me tight, urging me forward, back. But I’ve made my mind up. No more easy options—I want this, the bright, explosive joy of it. I want to say those words every day.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Eu te amo,” he whispers back, and then he lifts his mouth to mine, and I have to still my hips for a moment, because the kiss is almost too much with the taste of those words on his tongue.

He’s right. It is more intense. He takes me to his bedroom and we whisper it all night: Eu te amo. I love you. By the morning I feel changed. Lucas has always shaken me up, leaving me furious, frenzied, weak with wanting, whatever it might be. But now it’s different. Now he holds me steady, too.

As much as I wish that card hadn’t gone astray, I can’t regret the last year. We know each other so well now. This isn’t the culmination of a few stolen glances at work, it’s a relationship that’s been twisting and turning for over a year, and I know it’ll be stronger for it.

He makes me coffee and brings it to me in bed, naked, slow, letting me look. I pull him to me, and he settles his head against my chest, watching the rain come down through the window.

“We have so much to do,” he says without particular intent. His fingers find mine, lacing over my stomach. “Christmas party tomorrow.”

“And just over a week until it’s all over. New Year’s.”

He sighs. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve applied for some receptionist roles nearby, but . . .”

I sit up, looking down at him. “You and I pretty much run Forest Manor. You can’t go back to receptionist work now—you deserve something in management.”

“Then I would have to look further away.” His hand tightens on mine. “And I don’t want to. I like it here.”

I squeeze his hand back.

“And you’re right: you and I do pretty much run Forest Manor,” he says, looking serious. “And you hate waitressing.” He raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about that a lot.” I bite my lip. “Honestly, I don’t want to take a waitressing job. But I don’t want to move, either. I just wish we could find a way to keep the hotel going. Maybe if we find Goldilocks . . .”

His stubble rasps against my bare skin as he lifts his head to look at me. “We will keep trying,” he says. “Maybe we can do it together.”

“Excuse me?” I say, pulling back in outrage. “You may be my boyfriend now, but that bet is still on.”

He winces. “Really?”

“You want to concede and wear the elf outfit?”

“. . . No.”

“Well then.” I kiss him on the nose. “In that case, I’m still planning to kick your arse at this.”