“No, I was a dick for using that against you.”
“To be fair, I get it. You were kind of right. I bounced between them all so fast because the truth is, I didn’t love any of them anymore. I just convinced myself I did, mostly because I was trying to avoid my feelings for you,” I admit, moving out of the way as Angie runs past me to greet more guests.
“I know. I’m a tool for doubting that.” He gives a helpless shrug. “It’s just, I’ve seen the way you are with guys you like. Sending multi-paragraph texts. You sent me one-word answers while I was gone, and I thought you—”
“You thought I didn’t care?” I’m tempted to laugh in his face when he nods. I think about the hours I spent clutching my phone, willing him to text me. “Don’t forget, you’re the one who told me to rein my text game in. I was trying not to freak you out and send you running far away, as you would say.”
He winces. “My advice was dead wrong. I love your long-winded texts. I just never thought you’d actually take my advice.”
My corset makes digesting this new information more challenging than it should be. How do historical romance heroines keep their cool? I fidget, managing to regulate my breathing, replaying his words. I interpreted his lack of communication to mean he didn’t care. And he assumed the same.
Grandma Flo’s words echo through my head. You have a lot to learn about relationships if you think all problems can be solved with a single conversation.
He continues. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize again for my part in all of this. I know I’ve messed with your head the past few months, and I take full responsibility. And I know asking you to move slow didn’t help.”
“I’m sorry too. And for the record, I have no problem with moving slow.”
The corners of his lips tug upward, deepening into a brief smile. “I think we tossed out moving slow on Friday night, didn’t we?”
“Technically.”
His incendiary look locks me in place. “Tara, I’ve had it bad for you for months. You. Are. Everything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I was scared because I couldn’t stop second-guessing whether you were real and whether you were going to leave too. I’ve always had issues expressing how I feel, especially after my mom passed. After everything, with my family and Angie, the thought of losing someone else I care about was too much. Shutting people out was easier. I just got so comfortable with that reality. And when you moved in . . .”
I let him continue his train of thought.
“You wanted to get to know me. You wanted to know everything about me. And for the first time, I wanted to let someone in. And when I did, it scared the shit out of me. But the time away gave me some clarity.”
“On what?”
“It made me realize I missed you so fucking much. I was so miserable without you, I got sent home early because I was basically useless out there. I needed to come home and tell you that I want all the things you want. That I’m capable of giving you everything. And I don’t want to go slow, because I can barely breathe when I think about living my life without you. I want to complain while you watch Disney movies. I want to alphabetize your books. I want to read with you at night. I want to tolerate your mess. I want . . .” He lets out a weak half laugh. “I want a family. One day. I want to do literally anything as long as it means being with you, because I am so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
The weight of his words sends an electric thrill rocketing through me. There’s a hopeful yet vulnerable look in his eyes I’ve never seen before. For the first time, there’s no iron gate, fortress, moat, or velvet rope keeping me from him. He’s right here, in front of me, dressed like a literal prince, warm eyes beaconing me to him.
Because I’m me, my mind blanks entirely, homing in on the only coherent statement echoing in my mind. “I’m really not that messy.”
He does that face, the mock-disappointed face he always makes. “Tara, I just told you I loved you and that’s what you take out of it?”
I cover my face with my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to declarations of love like this.”
“The fact that no one has realized how amazing you are is just . . . mind-blowing.” He reaches to brush the crest of my cheek with his thumb. I want to capture this very moment. His gentle laugh, like music to my ears. The sound of Angie and her friends laughing, running around the room. Even the antiseptic hospital scent. The look in his eyes that fades everyone and everything around us to a mere blur. Like we’re the only ones who exist in this moment. “I understand if you need to take time to think about it. I just needed you to know how I feel.”
“I don’t need any time to think about it. You know I love you.” I inch forward, and finally, we’re chest to chest, nose to nose. The warm, welcome contact stirs something inside both of us, because within a fraction of a second, he’s cupping my jaw with one hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask in barely above a whisper.
“What every good romance hero does.” When I nod, he lets out a sharp breath before his lips fuse to mine, pleading for entrance.
This time, it’s not soft, sweet, or tentative. It’s deliberate. He’s silently telling me he’s mine and I’m his.
Finally.
? chapter thirty-four
WHEN WE RETURN to our apartment, Trevor presents me with something unexpected. A shoe box.
“What is this?” I ask.
He stands next to me at the kitchen island, teetering on the balls of his feet, nervous. “Look inside.”
When I open the lid, he’s behind me, his strong hands steadying me around the waist as my knees buckle.
The gasp I emit is embarrassing. The first item I pull out is a crumpled McDonald’s receipt for a Big Mac and Quarter Pounder combo. From the night he took me out for food after my disastrous date with Segway Jeff.
“You kept this?” I ask, misty eyes catching his gaze over my shoulder.
He presses a soft kiss on my temple. “Yup.”
“Why?”
“You said your parents’ first date was at McDonald’s. I guess I thought you might like it one day.”
A burning match strikes in my stomach as I examine the folded-up, empty bag of BBQ chips from the first night we watched The Bachelor together, as well as a handwritten note with the cupcake recipe we made.
“But . . . this means . . .” I start, breathless as the admission takes hold in my gut. I don’t think I can even muster the words to explain what this means to me. It’s not just words. It’s physical proof. “You really did have feelings for me . . . even back then.”
“From day one. From the moment I heard your voice behind that bathroom door. I told you,” he says as I pull out a drink menu from the bottom of the box. It’s the drink menu from Mamma Maria’s.
“I can’t believe you stole this.” This isn’t your average disposable paper menu. It’s encased in leather. Wheezy laughter escapes me as I hold it up, assessing its weight. “You hate keeping junk.”
“Yup. That box has been killing me,” he admits. “I keep it under my bed where I can’t see it. Out of sight, out of mind.”