24.
Valerie drops me off in front of Anders’s home. Shortly after she drives off, Taina pulls up in her rental car.
“Going to explain what’s going on?” Taina says when I throw myself into the passenger side.
“Yeah, later,” I say, “but now, I need you to dress me up for a party.”
Easily distracted, Taina smiles. “Oh, amazing, you’ll look so good in this black slip-on I just got.”
When we get back to the rental, I hurriedly shower and straighten my hair. When I’m on my last strand, my phone lights up with a call from Anders.
“Finally,” I say into the speaker, “where have you been? Why haven’t
you answered any of my calls?”
The line is quiet, then, “I was busy.”
Which is at least a more polite response than Oh, you can ignore all my calls and messages, but when I do it, it’s a problem?
“I almost blew it today,” I say. “Valerie brought up your party, and I had no idea.”
“I tried calling you before,” he points out. “I wasn’t sure what else to do. I was going to say you were sick if anyone asked.”
“I already played that card,” I say, slapping a hand over my face. I just admitted that playing sick when he needed me for his family dinner was a lie. Sloppy. “Anyway, missing this is too obvious. I’m getting ready now.”
“Okay.”
I hate how clipped his voice is, and the lack of words he uses instead of speaking to me with drawn-out sentences. And I hate that I hate it.
“I’ll be ready in an hour. I’ll drop the address where I’m staying. Pick
me up.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I snap, hanging up, ridiculously annoyed, even though I have zero right to be. I’m just a little frazzled. I was taken off guard. And the pressure of the wedding coming up is getting to me.
And it’s Anders’s birthday today.
Taina knocks on the door. “Hurry up,” she calls out. “I’m dying of boredom here.”
It’s been silent during the ride, from the moment Anders opened the passenger door and let me in. He only nodded to greet me, and he didn’t even turn the music on. The tension is heavy and thick; the air is hard to breathe. So, I push the window down, despite the thick humidity from the night air, which is sure to frizz up my hair.
Still, frizzy hair or not, my skin looks flawless and dewy thanks to Taina, and my spaghetti-strapped black dress pairs well with Anders’s black trousers and white button-up. We look good together.
He looks good alone. His sleeves aren’t at their usual rolled-up positions, but the veins on his hands protrude under his skin as he grips the steering wheel, his watch reflecting the lights of oncoming cars every so often. Even with the window open, his aftershave reaches me, and the scent of it brings me this blend of comfort and desire so suddenly I have to cross my legs and look away.
When we get to the vineyard, Anders parks at the end of the full lot.
After this, I’m going to Taina’s, so I grab the tiny bag sitting by my feet and hand it over.
He looks at it like it’s holding a mousetrap.
“For you.” At that, his brows go up, and he stills, like he’s never been given a gift in his life. “It’s not much. It’s kind of cheesy.”
Anders reaches into it, pulls out the miniature golden frame with a replica of his favorite painting in it. “What is this?”
“I remember at the gallery, Valerie said it was your favorite painting.
The artist was at the market when I went with Bethany and Olive, with tiny prints of his other works. I got it then and forgot to give it to you.”
Then, because I’m not sure if he remembers how words work, I add, “Happy birthday.”
He shoves the gift in the bag, then gets out of the car. Seconds later, my side opens up, and he pulls me out with him. “What is this?” he asks.
I frown. “You can throw it out if you want.”
“Not that.” He shoves a rough hand through his hair. “This.
Disappearing without telling me. Then showing up again with a gift. You’ve been different. Distant.”
A flash of headlights pours over him as another car pulls up.
“I’m still working on the wedding.” I look at my feet, already sore in these heels. “And I’m making progress, don’t worry. I can give you more updates later.”
“You know I’m not talking about that,” he snaps.
My gaze flickers to his heated one. “You should be, though.”
Then I hear doors slamming shut, footsteps—close, deliberate— approaching fast.
He narrows his eyes. “I’m a reasonable man, Lucinda, but even I have my limits.” He steps closer to me. “If I did something wrong, I’ll apologize, but I’m clueless if you don’t tell me. And if you’re putting distance between us—”
“Stop, stop, stop!” I hold up my hands as the footsteps grow louder.
“You can’t keep avoiding—” Anders starts, and then, without thinking, desperate to stop him before anyone overhears, I fling my arms around him and press my mouth to his. The shock of it steals any response from him other than his body going stiff.
I pull away, my arm snaking around him as a couple approaches us.
“Anders,” the woman says, and my heart sinks to my stomach.
Long blond hair, a perfect pointed nose, and smooth tan skin. Anna, the woman whose wedding I wrecked, and her husband, Lucas, beside her.
She opens her arms for a full hug. He pulls away from me slightly, gives her a half hug, and does the same to Lucas. I was in a half-assed disguise when I saw them and caused enough chaos they shouldn’t recognize me—hopefully—but nerves fill my stomach anyway.
Despite everything, Anders still keeps in touch with them. Weekly catch-ups, the occasional coffee, enough shared history to keep them tethered. So naturally, they know about me. Maybe not everything—but enough. Anna narrows her gaze my way, giving me a once-over. “So, you’re the secret girlfriend,” she says.
“That’s me.”
“Nice to finally meet you.” Lucas holds out a hand, and I match his firm handshake. Unlike his wife, his smile seems harmlessly curious.
“Likewise.”
“You’re different than what I imagined,” Anna says in a small but firm voice.
I cock my head to the side. “What did you imagine?”
“Someone more reserved,” she says, giving me a once-over.
My dress stops midway up my thigh and exposes a lot of shoulder, but is loose-fitting outside the chest area. Her dress is also sleeveless, with a deep plunge, but stops below her thigh.
I’m not sure if it’s a subtle insult, separating us when she knows she was with Anders longer, so I say, “Well”—I give her the same once-over —“looks like Anders has a type.”
Anders snorts, and Lucas wraps an arm around Anna. “Before this gets more awkward, maybe we should all get some liquor in our systems.”
“Great idea.” I tighten my grip on Anders until he puts his arm around me as we walk.
He and Lucas exchange pleasantries while Anna and I keep glancing at each other. Neither of us is giving the other dirty looks, and it’s not like I need to be territorial since Anders isn’t really mine and Anna is married, but there is this tension that travels with us as we move through the indoor entrance of the vineyard.
When people notice Anders, they all cheer and rush over to give their birthday wishes. Some hang back and wave, taking a more patient approach. I try to pull away so he can greet them all properly, but he snakes a hand around my waist, pressing me against him.
Right. There are more eyes on us than ever. If there was ever a time to play up the role of doting girlfriend, it’s now. Especially when we step through the French doors at the back of the building, leading outside to the endless rows of vines, and his favorite people are standing around under hundreds, maybe thousands, of string lights woven throughout thin apple trees that stretch farther than my vision allows.
Olive rushes toward Anders and gives us both a hug. “Happy birthday!” she says, then to me, “You look so pretty.”
I blink. “Oh, I thought you were reading my mind—that’s exactly what I thought when I saw you.”
She smiles widely as Bethany joins, gives us separate hugs, then pats my shoulder. “A shame you didn’t make the family dinner. Anders spoke so sweetly of you; he actually made his father twitch, which is his form of a smile.”
Guilt and nerves pinch the sides of my stomach, but I force a smile. I place my arm on Anders’s chest. “I’m aware of how lucky I am.”
He grabs my hand, lifts it up to his lips, and leaves it there for a long, warm kiss. New, sweeter nerves swarm my stomach and replace the anxiety
there.
“Gross,” Valerie says as she joins, John hanging behind her. She hugs her brother, then me. It may be my imagination, but she squeezes me extra tight before pulling away.
“Shall we grab a table?” Bethany says, already walking to a long one on the cobblestones. I try to follow, but my heel gets caught and sinks into the grass.
Anders’s hands grip my waist, yanking me so my back presses against him. The memory of us at the billiards table, our bodies pressed tightly against each other, flashes through my mind. It sends a hot shot of heat straight between my legs so suddenly that, if not for Anders wrapped around me, I’d buckle.
“Careful.” His mouth presses against my ear.
“Thanks.” The word is pathetically breathless.
And the sound of it floods my mind with memories—and Anders, too, with the way he begins to harden against me. As much as my body’s instinct wants to press back against his length, I maneuver myself away.
He clears his throat, then holds a hand at my back as he leads us to join the table.
We sit across from Valerie and John, with Bethany and Olive on opposite ends of the table.
“So, Anders,” Bethany says, “how are you feeling? How has the day part of the birthday been treating you?” She looks at me. “I hope you made it special.”
I chew on my bottom lip just as Anders’s arm wraps around me, pulling me close against him. “She gave me a very thoughtful gift.” He ends the sentence with a kiss on the side of my head.
My hand falls on his thigh, and I give him a light squeeze as I lean into him. He presses another kiss, this time under my ear.
“Ugh, get a room,” Valerie says.
“Why don’t you and John ever kiss?” Olive says.
John stiffens, and Valerie scoffs. “They’re barely kissing.”
In answer, Anders grips my chin and presses a quick kiss on my lips.
“Okay, show-off,” Valerie says, “some of us are less PDA and more behind closed doors.”
“Anyway,” Bethany interrupts, “thank you for taking care of my boy.
It’s nice to see him smitten.”
My lips pull into a smile. Tonight, I can’t waver or think about what’s real. Right now, I have to believe it is, to play my part.
I pinch Anders’s cheek. “Is that it? Are you smitten by me?”
“Endlessly,” he answers.
Valerie gags before pointing at me. “I forgot to tell you, we moved up the Jack and Jill party to this week. I hear your sister is visiting. You should invite her.”
I smile like I’m thinking about the possibility, but it’s impossible. The wedding is fast approaching, and I’m not making the progress I need. I’ve decided to go forward with my most creative, and insane, wedding- wrecking plan.
Unfortunately, it involves my sister, so Valerie can’t see her outside of what I have planned in two days—Taina playing a psychic, guiding Valerie to the understanding that this wedding isn’t meant to be.
“I’ll bring it up to her,” I lie, shifting in my seat.
“What about you?” Valerie asks Anders. “Are you still going to make it? You’re cutting it close.”
When I give Anders a perplexed look, he tells me, “I forgot to mention, I have to travel to New York for just a couple days. I’ll be back early morning before the Jack and Jill.”
Anders presses another kiss to the side of my head.
And Bethany claps her hands. “You two are so damn cute; let me get a photo.” When she whips out her phone, Anders and I lean into each other, cheek to cheek.
We take a few shots, and then Anders asks, “Can you send me those?”
And my heart doubles its pulses.
Bethany asks about Anders’s newest book cover, and Olive busies herself with a game on her mom’s phone. Valerie joins the conversation now and then, and I keep my eyes on John, who barely joins in but is paying attention. Whenever Valerie fidgets with her hands, he covers them with his. If she twirls her hair, he pulls her fingers away.
“This is a vineyard,” I interrupt them all, standing up. “Shall I grab us drinks?”
“Sure,” Bethany agrees. “Get us the house wine.”
“I’ll help with the cups.” Anders starts to get up.
I press my hands on his shoulders and shove him down. “John,” I say, “let’s let them continue their conversation. Come help me.”
There’s no weapon in my hand, but John looks as if I’m pointing a gun
his way. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Valerie’s eyes widen, and I give her a slight head shake. Of course I’m not mentioning what happened with the scammer. For a plethora of reasons.
Also, thinking of even having a million dollars makes my head spin, let alone losing it.
He follows me at a slower pace than necessary as we make our way inside to the curved bar overlooking the hefty guest list. I order the house wine and a Shirley Temple for Olive.
“So,” I say, “heard I’m a bridesmaid now?”
John shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “I did.”
I frown. “You don’t sound excited.”
“No,” he says, then brings his hands back out in a frantic wave. “I mean, yes, I am.”
“You’re incredibly hard to read. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No,” he says, but if that’s true, that doesn’t mean other people don’t agree; it’s just that they’re not saying it to his face.
“You and Valerie are vastly different,” I point out. “She can light up a room and talk up a storm.” I don’t say the rest, but let him hear the implication that he’s far from those things.
“I know.”
“Does it make you nervous?” I ask. “You seem so. Even Olive can see how awkward you two can be.” When he stammers, I add, “In a sweet way, of course. I mean no offense.”
“Yes, it does,” he answers, and even when he does, I still can’t get a read on him. I want to feel him out more. Gather more information. And, really, the more I care for Valerie, the more genuinely I want what’s best for her. Unfortunately, the little I’ve learned about John isn’t reassuring.
They come from different lifestyles, and they barely so much as glance at each other when in the same room; he got her scammed out of a million goddamn dollars. Her family is already hesitant about the pair.
I just don’t see this working.
“So why ask her to marry you?” I say. “I know that’s blunt—I know I’m a new addition to the family dynamic—but I really adore Valerie, and I want her to be happy.”
He avoids my gaze. “Maybe we don’t look perfect to you, but Valerie
thinks we are.”
“And what about you?” I counter.
He opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again.
The bartender returns with our glasses, and John gathers all he can and scurries away. Running away from me, from the question, and now I can’t help but wonder if this pairing is more one sided than I thought.
I grab the remaining drink—the Shirley Temple—and head out.
Anders is walking toward me, and nobody is at the table anymore. A quick scan shows John and Valerie walking toward the small fountain, and Bethany laughing incredibly hard at something a handsome man is saying.
“Party’s already over?” I say as Anders approaches.
“They want me to mingle more,” he answers. “They say the birthday boy needs to get a lot of kisses and touches and—”
I press a hand to his chest before he wraps his arms around me.
“Somehow, I don’t think anyone at the table mentioned that.”
“In my head, they did.” He moves back, and because, behind him, I see his ex-girlfriend watching, I lean into him, sipping the drink.
“While we’re alone,” I say, “let me update you on some things.”
A screech pierces through the air. I jerk back, scanning for the culprit and find a man with a microphone beside a guitarist and a keyboard player, just beside the fountain. “Sorry about that,” the singer says into the mic.
Then they start playing a cover of a song I can’t remember exactly but heard recently on the radio.
“Can you talk and dance?” Anders says, already pulling me by my waist to the center of the patio.
“Growing up in a Puerto Rican household,” I say, letting him sway us to the pop melody, “I can dance and cook and clean all at the same time.”
He smiles in his easy way, and I shake my head when my lips try to mirror it.
“Anyway,” I go on, “there are a lot of eyes on us, so I need you to put on your best acting facade because what I have to tell you is going to piss you off an unbelievable amount.”
His hand stills for just a second before he recovers.
I update him on exactly what went down and how I became a bridesmaid. On how I’ve been speaking with Valerie, texting her, chatting with her, trying to plant subtle seeds of doubt. I tell him what he’s missed
and, finally, tell him about the million dollars as the band goes through their set.
My stomach knots the moment I say it. My voice lowers, my breath shortens, and guilt settles somewhere heavy in my chest. I pinkie-swore I wouldn’t say anything. Valerie trusted me. But I also watched her dig herself deeper into a hole, and I couldn’t let Anders stay in the dark—not when he’s technically my employer.
And not when I genuinely believe this isn’t something that Valerie should keep a secret.
His face furrows together, anger pulling at every muscle.
I finish explaining. The moment stretches as a new, slower song drifts through the air. Anders goes still.
His jaw tightens. His hand—still resting on my waist from when we were dancing—clenches slightly. His eyes drop to the ground like he’s trying to process the weight of everything I just dropped on him. His sister.
A million dollars. Gone.
“She didn’t tell me,” he finally says. His voice is low, like he’s afraid of how loud his anger might be if he gives it any more breath. “She lost a million dollars, and she didn’t tell me.”
I shift closer. “She was scared, Anders.”
“She should be,” he snaps, then instantly shakes his head. “No. No, that’s not fair. It’s not even about the money. It’s him. John. I knew he was reckless. I told her he was reckless. And now it’ll be her problem, forever.”
“It won’t, we’ll stop them.”
“She listens to everyone but me,” he says, on a tangent. “And I don’t even care about being right. I just . . . I care. And she makes it impossible to
protect her.”
“You’re doing all you can.”
“It hasn’t been enough.”
He sounds defeated. And I hate that.
“I know,” I say gently. “I know you feel like she’s slipping away from you. But she still listens to you, Anders. She still loves you. She just doesn’t want to disappoint you.”
“I’m not even mad at her. I’m mad at him. And I’m mad that I can’t trust him. Not with her, not with her future, and definitely not with her money.”
He takes another step away from me, then turns back, his face unreadable now. “Anders—”
His mouth presses on mine. If not for his fingers gripping the sides of my waist, pulling me closer to him, I’d fall over. All the wires in my head short-circuit, and I feel the bolts ricocheting throughout my body in hot, sudden flares.
My hands grab his neck, to pull him away, to bring him closer, to feel his skin under the pads of my fingers. Only when my head starts to spin— faster than it already does—do I press my hands on his chest.
Right before I lose my very last breath, he pulls away.
I’m trying to compose myself, and Anders, the bastard, simply wipes my lip stain from the side of his mouth, the most out-of-place thing about him, including the stray hairs falling at the side of his face.
“Sorry,” he says, his thumb caressing my lips, presumably to remove the smudged lip stain. “You wanted me to act, and that was the only way to
hide.”
“It’s okay.” I step back.
“Actually.” He grabs my arm. “I’m not sorry. At all.” To prove his point, he presses another kiss to my lips, and I can feel my body heating at the speed of a kettle on a flame.
It’s way too easy to kiss Anders, to lose where the line between reality and acting lies. My heart shouldn’t beat at a thunderous pace; my body shouldn’t plead with me to look for him in every room and glue itself to his, and my brain should know better than to fall for someone who absolutely won’t stay with me.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I lie, shoving him off me.
I think someone calls my name, but I hurry through the vineyard, speed through bodies lining up for drinks, and throw myself out the exit.
I’m not sure where to go, only that I need to get my traitorous heart and body as far away from Anders as possible.
I spot a lantern hanging at the opening of a trail—I’m not sure where it leads. Trying to keep my balance on the pebbled lot, I make my way to it.
Then move to the next lantern that leads me to a path lined by hundreds of tiny lit bulbs, their yellow light pouring over the meticulously cared-for landscaping of fruit bushes and flowers.
Like a fairy garden come to life.
“Lucinda!” Anders, of course, grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop.
“Don’t start with me.” I yank my hand away.
The glow of the lights makes his skin a warm tan, and his hair is a shade lighter here. He looks perfect, as always, but now I feel the urge to shove his head through the bushes for it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, undeterred.
“What’s wrong?” My eyes widen. “You. Me. Us. There’s no us, see?
There’s the problem.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Oh, please.” I shove him with my finger. “You know what I mean.”
“Pretend I don’t,” he says, “spell it out for me.”
“I shouldn’t be buying you gifts,” I tell him.
“Well, you can’t have it back,” he answers bluntly.
The fact that that’s his first worry almost makes me smile, but the nerves simmering in my stomach remind me to be serious. I take a breath, calm myself. This conversation is long overdue. Instead of drawing lines between us in my head, I need to tell him they’re there.
“I just mean, I’m a temporary addition to your life. I’m here for a limited amount of time. I’m going to keep your sister from getting married, which is going to leave some hurt people for you to deal with when I’m gone. You’re paying me to do the job. I will do it well. But that’s the extent of this relationship between us.”
He crosses his arms against his chest. “Says who?”
“Excuse me?” I almost laugh. “Who needs to say it? These are all facts.”
“Not to me,” he says. “I understand if us, the way we are, how we were at the bar, if you think that’s all a mistake. I’d rather you say that directly to me than speak for me.”
“It’s not a mistake—wait, don’t you think it was a mistake?”
“When did I say that?”
“Well, the day after we—” Even thinking about what we did at the bar makes my cheeks flare. “After the bar, you avoided me. I remember. I figured you wanted to act like it didn’t happen.”
“I avoided you, Lucinda, because it was painfully obvious you were listing every single reason why that night was a bad idea, and I didn’t want to have the conversation where you give voice to those thoughts.”
I press my fingers into my temples. “Okay, so I was wrong about that.
But I’m not wrong about the rest.”
“Why did you get me the gift?” he asks.
“What?”
He repeats the question, but I’m not entirely sure of my answer. “I don’t know; I didn’t really think about it. I saw it, thought you’d think it
was funny, and got it.”
“Because you like me.”
“Well, yeah, you’re a pretty likable guy. Who doesn’t like you?”
“You like me as more than a friend. You know exactly what I mean.”
Of course I do, but the point of this conversation is to draw very necessary lines between us. “I’m not sure why that matters here.”
“It matters because I like you too.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know everything about me. You don’t know if you’ll be bored of me in a couple of weeks.”
“I know enough to know you’re wrong,” he counters, “and I can learn more too. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me at this moment. But you’re here, right now, and for a while. I want to explore you, and if you want to stay with me, even when this is all over, is that so bad?”
“I—” This is not at all how I pictured this conversation would go.
Especially after talking with Bethany. I thought he’d agree just to appease me, and we’d move on. Easy, if a little awkward, and then normal. Like two roommates who work together. “How would this ever work?”
“How wouldn’t it?”
“How would you explain me to your family?”
“I don’t have to tell them how we actually met, what’s happening with Valerie. There wouldn’t be a problem. They all like you already.”
“Valerie would find out eventually.”
“She won’t,” he says, firm. “And even if she did, we’d deal with it. I’ll deal with it. I’ll take all the blame. I’d handle the brunt of it all.”
I shake my head. “And what about when it’s been long enough that your family starts to notice I don’t actually have the job you told them I did?”
“By then,” he says, “you’ll be working at the shelter. We can tell them the truth about that.”
“We live in different states,” I remind him.
“I like to travel.”
“Anders,” I say.
“Lucinda,” he says.
“I’m being serious here.”
“As am I.” He pulls me closer to him. “Tell me you don’t want to explore whatever this connection between us is, and I won’t pursue you. I’ll be polite, help you when you need it, and we won’t speak at all outside of work, I promise. Tell me now, and I’ll do it.”
I stare at him. “You told me you thought love was fleeting. That people
don’t know how to stay in it.”
“I did.” Anders nods.
“So why are you saying all this now?”
“Because I’ve never felt this before. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you. Your company. Your laugh. Your body. Even when we’re silent or awkward, I crave it. I crave you,” he says firmly. “And I know I won’t stop.”
“I have nothing to offer you,” I say, the words scraping out like a confession. “I can’t take care of you. I’m a mess. You’re so put together.
What am I supposed to do with that?”
“You do take care of me,” he says softly. “God, Lucinda . . . you make me feel. Everything with you feels better—warmer, softer, brighter. You’re not a mess. And if you get into one, let me be the one to take care of you.”
When I start to shake my head, Anders adds, “Why won’t you accept that people care about you too? If you think it’s so important, then let me
take care of you. Let me be with you.”
His words steal my automatic denial.
A small, hopeful voice in my head wonders if it wouldn’t be so bad to be cared for. To be held together by someone who doesn’t expect me to earn it first.
And maybe I’m not so broken that I have to keep proving I’m worth something. Maybe I already am, just by being a person. Haven’t I done enough good in my life that it would be okay?
And yet, the hope fights with fear. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here,” I say, trying to find a straw to grasp, wondering why I can’t just tell him no, he shouldn’t pursue me. All the reasons I had seem to go hazy when he brings me closer to his chest.
“Give me this month to be with you,” he says. “Let me take you on real dates, treat this like a real relationship. Give me a real chance, and we’ll see if it’s worth continuing. That’s reasonable, right?”
“No,” I say, finding another straw. “Anders, we live entirely different lives. You’re established, well off, so incredibly put together, and I’m basically a homeless, broke mess of a woman. Why in the world would you
want to date me?”
“I can think of several reasons.”
When I roll my eyes, he grips my chin to face him. “You make me laugh in a single conversation more than I’ve laughed in months. And when you make someone else laugh, you smile like hearing them feel joy is a reward.” My heart pounds. “Every time you see something you think your sister will like or find amusing, you take a photo and send it to her. Because you like making people feel like they matter in your world, even when you’re apart.” My palms grow hot and sweaty. “And maybe I haven’t seen all of it, but I know enough to see how you’ve built the beginning of your life around helping your sister. And you don’t complain, because the love in your heart is this endless gift that can move past any unfairness that it comes across.” My breathing comes rapidly. “You don’t have enough money to pay for a round of shots, but you went out of your way to get me a gift just because you thought it’d make me laugh for a brief moment, because tiny instants like that feel like big ones to you. And you appreciate even the smallest of things, and make them feel big. You’re always looking to help, but there’s more to you than that. I think it’s just where you’ve learned to put all your love, so you don’t have to risk handing any of it to someone who might not hold it carefully.”
“Anders,” I whisper, my heart stuttering, butterflies fluttering in the pit of my stomach.
“Say yes,” Anders pleads with me, “and I’ll keep giving you reasons to believe me. Let me hold some of your love. We can figure out the rest as it comes. I’ll figure it out for you. Just say yes.”
Never in my life have I ever had a man confess to me this way. His words feel like they’re bandaging tiny paper cuts in my heart, small wounds I thought healed long ago. And not a single thing he said had to do with how I look, yet I’ve never felt so seen in my life.
Anders is a genuinely good man, and for some reason is interested in me.
Every part of me wants to say yes. How could I not? He isn’t wrong; we could try—we could see if whatever’s between us can be great. Cross
the messy bridge when we get to it. When will I ever meet a man like Anders?
Never, because there is no other man like Anders.
I suck in a breath and give him my answer.
