38. Lilly
CHAPTER 38
LILLY
I don’t know how long I cry for; I just know that at some point, my phone rings and I force myself to stop in order to answer it.
“Hi, hon,” Mom says. “I have unbelievable news.”
Doing my best not to sniffle audibly, I ask, “What happened?”
“The bank called,” Dad exclaims. “Oh, you’re on speaker, by the way.”
“The bank?” Even though that’s a tenuous connection to Bruce, my chest squeezes.
“Yeah. They admitted that they made an error during our foreclosure proceedings?—”
“What error?” I ask. Isn’t foreclosure as simple as: when you don’t pay, you lose the house?
“We didn’t understand the legalese,” Mom says. “But long story short, to make up for the mistake, they’re giving us the house back, free and clear.”
My skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Didn’t the bank sell it?” And are my parents really this gullible?
“They bought it back from that family, so we can move back in a month,” Dad says excitedly. “Can you believe it?”
Yeah. I believe they are getting the house. What I don’t believe is the story the bank told them. What really happened is that Bruce learned about the foreclosure from my note and decided to reverse it. Which is insane. But why would he?—
Someone bangs on my door, startling me.
Some sixth sense tells me who it might be—and I hope it’s not wishful thinking.
“Mom, Dad, I’m very happy for you,” I rattle out. “But can we talk more later? I have to run.”
“To deal with her oh-so-demanding employer, no doubt,” Mom says—probably to Dad.
I hang up and dash to the door to look into the peephole.
The glimmer of hope unfurls into a bright glow in my chest when I see the warm ocean-blue eyes peering back at me.
Hands shaking, I unlock the door and let Bruce in.
He seems to take up my whole place, making it seem even tinier.
“Hi,” I say, heart hammering in my chest.
“Thanks for letting me in,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t sure?—”
“I just heard from my parents,” I blurt. “Did you?—”
“Sorry if that was a bit heavy-handed,” he says. “I know I can’t right every wrong my bank has ever done, but since I could help in this case, I figured I’d?—”
“Are you apologizing for giving us back my childhood home?” I don’t know if my heart palpitations are a sign of arrhythmia and therefore warrant a 9-1-1 call, or not.
“Speaking of apologies, I’m sorry about what happened with Champ.” Bruce’s expression darkens. “Rest assured, he will never bother you again. He and my sister are over, so if he?—”
“They are?” I ask dumbly. “Does that mean she’s going to take Colossus back?” Why did I ask that, of all things?
Bruce shakes his head. “Angela will have to get herself a new dog. Colossus is mine.”
Oh, no. I feel like I’m going to start crying again, and I’m not sure why. “How did you find out about?—”
“Surveillance camera in the kitchen,” he says.
Ah. Right. He actually told me about it at one point.
“Is that why you’ve come? To tell me that?” I realize some form of this should’ve been my first question, but I was too afraid to ask. If he says something like, “I’m here to get you to come back to work,” the geyser behind my eyes might burst forth, get him all wet, and then?—
“I want you to be my girlfriend,” Bruce declares solemnly. “To be with me. Be mine. Whatever terminology the kids are using these days.”
I gape at him, unsure I’ve heard correctly.
He steps closer. “You don’t have to answer now. I know a lot has happened and?—”
“Yes,” I say, a bit too loudly. I’m not sure if it’s the heat from his body, or his scent, but I start to grow dizzy. “I’ll be yours… I mean, your girlfriend. Or go steady, or whatever oldsters like you called it back in the days of yesteryear.”
“Good.” He steps closer, eyes gleaming. “There’s something else.”
I arch an eyebrow because his proximity is making my breathing too fast for coherent speech.
Bruce takes my hand and lifts it to his chest. “It’s something I probably should wait to tell you. At least until we go on a few more dates and more time has passed.”
“Tell me what?” I breathe.
“I love you.” He gently squeezes my hand. “I love how kindhearted you are—especially with Colossus. I love your zest for life—how in such a short time, you’ve managed to make me appreciate what I have and even start to enjoy it. I love?—”
“I do too,” I blurt. “Love you, that is. And sorry to interrupt, but you just kept going on and on and?—”
Our lips clash, and his kiss is as passionate as it is possessive.
The kiss tells me we’re official.
It tells me I’m his.