Chapter Eight #2
I can’t believe I forgot to tell her that I am irrevocably, unconditionally, irreversibly in love with her.
While my family calls out more of my downfalls, I roll my forehead against the cool leather and bemoan my incredible stupidity.
Almond’s hand lands on my back to pat it in patronizing support.
“Wolfe, do pay attention,” Leora orders mildly. “This has to do with you, you know.”
I drag my attention to her, wonder if I should rectify my current torment by blurting a confession in front of my entire family, then lose all train of thought as her arresting green eyes meet mine. They sparkle playfully at me as she tsks.
I gulp.
She’s so… there. Alive. Present. Existing, right in front of me.
I love her.
I want her.
I need to tell her.
I stand abruptly, toppling the deep maroon chair I’d been sitting in that typically lives in my waiting room with several identical copies, but came to visit deeper in the parlor when Dad dragged them all back here for us to use.
“I need to talk to you,” I declare, heart hammering a painful rhythm in my chest. “Alone, preferably, because these people are vultures intent on picking at whatever scraps of my self-esteem remain, and I’d prefer to lay myself bare without them around to peck.”
“We were invited to peck, thank you very much,” Almond cuts in indignantly.
I ignore her, begging Leora with every tense inch of my body to go anywhere else with me.
She tilts her head, bites her lip, then sighs. “Sorry,” she says. “But this is too important to let you put off. We can talk later, okay?”
I deflate. “Later,” I agree slowly—reluctantly.
I glance at the clock to see how much time we actually have to squeeze that later into before I have to pick Amia up from my parents’ house.
Considering they’re still here contributing to Leora’s whiteboards and not off braving the school pick up line, we should have plenty of time.
I don’t have to get her from her grandparents’ until dinnertime, when we’ll eat together before she comes to spend the rest of her evening with me at the shop.
After that, I’ll tuck her safely into bed, drop one of my video monitors with Fox, take one for myself, and head back to work for another few hours.
It’s not an ideal system, and if I had known I’d be raising a little girl on my own, I probably would have chosen a career with more traditional working hours, but at this moment in time, I’m grateful to know that I won’t have to worry about Amia as I work through a confession with Leora.
My daughter will be safe with people who love her, and my only worries will be whether or not Leora laughs in my face and whether or not I have any appointments tonight that would prevent me from offering up my heart to the only woman I have ever wanted to give it to.
As Leora continues to strategize the Great Wolfe Makeover with my family, I settle in my seat and resign myself to living here, in this moment.
It might suck a little, and I might want to hide under a rock when the cons list gains a new entry, but it’s also kind of… nice. In a bittersweet sort of way.
Leora has a familiarity and comfort with my family that it hadn’t occurred to me to think would be the case, but it’s clear that her friendship with Almond and presence in our tiny town means she’s interacted with my family more than once.
She hasn’t been avoiding them, after all, and they haven’t been avoiding her either.
While she and I may have been standing firmly in our places, my loved ones had no such reservations.
Jealously, I wish I had the same closeness with her.
Gratefully, I’m overjoyed to see how easily she slots into place amongst us.
I force myself to feel these emotions. Past Wolfe would have shoved them down deep inside, ignored anything that might be a little too risky to my mental peace to truly feel, and chosen a life with my head in the sand instead.
The Wolfe of now knows better—has seen the damage that sort of behavior can cause.
So even though it isn’t pleasant, I make myself feel the jealousy and the gratefulness in equal measure, then I find the sources of each emotion.
I confront the source of the bad and embrace the source of the good.
I’m jealous because they know her, and they like her, and she likes them, and they’re comfortable together.
I know her, too, and better. I like her, too, and more. She… probably likes me, if she’s willing to fill up five whiteboards for my sake. A woman doesn’t fill up a hoard of whiteboards for a man she doesn’t like… right?
As far as comfort goes, though…
I square my shoulders.
Being New Wolfe means that I’ll make us comfortable with each other.
We’ll build that easy rapport, and it’ll be even better than what she has with them, because it will be more than what she has with them.
She’s my best friend. I’m hers. They’re just…
people who have not written her over a hundred letters or prostrated themselves at her feet in a plea for her affection.
So truly I have nothing to be jealous of at all, and I can move on to feeling the fullness of my gratitude and joy at how seamlessly she blends into my family.
The only thing missing is seeing how she fits with Amia, but that will come with time and patience.
For now, her soft laughter and easy smiles with my parents and siblings are more than I could have ever asked for or expected, and way more than I ever had with Amia’s mother.
My shoulders feel a little lighter at the thought.
I may not be ready for her to meet meet Amia yet, but I let myself have the fantasy of them together, conspiring against me as they so often do in their letters to each other.
The twinkle in Leora’s eye—currently aimed my father’s way—will pair well with the mischief Amia so loves to take part in.
Will I survive such a thing unscathed?
Will I care if I don’t?
My gaze lingers on Leora’s deft fingers as they draw arrows to my worst sins and my biggest growth areas. I imagine those same fingers wrapped in mine, or running through my daughter’s hair, or blowing a kiss to my parents.
The questions really do answer themselves, don’t they?
Of course I won’t survive. What a silly notion to think that I might.
What a silly notion to think that I’d care, either.