Chapter 3
I’m in his room.
His childhood bedroom.
I know that.
Although given that I’ve never been in his room before, I don’t know how I know that, but I do. Maybe it’s the walls that are bare and without any personality. Or the fact that the desk sitting in the corner is bare as well and very generic looking. There’s also a dresser and a chair by the window. All plain and generic and without a sign of life. The nightstand by the bed where I’m lying is bare as well.
Much like all his hotel rooms.
Except a stack of books in a corner by the window.
As always, they’re the only life in this room.
Actually, that’s not true. There’s another form of life and it’s him.
Sitting in a chair, he’s slumped over the bed. His head is resting on his arms and his hand is wrapped around mine. As he sleeps.
Even in slumber, I feel like he’s the most alive thing in this room.
More alive than even his books.
His back goes up and down with his breaths. Back that’s wide and looks like a mountain, and breaths that are deep and somewhat noisy.
Then there’s his grip on my hand. It’s the same hand that he offered me. Back at my house. The same hand that he took again and wouldn’t let go of once we both got in his car, and he drove us here.
To Bardstown.
To his house.
Although I fell asleep halfway over but I have a feeling that once he got me out of the car and put me down here, in his bed and covered me with his blanket, he went right back to holding my hand.
And then there’s the heat of his skin.
It’s… hot.
And not just from the sleep or from how long he’s been holding my hand for, no.
I think it’s him.
This heat belongs purely to him.
And it’s so cozy and comfortable and dear and familiar that I go to get away from it. I go to get away from him because if this is the end and he brought me here to kill me, then I don’t want to make it easy for him.
I don’t want to die without screaming and screeching and fighting.
Without giving him a few third degree burns in return.
My struggles wake him up. With a jerk, he straightens up in his chair, his eyes blinking. It takes him a second or two to get his bearings. As if he was in such a deep sleep that he forgot where he was. As if he hadn’t slept well in days and now that he had finally managed to, he didn’t want to be shaken awake.
Good.
I hope so.
I hope he hated waking up. I also hope that he didn’t get much sleep this past week. Because despite what he did last night, he’d started to pull away from me ever since we got back to New York. Which means my sleep was shaky as well. So I’m hoping his was too.
In all of this though, I realize that he still hasn’t let go of my hand.
So I renew my struggles.
I twist my hand in his, trying to pull it free.
Which I guess reminds him of the situation at hand because he finally goes alert. At last, his eyes look awake and the first thing they focus on is me.
Propped up on the pillows.
My hair probably all sleep tangled and strewn about, and my eyes stern.
Or at least I hope they look stern.
Neither of us says anything but I still try to jerk myself free from his grip. He looks down at our joined hands and my struggles increase. He breathes out long and sharp, his shoulders undulating, as if preparing himself for something.
Before he lets me go.
The moment he does, I sit up in the bed and he stands up from the chair. He goes to a table on the side, again generic and without any personality and something that I’d missed in my initial perusal. There’s a glass of orange juice sitting on it that he brings to me.
“Here,” he offers.
I look at it suspiciously. “I don’t like orange juice.”
“It’s passion fruit.”
I hate him.
Because I love passion fruit juice. I could drink passion fruit juice till the end of time. And the fact that he remembered… No, actually, the fact that he had passion fruit juice ready for me as soon as I woke up as if he’s bringing me breakfast—or rather juice—in bed like this is such a normal occurrence, makes me even madder.
First, it’s not even morning right now.
Second, this is not normal.
He beat up his twin brother last night because I said I loved him.
He got beaten up for it in return as well.
How is any of that normal?
I mean just look at his face.
All banged up and battered. Bruises galore; all of them look red and angry.
Painful.
And like before, on the night of my fake engagement, I feel it. Right in my chest. That pain.
I feel the hurt that he must’ve gone through.
That he must have still be going through.
So to distract myself, I accept the juice from him and even take a sip as I ask a question I don’t really care about. “What… What time is it?”
“Just after three in the afternoon.”
I put the juice down on the nightstand. “What am I doing here?”
He studies my face. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“I could –”
“I’d like to go back home now,” I announce. “To New York.”
He stares down at me, his face impassive.
Or at least I think it is.
I mean I can’t really tell with all those bruises. With that black eye and cut on his lip. With how swollen the left side of his jaw is.
Maybe he’s frowning right now, who knows?
Because hey, I said I loved him and he got into a vicious fight with his brother.
“That’s not your home,” he corrects me after a long moment.
“No, that is my home,” I correct him back even though what he said was right. “My family lives there. My dad lives there.”
“Your mother lives there,” he says tightly.
“Who you were trying to hurt by the way.”
“Because she hurt you.”
“Are you going to hurt everyone who hurts me?”
He widens his stance. “Yes.”
My heart squeezes. “Then you should put yourself at the top of that list.”
He flinches.
And despite myself, my heart flinches too.
My stupid heart.
“I –”
“Does it hurt?” I ask, flicking my eyes over his banged-up face.
“Yeah.”
“Did you break something?”
He stares at me a beat, probably remembering how we had the same conversation the last time he got into a fight with Shepard over that cell phone. Then, shaking his head, “No.”
I fist my hands in my lap. “Too bad.”
“Maybe next time.”
I fist and fist my hands as I say, “Well, a girl can hope but…”
He frowns slightly because I went off script. “But what?”
I debate whether to say it.
Then I just do.
Because who cares?
“But I won’t be here for that,” I tell him.
“What?”
I nod. “I’m leaving.”
That frown thickens.
His mouth parts as well.
Along with his chest that jerks up and down with his breath.
Because apparently he does.
He cares.
I knew that. That’s why I said it.
Maybe it was petty, but I think I’m allowed a little pettiness right now. I’m allowed to be angry. I’m allowed to want to hit his already battered face.
What I shouldn’t be allowed to want is to take the words I just spoke back.
The words that make him look agitated and dare I say, scared.
“Leaving for where?” he asks, his voice thick.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I lift my chin and reply, “For this drama camp in LA. My professor had helped me apply for it, just after the play. And well, we heard back. They want me. So I’m leaving for that.”
“You never…” His chest shudders with a breath. “You never said anything.”
“Well I have secrets too.”
Again, petty and again, I don’t care.
Besides I’m not going to tell him the truth, not now. And the truth is that I forgot. Which is crazy because it’s a big deal. It’s something that I always wanted: to go after my dream, for someone to believe in me. And I know he does; I know that. Even after everything that’s not something I have doubts about. So I would have told him but being on the road, living in a little bubble with him, made me forget everything else.
Even something that I always wanted so badly.
Which just goes to show how crazy I am about him.
And how he repeatedly keeps hurting me.
Not to mention, I wanted to tell him yesterday; that’s why I went to the bar.
When Shep had texted me that he was there, I was angry. Outside of his regular check-ins over the calls that would last about two minutes, we hadn’t had much contact. And not from my lack of trying either. Whenever I called him, I’d get his voicemail and whenever I texted him, he’d reply back hours later quoting that he’d been busy with the championship game.
Which I understood.
Despite getting a bad feeling about it all.
And then I found out—from his brother no less—that he was in Bardstown last night because they had a day off.
Of course I was angry.
I was also afraid that maybe like me, he’d given himself a deadline as well.
That while I was getting ready to tell him the truth, he was getting ready to end things after the championship game.
Which would’ve been ironic, wouldn’t it?
And totally like him.
Just as I was planning to begin things, he was planning to finish them.
And lo and behold, he did.
Which prompts me to further add, “And I can’t wait for it. I can’t wait to get away from it all. I think it’ll be good for me. Just me and my passion. My dream, you know? No pain. No heartbreak. No one to hurt me there and –”
“Full circle.”
“What?”
I know I’ve asked him to clarify what he meant. But I don’t think he’s in any position to respond just yet. Because he’s… burning.
Not literally of course.
But I think the blazing heat that I’d felt from him back at the house has now spread. It’s gone beyond his eyes and has overtaken his entire body. That looks flushed. Darker. His cheekbones. The side of his neck with that vein pulsing. The triangle of his throat that’s visible from his wrinkled shirt. Even his forearms look darker, his fisted hands.
“I brought you here,” he says, his voice somehow sounding hot as well, and rough. “For full circle.”
“F-full circle of what?” I ask, my own breaths getting messy now.
“Of my life.”
“Your life?”
He shifts on his feet.
He opens and closes his fists.
His breaths turn choppy then smooth, then back again.
It only takes about ten seconds for him to do all these things but somehow I feel like for him, it was days. It was decades. It was all twenty-six years of his life.
Then, with a deep and smooth breath and his fists open, he says, “It all began here. In this room. This is where I grew up. In this house. I was born in this house too. Actually, I was born just down the hallway. They couldn’t get my mom to the hospital in time. So me and my twin brother, we were really born in this house. Conrad helped from what he tells me. Because my dad wasn’t there. He was never there for anything or for any of us. So it wasn’t anything new but anyway. That’s not what I’m trying to tell you. What I’m trying to tell you is I may have been born two doors down, but my life started in this room when I was five.
“I was sleeping right there”—he points to the bed—“it was a different bed of course but I heard my father crying in the backyard. Because it was summer and I guess the window was open. So his voice had carried and I went down to find him. I went down and… that was the day I learned who or what I was.”
He shifts on his feet again, something flickering through his eyes, something akin to shame and it tightens my chest.
“By now I’m sure you’ve figured out what my secret is,” he goes on, his gaze locked on mine. “I’m angry. All the time. Every day. I’m on the edge, ready to explode, ready to do damage, to destroy things. And I get it from my dad. He was angry too. He was a lot of things: a drunk, a cheater, an abuser. He’d hit my mom. He’d hit Conrad. I’m not sure about the genetics of it all. If things like these can be passed down or if it’s just a coincidence, my anger and his. That not one or two but three members of the Thorne family share the same trait. My father, Ledger, and me...”
He shakes his head as if waving away that line of thought. “I keep digressing. That’s not what I’m trying to tell you at all. What I’m trying to tell you is that when I found out that I was angry like my father, that was the day I was really born. Me. The kid who grew up to be the man you know now. The Cold Thorn. With his legendary control and coldness. His heart, his insides buried under six feet of ice. And I was born this way because that day I promised myself that even though I share this abhorrent trait with my dad, I will never become like him. I will never give in to my anger. I will never succumb to my baser emotions. I promised, you understand. So slowly, day by day, I built my life around my promise. I built my life where I’d have absolute control over everything. I designed my own cage with my ironclad rules and a rigid structure. I did things that were safe. I distanced myself from the ones that weren’t. And honestly, I thought it was a great decision. I thought it was the right decision. I thought no one would ever find out my secret. No one would ever know that a monster lived among them. No would ever get hurt. I would never hurt anyone. But I was wrong.”
“Wrong?” I whisper and I don’t know how I do that.
Because I think my insides are clenched so tight, my throat is clenched so tight that I can hardly breathe let alone make words.
I’m a tight, tight ball of bones and muscles.
A tight ball of emotions.
“It wasn’t the right decision.”
“W-Why?”
He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Because I ended up hurting you.”
My heart thuds. “You…”
“I kept everyone safe around me,” he says, his burning eyes going back and forth between mine. “I protected everyone from me and my demons. And while that was important. What was more important, what was the most important thing to me, I failed at that. I failed at protecting you. I failed at protecting the one person who…”—he swallows again—"saw me.”
I have to bring my hands down and grab the sheets.
I have to press my spine against the pillows for support as I whisper, “Saw you?”
“In the dark.”
“At the p-party that night?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But also, you’re the first person, the only person, to actually see me. Ever.”
He ducks his head for a second as if gathering himself and I take the time to slow down my breaths. I take the time to prepare myself for his next words.
Because I know they’re important.
And I know they’re going to hurt.
Both him and me.
“And that’s because I’ve always been in the dark. I’ve always been in the cold too. Ever since I was five. And I wanted it that way. I wanted to stay hidden. I wanted to be kept a secret. Monsters are always kept behind closed doors, aren’t they? They’re thrust down in the basement and left there to die. So that’s what I wanted. But you came and you opened the door. You came and you switched on the light. And you found me. You saw me in that dark room. You discovered me. And I don’t know how you did that.
“To this day I wonder how you could see me when no one else could. When I made it so that no one else could. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t bother wondering because you’re Isadora Agni Holmes. Agni means fire, doesn’t it? You’re the girl who can melt winter. You’re the girl who melted me. You’re the element of nature. Without you the world won’t function as it should. So it would make sense that you’d see me, wouldn’t it?”—he breathes out—“And when you meet someone like that, someone like you, it also makes sense that the life as you know it would change. The life as you know it would end. So I brought you here, Dora, because I’d like to bring my life full circle and end it. In this room where it all began.”
What does that mean?
What does he mean?
What…
“Because I don’t want a life where I end up hurting you. Where I end up making you cry. Not once, not twice. But over and over. I don’t want a life where I fail to protect you. Where I fail to keep you safe. And so I brought you here so I can end my old life and start a new one,” he explains. “A new life. A real life. A life that I build around you.”
“Me?”
Determination lines every feature of his face. It lines every angle and expanse of his body, his shoulders, his chest. Even his fists that are tightly clenched at his side. Even those thighs that are already arranged in a battle stance.
“Yes. I built my old life around my promise, but this new one, this new life, I’m going to build around you. In this life, when you ask me my name, I will tell you. I will tell you that my name is Stellan. Stellan Thorne and people call me cold. But it’s a fa?ade. A role I play. Because I don’t want them to find out this fire inside of me. This wildfire. This hellfire. Where my demons live. Demons that I battle with every single day.”
He puts a hand on his stomach, as if telling me where they are. “And when you ask me what that means, I will tell you that these demons come from my past. I will tell you that in my old life I tried to keep these demons caged. I tried to suppress them because I thought they would scare people around me. But I think they scared me more than they ever scared anyone else. I was ashamed of them, guilty of them. So I kept them a secret. But in this new life, I’m going to be brave. I’m going to face them head on. I’m going to not only face them but destroy them. I will end them like they ended my life. And it will take time, but I will do it. I will fucking do it, Dora. Because this new life that I’m building around you has a purpose.
“And it’s that I protect you. I protect you above all else. I protect your smiles, your laughter. I protect your happiness, your dreams. Your wants, your needs. Your desires. I protect your emotions and your feelings. I protect that heart of yours. That fire. That big and bright and fucking beautiful fire that found me in the dark. The fire that melted my ice. I’m going to protect it, baby and I’m going to cherish it. I’m going to wrap your heart, your fire in roses. I’m going to keep it safe as you fly without wings. Because you don’t need them, real or otherwise. I’m going to keep you safe, Dora.”
I think I’m ripping his sheets into shreds with how tight I’m holding them. I’m think I’m going to fuse myself with the bed with how heavy I feel right now.
How… pathetically hopeless.
Because he said all these wonderful things. He said all these lovely things, but he didn’t say what I wanted him to say.
He didn’t say what I was dying to hear him say.
“You’re going to keep me safe,” I whisper, curling my toes under the blanket.
“Yeah.”
“I can keep myself safe,” I declare.
“I know.”
“So I don’t need a bodyguard, okay? I’m –”
“But I’d be lying if I said that’s the only thing I’ll do,” he cuts me off.
“What does that mean?” I ask frustrated.
And as promised, he replies, his eyes roving over my features. “It means that in this new life, I’ll do what I couldn’t do before. Not freely. Not without restraints. And it’s that I will love you.”
My mouth parts with a breath.
And he goes on, “I will love you like you deserve to be loved. Recklessly. Thoughtlessly. Insanely. I will love you without any chains or rules. Without boundaries. Without any sense for myself or preservation. Without any thought for myself or care. I will love you with all the fire inside of me, inside of my heart, inside of my gut, inside of my soul. And I will love you every single day. I will love you every single minute of every single day. Every single second of every single minute of every. Single. Day.” A pause and then, “It also means that if you’re leaving, I’m leaving with you.”
“What?”
He shifts on his feet, his spine straight and rigid. “You’re leaving for that camp, yeah? I’m going with you.”
“You’re going with me?”
He nods. “Yes. Where you go, I’ll follow.”
“You’ll follow?”
“You’ve followed me before, haven’t you?” he reminds me. “You’ve chased after me. You’ve done things for me. In my new life, I’ll do things for you. I’ll chase after you.”
My breaths are slamming in and out of my chest right now. My heart is racing and racing. And I don’t think it’s a good thing because I’m going to pass out any second.
I’m going to faint.
Because not only he said – finally, Jesus Christ – that he loves me, he’s saying all these… impossible things that…
He’s blowing my mind right now.
“What about your job?” I ask, my voice high.
“I quit.”
My voice climbs higher. “You quit?”
“While you were sleeping,” he confirms.
“While I was sleeping?”
He nods. “It was the very first thing I did when I brought you into this room.” Then, with something similar to regret flickering through his features, “I wish I could… leave behind everything that… That makes me the way I am but I can’t. So I left behind what I could.”
Pain pierces my chest.
Not for the first time either. In fact, my entire body is hurting.
For him.
It’s been hurting because all the things he just told me. It’s been tight and curled and achy. And I…
I want to go to him.
I want to put my arms around him and hug him. And in his words, I’d be lying if I said that’s all I want to do. But something is stopping me.
Something that I can’t move past.
“So what are you going to do?” I ask, gripping the sheets even more tightly.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I love books.”
Yeah, he does.
He loves them so much.
And I always wanted him to go for all the things he loves.
I always wanted him to love me.
I slide my feet up and down on the bed, getting restless. “What if I don’t want you to follow me?”
“I’ll still follow you.”
“That’s –"
“But for you, I’ll keep my distance.”
“Distance.”
“I’ve done it before. I can do it again,” he announces. “But this time, I won’t hide. I won’t be careful. This time, you will know I’m there. This time, you will see me watching you. You’ll feel me watching you. This time, I’m seizing my destiny.”
That does it.
That breaks this dam inside of me that I was holding at bay.
My muscles go lax and my voice opens up.
“I’m not your destiny,” I scream then and even though it was loud, he doesn’t flinch. He simply stares at me as if he gets it. He understands that I need to let it all out and I hate him for it.
God, I love him for it too.
“I’m not your fucking destiny, okay?” I keep going. “I don’t want to be your destiny. I don’t want your love. I don’t… You pulled away from me. For a week. For a fucking week, Stellan. You wouldn’t answer my calls. You wouldn’t answer my texts. You… And then you came to Bardstown. Without telling me. Without… And then when I came to see you, when I came to demand answers and I told you I loved you and you beat up your twin brother. You beat him up. You…” A sob catches in my throat. “Y-you guys fought because of me. I never…” I hiccup, my vision blurring from my tears. “I never wanted that. I never wanted to come between you two and I know I did. Before. But I… And you b-broke your promise for me. You did, didn’t you?” I sob. “You made a promise to yourself and your b-broke it for me. You did it to p-protect me. To push m-me away and I’m so m-mad. I’m so mad that I can’t even be mad at you. I can’t… I’m so…”
Before I know it, I’m lifted off the bed and I’m in his arms.
He’s made me climb his body and he’s pinned me to his chest. He’s also tucked my face in the crook of his neck with his large hand as he rocks me. As he shushes me and soothes. As he whispers things in my ear that are as soft as a feather and as sweet as honey.
But the thing that really gets me, that both melts and stings my heart is that he’s hugging me.
Like he always does.
After a week of no contact, after a week of dread that this might be it, he’s hugging me so tightly that I want to sink into him. I want to sink my bones into his body and fuse us together.
And apparently, he wants that too with how tight he’s holding me.
How tight and solid his arms are around me.
“I came to Bardstown to be close to you,” he whispers roughly.
With my face still tucked in his chest, I scratch the side of his neck. “You could’ve a-actually been close to me by coming to see me.”
He flexes his arm around me. “Because like an asshole, I pulled away from you. Like an asshole I was going to let you go. I was going to…”
He trails off but in lieu of his words he tightens his hold around me.
He crushes me to his body as if he thinks I’m going to take off.
I tighten my hold around him too as I scratch him some more. “You hurt me, Stellan.”
He grips me even more tightly. “I know. I fucking know.”
“You beat your brother up.”
“Yeah.”
Breaking away, I look up at him. “For me.”
His eyes are red-rimmed and his features are determined. “I’ll do anything for you.”
I fist his shirt. “I m-made you break your promise.”
He shakes his head. “You made me keep it.”
“What?”
He brings his hand forward and cups my cheek, wiping my tears off. “You’re my grounding object.” When I frown, he explains, “This thing inside of me, it makes the world disappear. It makes me forget who I am, where I am. It’s all-consuming, this thing. But you… you’re the thing that gives me an anchor. You’re the thing that pulls me back from the edge. You’re the reason I don’t go over. If I focus on you, I forget my anger. I think about you and I don’t want to be angry anymore. Your thought is what saves my promise, baby. You’re my reason. To not be what I am.”
My heart clenches. “You’re not a monster.”
Pain ripples through his features and his fingers flex on my face. “I’m… I…”
“You what?”
He swallows thickly. “I-I think I know but… it’s hard for me to believe that.”
“You’re not,” I insist, grabbing his face. “And you’re definitely not like your father.”
Heartbreak shines in his eyes. “I believed that for years. Ever since I was five, I… I thought I was like my father and I finally know I’m not. I know… But I…”
“Is that why you… you freaked out about my mom. When I told you about her. At the engagement party? Because of your dad. Because of what he did to… your mom.”
He grits his teeth for a few seconds before nodding tightly.
And God, I still remember the way he looked that night. The way he almost lost it.
The way he was burning.
All because of his dad.
His evil, evil dad.
And to think that he actually believes he’s like his father? That he’s lived his life believing that…
“I’ll help you,” I say, flexing my thighs around his hips. “I’ll help you believe it. I’ll help you believe that you’re not like him.”
A flood of emotions moves through his face, his entire body and he shudders. “I know I’ve hurt you. I’ve hurt you countless times. I’ve lied to you. I’ve deceived you. I’ve been selfish with you and maybe it’s because I’m an asshole. Or maybe it’s because I’ve spent my entire life burying and denying any emotions at all. I’ve spent my entire life trying to feel nothing. So I know it’ll take time but… I’ll learn, Dora. I’ll learn to feel again. I’ll learn to love. I’ll learn to care. And I’ll learn to do it the right way. You…” He lets out a shaky breath. “You told me once that I don’t know how to care for you. I don’t know how to do it right and... You could teach me. You could… You could show me the right way. You could… and I’ll follow you. I’ll follow your lead. I’ll… I did so many things I?—”
I press a hand on his mouth. “I don’t care what you did. Because whatever you did, I would’ve done the same thing. We’re matching souls, remember? And all I ever wanted was for you to see that. All I ever wanted was you to believe that. To believe that you could love me. That we deserve a chance. That’s all I wanted from you, Stellan. To just love me and let me love you.”
“I love you,” he says gravely.
Instantly.
As if the declaration was sitting on the tip of his tongue.
So I take the time to look at him.
I take the time to memorize his features.
The red and purple bruises on his face, his messy hair. That stubble.
I take the time to feel the heat of his body, the strength of his hold.
And I don’t think he’s ever looked more beautiful than he does right now.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more than I do right now either.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget this moment.
The moment when I tell him, for the first time ever, “I love you too.”
Before this, I was always the first—and the only—to say it. So I never got the chance to tack on the too. I never got the chance to return the feeling and God, it’s the most epic feeling ever. Saying it back when someone has said it to you first.
And I guess he’s thinking the same thing because my too rearranges his features and turns them all loose. It leaves his body relaxed and at ease. And he whispers, “I let you be alone in this. Before. I always left you in the dark with your love. But not anymore. I’ll never let you be alone, Dora. I’ll never leave you in the dark. You will know that you’re loved. Always.”
I smile, my eyes welling up. “I thought… When you brought me here, I thought… you were going to say this was it. You were going to end things and it would kill me. I thought I was going to die. I… And I was prepared to die. I was always ready to die at the end of this story, you know. I was?—”
“You’re not dying,” he declares firmly, vehemently. “I’m not letting you fucking die.”
I let out a broken laugh. “Well, I didn’t mean literally. I meant?—”
“I meant both,” he declares again, flexing his grip on my bod.
I laugh again. “Stellan, baby, that’s crazy. You’re not God. You?—”
“Aren’t I?”
Chuckling, I rest my forehead on his. “You are. You’re my god.”
He lets out a relieved breath. “So then.”
“How about no one dies in this story?” Then, I correct myself, “Well, except the old, grumpy Stellan.”
He chuckles too. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Hey, how about we both die at the same time?” I go excitedly. “Wouldn’t that be epic?”
Closing his eyes, he hums, as if he’s so relaxed and at peace.
Finally.
“You could write about it, Stellan,” I say even more excitedly. “I mean since you quit your job and you’re now free to do stuff with the books.”
He hums again.
“Oh my God”—I gasp—“How about I act in it?”
“Uh-huh.”
Then something occurs to me and I go, “Will you be mad if I tell you I lied?”
His eyes open. “What?”
“You’re getting mad.”
“Dora.”
“Well you just opened your eyes. You were so relaxed before and?—”
“What did you lie about?” he asks sternly.
I wrinkle my nose. “So the camp?”
His eyes narrow. “What about it?”
“I do have to leave,” I tell him, playing with the ends of his hair.
“But?”
“But I don’t go until the summer.”
“Summer.”
“Uh-huh. I just said that to –”
“Hurt me,” he finishes.
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not.” Then, I explain, “But only because you deserved it. You deserved a little pain and?—”
He shuts my mouth with his kiss.
And the moment our lips touch, I melt.
I kiss him back.
Even though it occurs to me that if this is his new life, he should really follow in my footsteps and ask me. Like I asked him.
For a kiss.
I mean it’s only fair.
But it’s okay.
For now, this is good.
This is great.
Him and me and our kiss.
We have entire lives to figure the rest out.