26. Billie
Billie
I 'd been lying awake for two hours, staring at the ceiling and reliving every moment of the harvest festival, when my phone buzzed with a text.
Can't sleep either? - G
I smiled in the darkness, my heart doing that fluttery thing it had been doing all week whenever I thought about dancing with Gage, about the way he'd looked at me before he kissed me, about the promise in his voice when he'd said he wasn't going anywhere.
How did you know I was awake? I typed back.
Lucky guess. Or maybe wishful thinking. Want some company?
I sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake. It was nearly midnight, and proper ladies probably didn't invite men over at midnight, but I'd never been particularly proper, and the thought of seeing Gage again, of having him here in my space, made my pulse quicken.
Come over, I sent. Back door's unlocked.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen in pajama pants and an oversized sweater, watching Gage climb the back steps to the house. He was still dressed in the clothes he'd worn to walk me home—jeans and a soft gray henley that made his eyes look silver in the porch light.
"Hi," I said, opening the door before he could knock.
"Hi." His smile was soft and uncertain. "I brought hot chocolate."
He held up a thermos and two mugs, and something warm unfurled in my chest. "You made hot chocolate at midnight?"
"Couldn't sleep anyway," he said with a shrug. "And I remembered you used to love it when we were kids."
I stepped aside to let him in, acutely aware of the intimacy of having him in the house at this hour, in this soft lighting, while I was dressed for bed.
"I still love it," I said, accepting one of the mugs as he poured the steaming chocolate from the thermos. The smell was rich and comforting, with hints of cinnamon and vanilla that made me think of cold winter nights and safe, warm spaces.
"Good," he said, settling onto the couch and looking like he belonged there. "I was hoping some things hadn't changed."
I curled up on the other end of the couch, tucking my feet under me and cradling the warm mug in my hands. "Some things," I agreed. "Others have changed completely."
"Good changes?"
I studied him over the rim of my mug. This man who'd been my childhood best friend, my teenage heartbreak, and now something new and undefined. He was looking at me with the kind of careful attention that made me feel like the most important person in the world.
"Mostly good," I said quietly. "You're different than you were when we were kids."
"Different how?"
"More..." I searched for the right word. "More solid, I guess. More sure of yourself. Like you've figured out who you are and what you want."
"I really don't think that I have," he said with a soft laugh. "You really see that?"
The question was barely a whisper, and I could see the vulnerability in his eyes.
"Yes. I think you've grown a lot over the years," I said. "What do you want, Gage? What do you dream about now?"
He set down his mug and turned to face me fully, his expression serious and intent.
"I want to wake up in the same place every morning and know that I'm home," he said quietly. "I want to build things that last. I want to be the kind of man my niece and nephews are proud to call uncle, the kind of son who can forgive his father, the kind of brother my family can count on."
"And?" I prompted, sensing there was more.
"And I want you." The words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding them back for weeks.
"I want to take you on dates and hold your hand in public and learn everything about the woman you've become.
I want to earn your trust again, even though I know I don't deserve it.
I want to love you the way I should have loved you eleven years ago, if I'd been brave enough. "
My breath caught, because it was exactly what I was ready to admit that I wanted too. "Gage..."
"I know it's too much too soon," he said quickly. "I know you asked for slowly, and I meant what I said about giving you whatever pace you need. But you asked what I wanted, and that's the truth. All of it."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. The honesty in his voice, the raw vulnerability in his expression. It was everything I'd dreamed of hearing and everything I was terrified to believe.
"What if you change your mind?" I whispered. "What if you decide you want something different, or someone different, or somewhere different?"
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Billie, I have spent eleven years running from this feeling, from you, from the possibility of the life we could have built together.
I've been to forty-three states and worked a dozen different jobs and slept in more beds than I can count, and none of it ever felt like home.
Not until I came back here. Not until I saw you again. "
Tears pricked my eyes. "I'm scared."
"So am I." He reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and took my hand in both of his. "But I'm more scared of wasting another eleven years wondering what if."
I looked down at our joined hands, his so much larger than mine, scarred from years of hard work, warm and solid and real. This was what I'd been afraid to want, afraid to hope for. This connection, this feeling of coming home to someone.
"The night you left," I said quietly, "I waited by the swimming hole until dawn, thinking maybe you'd come back. When you didn't, I went home and cried for three days straight."
His face crumpled. "Billie..."
"I'm not telling you to make you feel guilty," I said quickly.
"I'm telling you because I need you to understand what I'm risking here.
That seventeen-year-old girl believed with her whole heart that you were her forever.
When you left, she didn't just lose the boy she loved.
She lost her best friend, her future, her faith that love was something she could count on. "
"I know," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "God, Billie, I know, and I hate that I did that to you. I hate that I was such a coward..."
"Stop." I squeezed his hand. "I don't want apologies. I want promises. I want to know that if I let myself fall in love with you again, you won't disappear the first time things get difficult."
"I promise," he said immediately. "I swear to you, on my grandfather's grave, on everything I hold sacred. I will never leave you like that again. Whatever happens, whatever we face, we face it together. I will stay and fight for us instead of running away."
The sincerity in his voice, the steadiness in his eyes, it was enough to crack the last of my careful defenses.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I want to try. I want to see what we could be now, as adults, with everything we've learned and everything we've lost and everything we've found again. I don't want to pretend we're only friends, I don't want casual and slow. I want it all. I want you, Gage."
The smile that spread across his face was radiant. "Really?"
"Really. But Gage?"
"Yeah?"
"You might have to be patient with me. Because I... this might be difficult for me."
"I can be patient," he said, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. "I can be anything you need me to be."
"I don't need you to be anything but yourself," I said. "The real you, not some perfect version you think I want."
"The real me is pretty messed up," he warned with a self-deprecating smile.
"Good," I said, surprising us both. "I don't want perfect. I want real."
His arm came around my shoulders and he pulled me into his side. My head nestled against his chest and I sighed at the solid feel of him beside me. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of our conversation settling between us like a bridge we'd just agreed to build together.
"So," I said finally, "what happens now?"
"Now," he said, "I walk you to your bedroom door like a gentleman and kiss you goodnight and try not to think about how much I want to stay."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow I take you to lunch and hold your hand across the table and let the whole town see that Billie Schulster is giving Gage Farrington a second chance."
"It's not like they didn't just see that at the festival. Kissing me on the dance floor wasn't exactly subtle. They'll be talking about this for weeks."
"Let them talk." He stood and pulled me to my feet, his hands settling on my waist. "I'm proud to be seen with you. I want everyone to know how lucky I am."
I looked up at him, this man who'd broken my heart and was now offering to help me put it back together, and felt something click into place in my chest.
"Kiss me," I said.
"Billie..."
"Not goodnight. Not goodbye. Kiss me like you mean it. Like you're staying."
He stared at me for a moment, searching my face for something. Whatever he found there must have satisfied him, because he cupped my face in his hands and leaned down until his forehead was resting against mine.
"I love you," he whispered. "I never stopped loving you."
"I love you too," I whispered back, and felt the last of my walls crumble. "I tried to stop, but I couldn't."
When he kissed me, it was nothing like the sweet, careful kiss we'd shared at the festival. This was deeper, hungrier, full of ten years of longing and the promise of all the tomorrows we were choosing to believe in.
I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, and he pulled me closer until there was no space left between us. He tasted like hot chocolate and promises, and when he traced my lower lip with his tongue, I made a sound that was half whimper, half plea.
"Billie," he murmured against my mouth.
"I know," I breathed. "Too fast."
"Too fast," he agreed, but he didn't step away. Instead, he rested his forehead against mine again, both of us breathing hard.
"This is going to kill me," he said with a shaky laugh.
"Good," I said, making him laugh harder. "Suffering builds character."
"I have plenty of character, thanks."
"You can always use more."
He kissed me again, softer this time but no less devastating, then forced himself to step back.
"I should go," he said, and I could see the effort it took him to say it.
"You should," I agreed, making no move to walk him to the door.
"Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"Unless you want me to stay," he said quietly. "Just to sleep. Just to hold you."
The offer was tempting, so tempting. The thought of falling asleep in his arms, of waking up to his face on my pillow, made my knees weak.
"Ask me again in a few weeks," I said finally.
"A few weeks?"
"When I'm sure I won't regret it in the morning."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by respect and something that looked like love.
"A few weeks," he agreed. "But Billie?"
"Yeah?"
"When you're ready, when you're sure, I want you to know that staying won't be about sex. It'll be about not wanting to spend another night away from you."
The honesty in his voice made my chest tight. "I know."
"Good." He kissed my forehead, soft and sweet. "I'll call you tomorrow?"
"I'll be waiting."
After he left, I curled up on my couch with the lingering scent of his cologne and the taste of him still on my lips.
The house felt different somehow. Warmer, more alive, full of possibility, and yet a little less like mine.
It felt more temporary now that I could see all the things the future could hold.
For the first time, I was falling in love with Gage Farrington. And this time, I was brave enough to let it happen.