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Big Package

Page 40

by Eve London

She leaned against the counter. “About which part?”

“Most of it.”

“That’s broad.”

“Figured I’d cover my bases.”

A smile threatened at the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t let me off that easy. “I’m listening.”

She looked tired after a long day and probably pissed off at me, but not fragile. She was still standing in the middle of the life she’d built.

“I kept telling myself I was trying to protect you,” I said. “That wasn’t what I was doing. I was protecting me.”

Her expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve spent a long time keeping my life manageable. Keeping everything in its place.”

“Your garage confirms this.”

“Yeah. And then you showed up.”

“That sounds accusatory.”

“It is. You showed up demanding your package, nearly drove yourself into a ditch, took over my kitchen, stole my sweatshirt⁠—”

“I didn’t steal your sweatshirt.”

“You still have it.”

“You never asked for it back.”

That smile finally appeared. I needed it, but I wasn’t done. “Then you left, and the house felt wrong. I didn’t know what to do with that.”

“You could have called,” she said. “You’re allowed to miss someone.”

“I know that now.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing about you. You still just got out of an engagement. You’re still building the shop. What changed is I finally figured out none of that gives me the right to decide what you should want.” I stepped closer but left enough space between us for her to decide what happened next. “If you want time, I’ll give you time. If you want slow, I can do slow.”

“Can you?”

“Probably not very well, but I’m willing to try something new.”

That got a laugh, and her eyes warmed.

“But if you want me,” I said, “I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t.”

“Wow. More personal growth?”

“Don’t tell anyone. And I don’t know how to promise you I won’t screw this up.”

“You probably will. So will I. I’m not asking for perfect, Cole. Or for forever tonight. So what are you scared of?”

I could have dodged it. I’d done that most of my life. This time I answered. “You leaving.”

Her expression changed. She didn’t look like she felt sorry for me. She looked like she understood.