“This is mortifying,” she whispered back, tears flowing.
“Not for me. I get to be here, with you, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
“I’m a mess.”
“No. It’s just that you’re not bulletproof. That’s all.”
“I want to be bulletproof.”
“None of us are.”
“You’re pretty much perfect, Zander. It’s nauseating.”
“I beg your pardon. I have lots of weaknesses.”
“Which are?”
He must have grabbed a box of tissues from the bathroom afterdepositing her on her bed, because he offered the box to her now. She took two.
“I can be reclusive,” he said.
“You like to spend time alone.”
“I’m gloomy.”
“You’re realistic.”
“I’m terrible with strangers.”
That, she agreed with. She shrugged and blotted her eyes.
“I can’t walk past an open drawer or cupboard without closing it. I need matching hangers and all my clothes have to face the same way. I can’t stand by and watch people load a dishwasher the wrong way.”
She attempted a shuddering breath. “Your ability to expertly load a dishwasher isn’t an imperfection.”
“Yes, it is, because I have to load a dishwasher the right way even if the people who own the dishwasher haven’t invited me to.”
It seemed that her tears were bottomless.
“I hate ketchup,” he said. “I used to spend too much time playing video games. And I can’t set a timer for an odd number.”
“Scandalous.”
“But my biggest weakness by far...”
“Yes?”
“Is you.”
Her heart was coming apart at the seams.
“I’d give up anything,” he said. “For you.”
“I don’t deserve that.”
“You do deserve it. That, and more.” He brought the tissues to her again.
She tossed the used ones over the side of the bed and took two more. “You admired my independence. I know you did.”
