Looking over his texts again, I appreciated that he hadn’t tried to make an excuse or say it was my fault that he’d laughed. He even apologized, which was nice. In my experience, guys didn’t apologize for jack shit.
I was still in my head about things when my doorbell went off a few minutes later. Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door and found Alfie standing on my front porch, holding my order, looking…sigh. Contrite and sweet.
“Are you okay?” he asked, a worried line between his brows.
“Yes, Alfie. I’m okay now. Come in.”
I gestured for him to follow me to the library-slash-sitting room. This was my favorite room in the house, and where I did most of my writing. With the tall ceilings and dark librarian vibe, it was also intimidating.
With color shading his cheeks, Alfie set the drinks on the coffee table, then gestured to the room. “I love the old Victorian houses in this neighborhood, and the flooring and trim in here are gorgeous. And wow, you did a good job mixing the modern art with the original touches. Not a lot of people have that kind of an eye. They often just defer to the old décor or obliterate it entirely. But not you,” he babbled nervously, his body facing away from me. “You really put a lot of effort in, I can tell.”
“Thanks. Restored most of this with my brother.”
He turned to me, opening his mouth as if to let more words spill, but then just as quickly he shut it. His warm brown eyes, which flared amber in the dying light, were practically pleading with me.
“I am so sorry, Gideon. I promise, I just thought Judi caught you off guard,” he explained, the distress in his voice genuine. “It took me far too long to identify that this was a triggering event. I swear I’m turning in my therapist card first thing tomorrow.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “No need to do that. Though I do appreciate the apology.”
His focus shifted to his shoes. “I really, really liked our back-and-forth and, maybe it’s silly, but I hope it’s not too much to ask for a do-over.”
He glanced up at me, even as his chin stayed on his chest. I crossed my arms and scowled at half-power. His eyes went wide, and he took a shivering breath but stood his ground, which I admired. God, he was perfect.
I bit back a smile and waited half a beat, then stuck out my hand. “Hi. I’m Gideon Northman.”
The gesture startled him a little, but then that damn smile spread across his face like a sunrise. Eyes twinkling, he uncrossed his arms and took my hand. “Hi, Gideon. My name is Alfie Fellows.”
Sproinging one of his curls, I teased, “Fuck, you even look like your dog.”
His mouth dropped open in protest. “Hey! I keep my tongue in my mouth and have neveroncelooked at opposite walls at the same time.”
See? Perfect.
I threw my head back, laughing. “You fucking dork. Come here,” I said, pulling him into a hug. Alfie let out a small cry of surprise, which was muffled when his face hit my chest.
He inhaled deeply and let out a chuckle. “God, you smell so good. And I really am sorry.”
“No more apologies,” I said, tightening the hug, a weird sort of relief filling my chest.
I’d spent a lot of time trying to figure out what my person would look like, who they would be. Maybe it was the roller coaster of emotions, the last remnants of adrenaline in my bloodstream, but that tiny voice in my head—the one that had saved my life on so many occasions—saidthis one. This is your person.
I ignored the pop and fizz of this revelation because I was an adult human being with a decent IQ, and there was no such thing as love at first sight. Sure, these apps, even the good ones, tried to promote the idea of instant connection, fireworks, and boners on command. Pretty far-fetched if you asked me.
Don’t ask me right now, though. Despite how our initial meeting went, I might give you a soliloquy on how Alfie felt like home with his springy curls and earnest smile.
Literally, stop being so ridiculous, Gid.
Also, I’d gone quiet for an awkward amount of time. While still holding Alfie in my arms because the thought of letting him go felt impossible.
“Well,” he said, with his forehead on my chest. “You know what I do. What do you do?”
I chuckled. A question I could answer.
“I write young adult fantasy and science fiction.”
He pulled back and craned his neck look at me. “You write young adult fiction?”
I smiled, pride filling my chest. “Yes, I do.”
