“You can't love me. It hasn’t been long enough…”
"I loved you the first time I heard you playing your metal music at three in the morning. Loved you more when I tasted one of your cinnamon rolls for the first time. Loved you mostwhen you kissed me in front of everyone, showing them all that you belong to me and I to you.”
My eyes burn. “This is crazy.”
“So let’s be crazy.”
I laugh. “You need ice for those ribs, bad boy.”
“I needyou.”
“You have me.” The truth of it settles into my bones.
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.” Saying it feels like jumping into thin air. Terrifying and exhilarating all at once. “I have no idea how this works or what we do next, but I love you.”
His smile transforms his whole face. “We'll figure it out.”
“Your club…”
“Clay got what he needed… his alibi. There’s one guy who’s pissed about how it went down, but he can't deny it worked.”
“The bruises suggest otherwise.”
“The bruises were just him making a point. It's already over.” He winces as he shifts. “Mostly.”
I get him ice and pain meds, and make him sit while I fuss over him. He watches me with this soft expression that makes my chest ache.
“What?” I ask.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“How the hell am I going to explain to Gram that I lost a baking competition on purpose?”
“Tell her you were defending my honor.”
“Were you dishonored?”
“My mixer was clearly sabotaged.” I grin. “Probably by Beatrice. She looked shifty.”
“Eighty-year-old Beatrice Howl sabotaged your mixer?”
“She wanted that trophyrealbad.”
He laughs, then immediately regrets it, hand going to his ribs.
“Bed, Kieran. You need rest,” I order.
“Is that an invitation?”
“It's a medical directive.”
“Sexy.”
I walk with him to my bedroom, carefully arrange him on the bed with pillows supporting his bruised side. Then I curl up next to him, careful not to jostle his body. We lie there in comfortable silence, his hand playing with my hair. Outside, in the town square, the festival is still in full swing. But here, in our little bubble, there's just us.
