I turn around to face him, even though I’m apprehensive about what he’s going to say.
Saint cups my face, bringing our lips together in a kiss so tender tears threaten to fall. Instead of stepping back when our lips break apart, he leaves his forehead pressed against mine.
“Look at me, Mikelle,” he orders.
When our eyes connect, the longing I find in his hazel irises makes my breath hitch.
“Thank you for this weekend,” I whisper, unsure what else to say.
“Don’t say it like this is over. It’s not over, Mikey. This is just the beginning.”
“But I?—”
“No, please, I need to say this. I need to make sure you’re hearing me, okay?” I nod. “For the past year, I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you on a date. I knew from the moment I saw you we could have something special, and I was right. I know you feel what’s between us. I also know it’s scary. We’ve moved fast, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I meant it last night when I said you’re mine, but more than that, I’myours.Have been for a year, even though you didn’t know it. I haven’t thought of anyone else since you walked in with a grease stain on your cheek, and I thought, ‘she’s the one.’ Whatever happens, this isn’t the end, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”
“So you want to continue seeing me?”
“Yes, Mikey. I want you. For however long you’ll let me have your heart. I promise to take care of it.”
Keep it forever. No one else will ever have it.
“What do we do about the fact we live in different towns? I could never ask you to leave Cupid’s Cove for me, but there’s no job for me here, unless Slater’s suddenly in need of a new mechanic. I don’t?—”
Saint puts his finger to my lips, stopping me from spiraling. “We don’t have to figure it out right now, okay? Let’s take it one day at a time. You’ll go back to Salem today, and I’ll see you when I come back for the van. We’ll talk every night and text every day. It’s less than a two hour drive, and that’s nothing. I’d drive for two days across the country to see you if I had to.”
I nod against his forehead as a traitorous tear slips from the corner of my eye. Saint catches it with his thumb.
“I’ll miss you.” My voice wobbles with the words.
“I’ll miss you, too. But this is only the beginning,” Saint says soothingly, before he leans down and captures my lips with his. When he pulls away, a piece of my heart gets ripped from my chest. One I know I won’t get back until we figure everything out.
“I should go before it gets too late.”
Saint nods, grabbing my bag and following me out. He opens my door for me and sets the bag and cooler on the bench seat before helping me in and securing my buckle. He gives me one more kiss. “Call me when you get home, okay?”
I can’t manage more than a nod.
Saint gently closes my door and steps back, running a hand through his hair.
As I pull out of the driveway, Saint waves, and I wave back, my heart aching the farther I get from him. When I pull onto the road and can no longer see his house, tears are flowing freely down my face. I want to turn back. I want to call Merv and tell him I quit, that I’m staying in Cupid’s Cove.
But I can’t.
I remind myself this isn’t goodbye forever, simply for a moment.
Luckily,the drive back to Salem was uneventful. The road was free of debris from the storm, and the sky was bright blue with very little cloud coverage. I listened to a playlist of love songs until my phone died halfway home, which, in hindsight, may not have been the best idea. I spent the entire drive thinking about Saint, wishing he was next to me.
I thought being back in the city I’ve lived in my whole life, the place I’ve called home for forever, would help ease the ache in my chest, but it doesn't. Driving past Merv’s only seems to increase the desire I have to turn around and go back to Saint’s.
My apartment feels underwhelming and clinical after being in the cozy confines of Saint’s place this weekend. The tiny kitchen mocks me. My full-sized bed lacks his scent and warmth.
I plug my phone in before I hurry and run through my routine in my too-small shower and get dressed in clothes that don’t smell like Saint; my sense of melancholy only grows. It lessens when I check my phone and find a text from him.
SAINT: I hope you made it home okay. I miss you already.
MIKEY: I did. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, my phone died.
SAINT: It’s okay, I was just worried something happened to you. Ruby refused to give me her car, though. She said to wait.
