Austen meows loudly, annoyed that the petting has stopped.
“Your cat is demanding,” Scott observes.
“He’s used to being the center of attention.”
“I can relate.”
“Can you?”
“I spent my whole life being the center of my own story. Being in control. Knowing exactly who I was and what I wanted.” He looks at me. “And then you showed up and completely destroyed that.”
“I destroyed your sense of self?”
“In the best possible way.”
My heart is attempting to escape my chest. “Scott?—”
“You scare me,” he admits. “You see things. Really see them. You see through people’s armor to what’s underneath. And if you really saw me?—”
“What would I see?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he’s not going to answer.
“Someone not good enough,” he finally says. “Who’s been pretending for so long he forgot what was real and is terrified that the truth is worse than the performance.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Maybe not.” I lean forward. “But I see you apologizing at dawn on beaches, trying to be better, more honest. That’s not nothing, Scott. That’s everything.”
He looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Jessica?—”
“What else are you hiding?” I ask suddenly.
“I—” He stands abruptly, dislodging Austen, who yowls his disapproval. “Everything that matters.”
We’re both standing now, the desk between us, and the air is so charged I can barely breathe.
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that I’ve been protecting your business for years and have been trying to save you from the board while appearing to threaten you. Like the fact that I?—”
He stops. Walks around the desk.
We’re standing very close now.
“Like the fact that what?” I prompt.
“That I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says quietly. “And I drive past your bookstore four times a day just to see if you’re there. I read poetry trying to find words beautiful enough to describe how you make me feel. Every decision I make, every choice, I’m thinking about you.”
I can’t breathe. “Scott?—”
He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and the touch sends electricity through my entire body.
“You scare me,” he repeats. “Because if you really saw me—all of me, all the messy, complicated, scared parts—you’d?—”
“I’d what?”
