Tomorrow was the anniversary of Mandi’s death, which was probably why I was looking for a fight. I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded.
“You willin’ to slog through this with me?” he asked.
I dropped my head to his chest again. “I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Try.”
“When is anything going to ever feel normal again?”
“Don’t know, sweetness. Maybe never. I just know that it feels a fuck of a lot worse when you’re not around.”
I snorted. “Bullshit.”
He lifted my chin and frowned. “I get that your mother’s a total fuckin’ cunt and did a number on you, but you need to hear me when I tell you that I love you. Nothin’ you do’s gonna change that. You’ve been tryin’ to push me away from the second I met you and it’s never worked. I don’t care how many beer bottles you break, or skillets you throw at my head, you’re mine. You run away, I’ll bring you back every goddamn time. I made you a promise, sweetness, and I’ll never break it.”
“But you can if you want to.”
“Jesus Christ, woman, I don’t want to. Do you seriously think I want to?”
“I just figured you stayed because of Mandi.”
“I stayed because of you, sweetness,” he said. “Mandi was a bonus.”
“I’m difficult.”
“You expect excellence, there’s a difference,” he countered. “You’re also fun. You don’t take yourself too seriously, but you’re all fuckin’ alpha, so you do when you need to. People are intimidated by strong women.” He leaned down and kissed me gently. “And your mother happens to be at the top of that list.”
“Maybe so.” I sighed. “Go get your stuff. I’ll clean up the beer.”
He squeezed my chin gently. “Don’t cut yourself.”
“If I do, I know someone who’ll be able to patch me up.”
He kissed me again. “You’re perfect just the way you are, Liv. Don’t doubt it, okay?”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” he ordered before heading out of the condo, while I went to clean up the mess I’d made.
He returned just as I dumped the glass into the garbage can.
He dropped his bags on the floor and took the dustpan out of my hands. “I’ll take it from here. Go sit down and figure out what you want me to cook.”
“You’re gonna cook?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Doyouwant to cook?”
“I never want to cook,” I grumbled.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, I want you to cook rib-eyes with corn and potatoes, and I don’t have any of that, because I also hate grocery shopping, so your clairvoyance has apparently failed you.”
He grinned, nodding toward the bags on the floor. “Check the duffel.”
