This is all we’ve done all night, step forward, step back. Push and pull.
“I’m not as confident about that as you are.”
He probably doesn’t know about the scathing email Evelyn sent me after our breakup, her fiery teenage heart protecting her brother. She didn’t know the truth behind why we ended, and it didn’t feel like my place to tell her.
If he’s never told her the truth, she won’t have forgotten.
I want to think we can be adults about it, but with Evelyn, I’m not so sure. She’s always been a force to reckon with, and I assume the last two years have only made that more true.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s as clueless as he seems about things like that. Our breakup wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t amicable either. I know we’ll have to dig deeper than we have today to move forward, but maybe if I look through a business lens rather than a personal one, I can come to terms with the idea.
“What do I tell Phoebe? If I say yes?” I ask.
His hands are still cradling my face, and even though I probably should step out of them, I don’t want to. I’m actually perfectly content right here, and that should scare me a lot more than it does.
“We tell her whatever you’re comfortable with. We’ll talk about it tomorrow and come up with a game plan for all of us. If that’s what you decide. Okay, Chlo?”
I’m not in any place emotionally to consider such a crazy thing, but maybe that’s exactly why I should.
Marrying Aiden wouldn’t just nurture a decade-old wound. It would save Christmas for Phoebe. It would ease my worryabout paying bills after refunding clients. There might even be a solution to the business mixed in there.
Being able to take care of my daughter so she doesn’t watch my world fall apart is reason enough, really. Everything else is icing on the cake. And his deadline is a fuse already lit.
Maybe I need to strip out the emotions and look at it differently. But I don’t know how.
Not when standing here with Aiden’s hands on my face makes my insides so warm and lazy it feels like molasses running through my veins.
“That sounds good,” I murmur, stepping out of his caress.
His touch makes me do stupid things, and if I stay even a second longer, I might blurt out yes before giving it the thought it deserves.
I’m dangerously close anyway.
“Can I help you finish the kitchen?”
Especially when he offers things likethat.
“No, there’s not much left. Thank you for the cookies and for helping clean it all up. She’ll be talking about that for a while.”
He watches me, like he wants to say something. It feels like right when we’re on the cusp of brutal honesty, one of us pulls back. He lets it pass with a simple nod.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, then. Text me when you’re ready, and I’ll be here.”
He hesitates like he’s waiting for more.
There’s a heavy pause, like the wait before a first kiss at the end of a date. And I want that,verymuch.
My mouth opens. My heart screams “Kiss me”.
Instead, I swallow the words.
“Okay.”
He waits for another half-beat, before he’s out the door.
I watch him trek to his truck across the snow, an alarming realization settles itself front and center in my brain.
I wanted him to kiss me.
