“No, I’m not. You told me I wasn’t your type, remember?” he reminded me in a tone that didn’t sound sad or disappointed.
“You were being an idiot. What was I supposed to tell you?My, what big arms you have? Then what? Please let me snuggle in your lap, my friend?” I laughed, squeezing my fingers in his. “You were married and you took it seriously. I would never do that.Andit wasn’t like you were really nice to me for a while anyway.”
“What did you want me to tell you? That I wanted you to snuggle on my lap?” He chuckled back. “Baby, I took being married to someone I didn’t even love seriously. I never once cheated on my ex, even after we split up. What kind of man would I show you I was if I’d changed my mind about how I should act after I’d met you?”
He had a point and he knew it.
“I thought you were crazy at first, and then I got to know you and I liked you—you were my friend and you were nice just because that’s how you are, not because you wanted anything from me. And then that day I was taking lice out of your hair, you looked up at me while we were laughing and I knew I was done,” he said.
His hand went to my cheek again. “If I can respect being in a relationship with someone who I won’t remember years from now—someone I don’t ever think about—I wanted you to see how seriously I would take spending the next fifty years with the girl who’s keeping my heart for herself.”
This man. This man was going to stitch me together with industrial strength thread. How? How could I live a day without him? A week, a month, a lifetime?
As if sensing I was losing my shit, but not in the way he thought, Dallas lifted himself up onto a forearm to look down at me. “Diana, I love you, and every bone in my body tells me that I’m gonna love you every day of my life, even when we want to kill each other.”
I sniffled, and what did he do? He laughed.
“When you’re old, I’ll hold your hand when we cross the street. I’ll help you put on your socks,” he promised.
I started laughing, even as tears came into my eyes. “What if I have to helpyouput on socks?”
“Then you’ll help me put on socks. And if I’m in a wheelchair and you’re not, I’ll give you a ride.”
My tears spilled over as I laughed, and I couldn’t help but put my forehead to his shoulder. “You can’t promise me you’ll always be there. You know that’s not the way it works.”
“While I still have breath in my body, I won’t go anywhere, Peach.” He kissed my temple. “You never know what will happen an hour from now, a minute from now, but I won’t make you regret any of it too bad, even when I get on your nerves and we bicker because we’ve been together forever and know everything about each other. That time could be a month, or could be until we’re both in diapers, but I’ll be there.”
“Diapers?”
“Diapers,” he confirmed, leaning down to kiss my face three times. “I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Tell her,” Josh whispered as he passed by me in the kitchen to refill his cup with apple juice from the fridge.
I ground my teeth and made my eyes go wide in his direction while going back to keeping an eye on my mom who happened to be standing at the stove in the kitchen, giving the rice she was making a stir. “I will. Give me a second,” I hissed at him, glancing in my mom’s direction one more time to make sure she was oblivious.
My eleven-year-old mouthed “Wuss” to me over his shoulder as he left the room with his glass full.
Sadly, I knew he was right. I needed to tell my mom who was coming over for Christmas dinner. Well, more specifically,whysomeone was coming over for dinner with Miss Pearl in tow.
Shit.
Grabbing a clean kitchen towel from a drawer, I’d barely dipped it under the running tap when I finally said, “Mamá, Miss Pearl and Dallas are coming over for dinner.”
“Miss Pearl? ¿La vecina?”
“Yes, the neighbor. The one whose house burned down.”
“And who else?” she asked distractedly, her back still to me.
“Dallas. My neighbor. Josh’s coach.” It wasn’t like we hadn’t talked about him a dozen times before. Knowing my mom though, she was just playing dumb, possibly hoping I’d mysteriously come up with someone else with the same name.
“The one with all the tattoos?”
Jesus Christ. “He doesn’t even have that many tattoos,” I groaned.
“Enough,” she mocked back.
