“I do,” I say, letting her see it in my eyes. “I want this.”
She paces the room, still catching herself. “Wow.”
I reach for her hands. “Doyouwant this?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I… I do. But what would that even look like? Being married...”
I squeeze her hands, smiling softly. “I love you. I take care of you. You have somewhere and someone warm and safe to come home to at the end of every day. You and Owen. You’re my best friend, always. We eat, talk, laugh. Nothing really changes except we sign a legally binding contract to be best friends forlife. You, me, Owen… we could be a family. Stable. Loving.Real.”
Her lips part, eyes glistening. “That… that actually sounds… possible.”
“Because it is,” I say, my voice quiet but certain. “If you want it, we’ll make it real. Together.”
“I just feel like you’re doing too much for us, Ollie. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.”
“Love isn’t transactional, Poppy. We’re here for each other, we always have been,” I say as I twitch my hands, wanting to reach out and pull her to me.
The room goes quiet. So much isn’t being said out loud that probably needs to be.
I take a breath. “I love you,” I say quietly. “I always have. And I always will.”
It’s not a confession. It’s a truth we’ve been standing on for years but afraid to say out loud, instead I showed it through my actions, it’s the only way I knew how.
She doesn’t speak for a long second. When she finally looks at me, her eyes are bright, like she’s holding something fragile together with sheer will.
“I love you so much,” she says, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t breathe at the thought of losing you.”
“You and Owen are my world. My family.” The word lands exactly where it’s meant to. Family. Not longing. Not want. Not romance, at least not the kind either of us is brave enough to name.
This is the love that shows up. The love that stays. The love that doesn’t ask for anything in return.
And that’s why neither of us questions it.
And this is what happens when two people who grew up in loveless homes try to find love as adults. We struggle because we were raised withconditions.
I’m still sitting on the edge of the bed while she paces in front of me, hands twisting, shoulders tight. Standing like this, she’s taller than me, all restless energy and motion, like she doesn’t know where to put herself. I reach out and catch her wrist gently, grounding her just long enough to get her attention.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She stops. Looks down at me.
I lean forward and rest my forehead against her stomach, right where she’s warm and real and close. It’s not dramatic. It’s instinct. A quiet anchor.
“I’m gonna meet you where you’re at, Poppy,” I murmur. “We can figure it all out.”
She exhales shakily, one hand coming to my shoulder, fingers curling into my shirt like she’s holding on.
And for a moment, the world slows enough for both of us to breathe.
She nods a little and I tug on her to sit down next to me. I pull her to me and give her a big hug. She smells so good and feels so good. God, I love hugging her.
Her voice is small. “Can we just start out fake? Then...”
“You want this to be fake, we’ll do fake,” I agree. But it kills me. There’s nothing fake about my love for Poppy. And I’m going to show her that. But damn if I don’t love her so much that I’d do anything for her.
“Pretend,” she corrects. “Not fake.”
I shrug. “We can pretend.”
