“Like pulling out as your main form of contraception?”
“No, princess, like not wanting to pull out at all. Like wishing you weren’t on the damn pill. Like thinking Icouldhave a future that included children of my own. With you.”
Every feeling under the sun collided in her chest all at once, making it hard to breathe. He was saying all the things she wanted to hear, making her believe maybe they wanted the same things after all.
“What makes you think we couldn’t have that future?” she demanded, sitting up in the bed, knocking the breakfast tray askew on his lap.
Jordan lifted the tray over to the bedside table before anything could spill onto the comforter.
But she had more important things on her mind. “Your past isn’t something that has to come with you everywhere you go, like the tattoos and scars on your body. You’ve changed. You’re not the man you once were. Youcanhave all the things you dream about.”
His smile, when it came, was sad. “And what would people say when they found out your boyfriend was an ex-convict, an ex-gangster? You get dragged through the worst of it on any given day without having someone like me in your life to make it worse. Do you think they wouldn’t care?”
“Iwouldn’t care, Jordan.” But even as she said it, she understood the truth in his words.
People were cruel. Hadn’t she lived through it? The public shaming, the gossip, the noise. Even if she could survive another storm, could she watch them rip Jordan apart? After everything he’d done to change, to rebuild, to earn his redemption, did she want to be the reason he had to relive his worst mistakes for social-media sport?
No. She wanted him, but not at the cost of his peace.
He must have seen her coming to the same realization, because he lifted a hand to her jaw, brushing his thumb along the soft skin above her cheekbone. “I wish it could be different.”
Her heart ached as her tears welled. “So what do we do now?” The first tear spilled over her cheek.
He brushed it away, his dark-brown eyes seeing right through to her heart. “How about we pretend you’re mine for one more day?”
It wasn’t a vow or a long-term commitment. Not a promise that everything would be okay or that they’d figuresomething out. But it was enough to get them through today, and for now, that was all she needed.
She drew the blanket away and straddled his hips. If she only had one more day, she wasn’t wasting a minute of it.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
As far as Valentine’s Days went, this was the best fucking one he’d ever had or could have imagined having. After they’d cleaned up the breakfast tornado, they’d spent the whole day doing what she wished.
The tide was low, making the sand firm and easy to stroll on, so they trekked for an hour along the beach holding hands. They took selfies in front of Haystack Rock, like couples would take. The ones with kisses, and laughter, and Vanessa curled against him like she’d be there forever. They went all the way to the far end of the shoreline before cutting to town, making a pit stop at the coffee shop. When they left, it was with warm coffees in hand, and smiles on their faces.
She dragged him back to the bookstore, where she bought a cookbook for her mom. Then to the sweet shop again, where he got a bag of cinnamon hearts that they shared as they strolled the rest of the way home.
He hadn’t had cinnamon hearts since he was in primary school, and he’d forgotten how delicious they were. In fact, he realized he’d forgotten a lot of things, like howcomforting the small things were—holding hands, or hearing her laugh over a dumb joke he made. He was under no illusions that his jokes were funny, because one skill he didn’t learn in prison was humor.
But when she’d asked if they should get cinnamon hearts and he replied, “Why? You already make my heart burn,” she’d laughed so loud that people in the store looked at them.
It made him feel ten feet tall, because he’d made her laugh, and she was so damn beautiful when she laughed. Light radiated straight through her, blinding from the inside out.
And when he heard her humming along to a Noah Kahan song, a childlike giddiness stirred in his chest. It never occurred to him that he and Vanessa could have so much and so little in common and how it could all feel this…right.
The shock of joy hit him like a sucker punch, because he was so damn sure that part of him was long gone. Softness, feelings—they weren’t meant for a man like him.
But she gave him hope they were, and it scared the shit out of him, because he didn’t want to feel this deeply for someone. He knew this story didn’t have a happy ending, that it couldn’t, for all the reasons they’d talked about over their messy breakfast.
And still, nothing on heaven or earth could’ve pried his hand out of hers, or stopped the burning in his heart that had absolutely nothing to do with cinnamon hearts.
He was epically fucked. But today he wasn’t going to let it matter.
“When’s the reservation again?” Vanessa’s voice floated from the bathroom.
“Six,” he repeated for the third time.
She’d been locked up in there for the last thirty minutes, and he didn’t have a clue what she was doing, but he knew better than to ask.
