I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Will you stay?” she whispers. “Tonight. I don’t want you to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, and I mean it.
It’s not long before she’s asleep in my arms, her breathing even. I lie there in the glow of her string lights, thinking about how one paper heart and a stuck elevator on Valentine’s Day could change so much.
Warmth. Her warmth, her laugh, her optimism for love. It’s everything I didn’t know I was missing. And it’s everything I’m realizing I need in my life.
Tonight, I’ll let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—after all this time, I deserve this.
We both do.
February 15th
Molly
Iwakeuptosunlight streaming through my bedroom window and an empty bed.
For a moment, I just lie there, blinking at the ceiling, my body deliciously sore in all the right places. My string lights are still on from last night, casting a soft glow even in the morning light. The scent of Luke lingers on my sheets…
Luke.
I sit up too quickly, clutching my floral comforter to my chest, and scan the room.
He’s gone.
His clothes are missing from where they were scattered across the floor. His boots are no longer propped by the door. There’s no sound of movement from my bathroom or kitchen.
My stomach drops.
No.No, no, no.
This can’t be happening. He wouldn’t. He said he wasn’t going anywhere. He said… He held me while I fell asleep and whispered things that made me believe him.
The tears come hot and fast, and I press my hands to my face, trying to hold them back, but it’s no use. They spill over, and suddenly I’m sobbing into my palms like a complete mess.
Of course he left. Last night didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me. Why would it? He’s spent two years avoiding exactly this kind of connection. He said so himself. And here I threw myself at him after one good day and a heroic punch.
God, the punch. He punched Nathan for me. He swept me off my feet and out of that party like something out of a romance novel. He made love to me like—
A sound from the hallway has me sucking in a breath, frozen in place.
Keys jingling. The front door opening.
My bedroom door is slightly ajar and I can hear footsteps approaching alongside the close of the front door. Heavy boots on my hardwood floor.
He came back?
I scramble to wipe my face and comb my fingers through my messy bed hair when the bedroom door swings open.
Luke stands in the doorway, holding a drink carrier with two coffee cups and a paper bag that smells like carb heaven. He’s wearing the same clothes from last night, his hair is a mess, and he’s got his usual rough, handsome, furrowed expression on his face as if he takes everything far too seriously.
Then he sees my face.
“Molly?” He sets everything down on my dresser and crosses to the bed in three long strides. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you left,” I choke out, and a fresh wave of tears hits.
