I blow air through my puckered lips and roll my head in a half circle.
“Here.” He snatches something from his dresser, and then the man is literally spraying me with cologne. Cologne!
I wave my arms in the air, shooing away the spritz. “Now I smell like man skunk!” My nose wrinkles as Roman’scologne, which actually smells quite dreamy, invades my nostrils.
“Stella,” he says, holding me still with one arm on each of my shoulders. “This is bigger than being let go from a job or your mom stressing about you surviving on crafts. Or about smelling faintly of skunk.”
I glare, because glaring feels empowering in this moment. “Please don’t call my workcrafts.”
“Sorry.” Stepping closer until he is exactly three inches in front of me, Roman’s hands slip from my shoulders to my neck. “You need to stop underestimating yourself and trust your abilities.”
“That sounds easy,” I say. Snarky Stella is back. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to be Snarky Stella. “Sorry. I know you’re trying to help.”
“Stell,” he says, bypassing my apology. “I’m great at confidence. Sure, I’m not great at making friends or connecting with actual humans?—”
“You used to be. You could be again.” Because I haven’t forgotten my revelation. I’m here for Roman. I can bring the old Roman back to life. I know I can.
He nods again. But I’m not even sure he’s listening to me. “But Iamgood at confidence.”
“Oh-kay.” I shrug. “How is boasting supposed to help me?”
“You don’t believe in yourself right now. Well, guess what? I do. I’m your confidence today. When you’re feeling unsure, you look at me. Because I’m going to be confident enough for the both of us. Got it?” Roman looks at me so intently, it’s like I’m not allowed to dispute anything he’s saying.
“Okay.”
“When doubt creeps in, you’re going to say, ‘I’m the best.’”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t want to say that.”
He shrugs. “Do it anyway.”
“Roman,” I groan.
“Then say, ‘I’ve got this.’”
I close my eyes, focus on Roman’s fingers, his skin grazing mine just beneath the collar of my T-shirt. “I’ve got this.”
“There you go.”
He doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve spoken the words with very little umph. I said them. That’s all that matters.
“When you doubt, you look at me. Okay? You remember that I’m not doubting.” He cups my cheek, and while I am perfectly aware that this relationship is not real, and that my mini crush is one-sided, for five whole seconds, it doesn’t feel like that. Instead, it feels like someone who loves me, boosting me up, caring for me, showing more faith in me than I deserve.
I nod my head in his hold, and with the movement, my eyes drop to Roman’s lips. Is the man ever going to kiss me? Like a real, actual kiss? It’s possible I’ve been dreaming of a kiss from Roman since my fifteenth birthday. He sat across from me as I blew out my candles all those years ago, and that was my one and only wish.
A pointless wish—even married to the man, I can’t get a kiss.
I need to come to terms with the fact.
I’m busy not coming to terms when there is a knock at Roman’s door.
“Show time,” I say.
His hands fall to my upper arms, and he rubs once, thentwice, over my T-shirt and shoulders. “No show. Just Stella. That’s all we need.”
Does he hear himself? Because sometimes Roman talks like we are a couple, and he does adore me. He says things and does things, and it’s like he’s fooling me along with the rest of the world.
He scrunches his nose. “And scented candles. Let’s light a few.”
