“Thomas?”
He let go of the door handle and looked over his shoulder at her.
She raised her brows. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Patting his pocket, he frowned. “I have my keycard. And I’ll reserve my own room for tonight, so don’t worry. I’ll pack while you’re at dinner.”
Jesus Christ.
“I didn’t mean your keycard.” She waited for a moment, but he simply continued to stare at her. “I mean, weren’t you supposed to ask me what I wanted from now on?”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “Did you want to move to a different room, instead of me? I figured it would be easier for you if?—”
If she murdered him, any jury would consider it justifiable homicide.
“No.” When she walked up to him and gripped the front of his tee in a fist, he blinked down at her, his eyes wide. “I want you to ask me how I feel about you. How I want our future to look. Instead of assuming what I want and how I feel once again.”
Okay, so maybe she’d raised her voice a bit. Again, justifiable.
Against her knuckles, the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat told her everything. Even if it hadn’t, the way he stopped breathing would have.
He gazed down at her, the grief in his eyes turning to shock. Tentative hope.
“How—” He gulped. “How do you feel about me? How do you want our future to look?”
The words were wisps of noise, vibrating with emotion.
“I like you.” She loosened her fingers and smoothed the wrinkled cotton of his tee, then spread her hand flat against his chest. “Given more time, I think I could love you. I already love your curiosity and intelligence. I already love your sincerity. I already love how you focus on me so completely and listen with such wholehearted attention. I already love your good intentions and your willingness to admit when you’re wrong. I already love your protectiveness and your wry sense of humor. And despite its drawbacks, I even love your ability to accept who you are.” She smiled up at him. “Which, as you know, is not my forte.”
“You don’t want me to be”—he cringed a bit—“different?”
“Only in the ways we’ve already discussed.” She stroked her hand up to his shoulder and watched him shiver beneath her touch. “And it’s not as if I don’t have things to work on too. If I’m angry or frustrated or disappointed, I need to make myself talk about it, not just stew in silence for months at a time. Even if it’s awkward and causes hives. If I’d voiced my concerns earlier, would you have done something about them? Would you have changed the way you work?”
He covered her hand with his. “I would have done my damnedest, Callie. I swear.”
“So what happened wasn’t all your fault.” Her head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, and he smelled grassy and delicious. “Especially since, as I told Tess, I think part of my rage and anxiety had nothing to do with you. I spent three years working a full-time job and taking classes at the same time, so my levels of stress coming into the library were already off the charts. And for someone like me, changing jobs is destabilizing. When you add a failing relationship to that mix, I had a lot of emotions looking for a convenient home, and there you were. Happily working away at the microfilm machine while I helped three dozen impatient colonial people.”
He gently tipped up her chin to look her in the eye. “You were right to be angry at me, Callie.”
She ducked her head to kiss his hand. “Yes. But maybe not quite as angry as I actually was. This afternoon, something else occurred to me too.”
With his thumb, he stroked her jaw. “What’s that?”
“We got so close so fast when I started working at CMRL. Maybe too close, for someone dating another man.” When he pursed his lips in understanding, she nodded. “Yeah. I think all that anger was also a good way to keep you at a distance while my relationship with Andre played out and reached its inevitable, dismal conclusion.”
“That makes sense.” He pressed a bit closer, his thighs brushing against the folds of her skirt. “Although like I said, I deserved your anger. And I want to make sure you understand something else.”
Oh, that glide of his leg against hers felt like fire. “Hmmm?”
“You’re not—and never have been—a pain in my ass.” His voice was as steely as she’d ever heard it. Entirely unamused. “Yes, you have needs, but that doesn’t make you needy. And I’ve always, always wanted more of you, so I don’t see you how you could possibly consider yourself too much for me.”
“With my anxiety, I’m not…” She shifted her weight. “I’m not always easy.”
To her shock, he laughed. “Sweetheart, when did I ever give you the impression I wanted easy?”
He hadn’t.
He’d always wanted her for who she was, not who she expected herself to be.
