“She’s not wrong about everything.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. “Like what?”
“You haven’t been working or left the house. But that’s on me. I got so caught up in having you here that I didn’t thinkabout what you were giving up to stay.” He squeezes my hands. “But sheiswrong about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Charles kept you isolated emotionally. Locked inside yourself.” His eyes hold mine, steady and strong. “Have I done that?”
I think back.
He pushed me to dinner when I wanted to hide. He made me stop running. He sat next to me so I’d feel safe in public. He made me ask for a kiss instead of taking one. And he held me through my panic attack and didn’t make me feel broken.
“No.” I shake my head. “You did the opposite. You made me braver.”
“Then Charles and I are not the same thing. Not even close.” He brings his fingers to my lips. “But she’s right. You do need to keep being you. And I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
A tear falls from my eye and slides down my cheek. He catches it with his thumb.
“So here’s what will happen.” There it is again—that dominant edge that makes my pulse beat faster. “You’ll set your laptop up at the table and finish your project. And tomorrow, you’ll meet Reese for coffee at your old spot. But you willalwaysbe able to come back here becauseyou want to.”
I nod as the anxiety washes away like a tide pulling back from the shore. He’s right. Reese is right. They’re both right about different things, and Dawson is big enough not to be threatened about anything I told him.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says.
“Yes?” I smile.
“Call Reese and thank her. Anyone who cares about you enough to tell you hard things is someone you want in your life.”
My heart swells so big I feel it might burst. I throw my arms around him and kiss him, pouring my soul into our embrace.The gratitude and relief and love that’s been building in my chest comes to a peak.
When I pull back, his eyes are soft and warm.
“I love you, Dawson,” I say.
The words come out with ease. No stammer. No trembling. No anxiety. Just truth.
His jaw tightens but not from anger. From the emotion I see he’s trying to contain. “Say it again.”
I giggle. “I love you.”
He pulls me close and buries his face in my neck. “I love you too, Evie. I’ve loved you ever since you ran from me at that party. And I’m never letting you go.”
Sobbing with delight, I whimper back, “I know. And I’ll never run from you again.”
12
DAWSON
Friday night.
Exactly two weeks since I first laid eyes on Evie at Trevor’s party. Two weeks since my life split into pieces.
Before Evie and After Evie.
She’s been at her laptop all afternoon, finishing up a logo design she’s genuinely excited about. I’ve been watching her from the couch, pretending I’m reading blueprints for our next renovation when really, I’m just staring at all the adorable things she does.
Like chewing her lip when she’s concentrating, tilting her head when she’s focusing on her design, or how she occasionally mutters, “Nope, that’s ugly” to herself before deleting the whole thing.
