It’s beautiful.
It’s terrifying.
“I love you, Brielle,” he murmurs. “And if you never feel that way about me, I understand. I just need you to know that my heart is yours now.”
Every thread tethering me to logic or reasoning snaps. A part of me wants to say it back, but instead, I freeze. Those three words hold so much weight, not only in the way they’re confessed like a sin, but in the implication of what it means for us, for the future.
Friendship, attraction, and affection between us are easy enough to brush away once it comes time to part. Love isn’t quite so simple. Love is complicated.
Seconds pass, but I say nothing. I squeeze him tightly, wishing I could convey my whirlwind of emotions in such asimple gesture. Eventually, he pulls away slightly, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head.
“Let’s go get some lunch,” Ambrose says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s trying not to show emotion, but his face is an open book.
He’s just as conflicted as I am.
And I don’t know what the hell to do.
CHAPTER 40
“Be not the slave of your own past—plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep, and swim far, so you shall come back with new self-respect, with new power, and with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Put on something warm and come outside,” Ambrose instructs for the second time today. After our hike earlier, we’ve been suspended in the limbo between his proclamation of love and my absence of reciprocation.
“Is this the point where you finally murder me after lulling me into a false sense of security?” I tease.
“I’m not dignifying that question with a response.I’ll see you out there.” A smile teases at his lips as he goes back outside and shuts the door behind him.
I stand and make my way to the back window, grinning when I see a mountain of orange flames in the middle of the yard. Finally, he’s putting that fire pit to good use.
I shrug on one of Ambrose’s flannel jackets from the hallway closet and pull a beanie over my head before slipping on my boots and eagerly making my way to the bonfire.
Ambrose’s form is silhouetted against the bright flames towering over him as he sets out chairs. He places the two chairs a few feet apart and, after a moment, pulls them closer together. I smile.
He doesn’t notice me until I’m almost within touching distance.
When he sees me, he lifts an eyebrow, though he can’t hide the smile in his eyes. “Nice jacket.”
“I thought so,” I quip, shoving my hands in the pockets and flashing him a sweet smile.
When he gestures to the chairs, I take him up on his offer and sink down into one. The fire warms my skin, though we’re just far enough away that the heat doesn’t overwhelm me.
“I’ve always loved bonfires,” I say as Ambrose sits beside me. “My parents used to make burn piles when I was a kid, and they thought I was crazy for wanting to sit out there by the fire all night. There’s just something so calming about it, though.”
Ambrose nods. “I’m the same way. It feels like magic.”
“Exactly.”
The fire crackles between us, its light dancing in fractured gold across Ambrose’s sharp features. For a while, we don’t speak. We just sit, both watching the flames stretch and curlupward, chased by tendrils of smoke that vanish into the black sky. The brightness of the towering flames emanates over the yard, illuminating the edge of the forest only to highlight the depths of the darkness beyond. A chill crawls down my spine at the sensation—or maybe just paranoia—of being watched.
It feels like we’re both waiting. For what, I’m not sure. We’ve been balancing precariously on the edge of our emotions, and it’ll only take one tiny nudge to send us careening off the edge.
I dig my fingers deeper into the soft lining of his jacket sleeves as the scent of woodsmoke settles into the fabric. I glance over at him, wanting to confess my feelings for him and break this invisible wall between us, even if we’re both pretending it’s not there.
But the question that’s been plaguing me all day slips through my mind again.How could he possibly loveme? He’s seen me at my lowest, watched me fall apart over and over again. I’m slowly getting better as the days pass, but…
“I’m scared I’ll always be this broken woman regardless of how much I change,” I admit quietly, surprising myself with the confession.
