When I tried to open the door, he hit the child locks.
“Hey,” I said, glaring at him. “What are you doing?”
“We’re not done talking. We’re going to finish the conversation here. Then I’m taking you upstairs and making you tea for your cramps.”
“Brooks,” I muttered, my cheeks heating. “I don’t want you paying my way.”
He sighed. “I don’t want this to take a long time, so let me lay it out for you. Okay? You can pay anything you want.”
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
“You want to pay the entire rent? Go for it. The utilities? Have at it. The groceries? All yours.”
My spine snapped straight. “That wasn’t what?—”
“But you’ll use my money to do it. I’m going to take care of you, Freckles. That’s just how it’s going to be from now on.”
“Then what do you get?” I demanded. “That’s not a fair trade.”
“I get you. That’s all I want.”
“Oh no. Not again,” I said, feeling tears prickle my eyes.
“Oh yes,” he said with a soft smile, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“But the bookstore,” I said. “I have to do that myself. I won’t take your money for that.”
He paused for a long moment and then nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
“I mean it, Brooks.”
“I hear you, Freckles. But I have to point something out.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have any money. So how the hell are you going to get a loan to open the bookstore?”
I nibbled my lip. “I havesomemoney. But it’s a retirement account I opened when I got my adult job. I’ve managed to squirrel away some funds. I was going to use that as collateral of sorts.”
“Okay.” He climbed out of the truck and reached into the back to grab his bag that only had a few spare changes of clothes. The rest he’d left in the RV to pack up another day.
He came around to help me out of the truck and held my hand as we crossed the street. I unlocked the front door of the store and took a deep breath, imagining the comfortable couches that would eventually occupy the space, swallowing you in their cushiony embraces. The scent of ink and paper. The old-fashioned cash register that chimed every time the change drawer opened. The hum of conversations with friends; the laughter as people bonded over their favorite books.
“You okay?” Brooks asked when I’d stopped in the center of the room.
I smiled up at him. “Better than okay. Happy. I’m happy, Brooks.”
Standing on my toes, I reached up to kiss him.
He met me more than halfway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Apartment
I was curled into a ball of pain. Shivering underneath the blankets. Praying for someone to put me out of my misery.
The door to the apartment opened.
