‘I don’t know if I’ll ever really get used to it. Sometimes I’m not sure if that damage can even be undone,’ I confess before I can stop the words from falling out of me. ‘I can’t fix how I see myself.’
‘There’s nothing to fix,’ he says firmly.
I tilt my head at him. ‘It could use some improvement. I can’t even have a guy ask me tohangwithout acknowledging it, because I never would have believed it possible.’
He purses his lips together briefly. ‘Maybe it just needs tiny tweaks rather than fixing. Like if you have a thought about yourself that feels nasty or cruel or unwarranted you can take notice of it, and then immediately try to tell yourself something that you like about yourself in response. Like a mental exercise, if that makes sense.’
Something about this suggestion makes me grip his hand tighter. ‘I don’t hate that idea.’
‘Good.’ He nods, looking quite pleased with himself. ‘Compassion, right?’
I smile. ‘Right.’
‘So, what’s something you like?’
My focus drifts to the reflection of fairy lights drizzled across the lake’s surface. ‘Hmm?’
‘Something you like about yourself.’
‘Oh, God.’ I scratch at my scalp. This feels vaguely mortifying.
He gives my hand a squeeze of encouragement. ‘Go on, there’ll be something.’
‘Um, okay.’ I swallow. ‘Let’s see… I have good dental hygiene.’
He covers his laugh with a fist.
‘I never miss a floss,’ I add with pride.
‘Okay. Sure, that’s something. My turn now?’
I snort. ‘You want to list your enticing qualities.’
‘No, I want to list yours,’ he says. I rear back from him in horror. ‘Let me do a quick run down, but there’s lots more to come. Okay, alright – your smile, especially that satisfied little smile you do after insulting me. The way you’ve made me laugh more this weekend than I thought possible. Your eyes. How protective you and Hennie are of each other. All of your freckles but particularly the ones around your mouth. Your hair, your eyes – did I already say your eyes? Anyway, youreyes–’
I interrupt him because I feel like I may be about to lose consciousness. ‘I thought you were supposed to bebadat talking about your feelings?’
‘I’m not talking about my feelings,’ he argues. ‘I’m presenting a list of facts.’
‘Oh. Well.’ I swallow down a hysterical laugh, covering my mouth with my free hand. ‘Thank you.’
His eyes never leave my face. ‘Why do I still feel like you don’t believe me?’ There’s no spite in his tone, just genuine curiosity.
‘I don’t know. I’m just, you know… getting used to hearing things like that. I mean, I’m hardly Eva Longoria. Or Florence Pugh.’
‘That’s not a bad thing.’
I give him a teasing smile. ‘Is this the part where you say they’re so pretty they look “boring”?’
‘No. They’re beautiful as well. And we can talk at length about how pretty the Eva Longorias and Florence Pughs of the world are.’ He leans ever so slightly closer, his relentless gaze burning through me. ‘ButIlike Nora Hartleys.’
Something irresistibly warm and soothing writhes through my insides, and I cannot control the manic grin that escapes me. I do, thankfully, keep in the manic giggle.
He watches me with a reverence that I didn’t think would ever be bestowed upon me, and then his eyes travel down to my lips.
Dizzying heat bursts against my ribs and moves up to my throat, prompting me to let go of his hand and jump to my feet. I don’t know why I’m so nervous to kiss him again. Because, even though I can barely believe it, I already have. More than once. But there’s something about this moment that feels different. Being in a peaceful, isolated environment with only the two of us, our hands joined, has been so easy.
No chaos, no noise. Just us.
