I already love her as a friend, our compatibility and attraction is off the fucking charts. Why wouldn’t we try to see if this could be more?
And I’m not blind… I know she feels the same way.
Now I can’t figure out if I’m overthinking it because I’m in a delirious state of exhaustion, or because I genuinely think it would work out.
People think I want to be a lifelong bachelor, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve always wanted more, only I’ve never allowed myself to try. Without a doubt in my mind, I would put my all into it with Belle. I respect her too much to let her down.
Because trust me, letdown is something I’m sorely familiar with in my life, and I wouldn’t wish that feeling upon anyone.
I let out a sigh of frustration because, still, almost thirty years later, the memory of my abandonment by my father haunts me.
And I hate him and myself for it.
I sit forward, back, then swivel in my chair from nerves.
Internally, I’m starting to freak out. Am I really letting my feelings for Belle finally come to fruition?
Feelings I’ve never mentioned, burying them deep down years ago because I knew I wasn’t boyfriend—let alone husband—material.
But am I?
Am I letting my past dictate my future?
Do I mention this to Declan? He’s the one I would confide in if I had to…
“Can you stop being a drama queen and spit it out already? Watching you silently freak out over there is driving me insane.”
I bite my lip and stare at him, contemplating. I need someone who knows me well enough to tell me I’m not crazy for considering this… Of course, he doesn’t need to know we’re already married, only that I’m interested.
He crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Jackson.”
“I’m asking you this in confidence. No mention of this to Nora or anyone else. It can’t leave this room until I figure out how to proceed.”
His face drops as he gives me an indignant look.
“Aye, you don’t even have to mention that. You know I’d never repeat anything private.” I know, he’s right. I trust him with my life.
Declan is an ex-rugby player—ginormous and covered in tattoos. One look at him, and you know he could break you in two.
But it’s all a facade. He’s a gentle giant and has the soul of a saint, always wearing his heart on his sleeve.
I rub my hands together while I feel my leg shake a mile a minute. Why the hell am I so nervous?
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
“Okay, okay. Umm… I’m just going to come out and say it.”
His eyes widen. “Aye, probably a good idea, mate. Just spit it out.”
“Do you think Annabelle and I would make a good couple?” I mumble it so fast, I’m unsure if he understood me. He’s staring at me, not saying a word.
His phone rings and it’s his wife Nora’s ringtone, so he picks it up, bringing it to his ear painstakingly slowly, his unblinking eyes still on me.
“Hi, angel. Everything okay?” He pauses. “Aye, sounds good. But, listen, I really need to go, something monumental is happening right in front of my eyes. I’ll talk to you later. Love you, Pip.”
He brings the phone back down, eyes never leaving mine, and not a second later, he rolls his lips, his mouth tips up slightly on one side, and then he loses it.
Full-on hysterics.
