She rolls her eyes, thinking I’m joking, but the mere thought of her out walking the streets this late has my anxiety through the roof.
“It’s a Thursday night in the city, and there’s still plenty of foot traffic. The sidewalks could be packed.”
“Please stop talking right now. I can’t take any more, and I don’t live out of the way.”
She freezes and squints like she can see right through me. “Dang it, Nate, you’re lying. Where do you live?” she asks innocently, but to me it’s anything but, and I’m not sure I’m ready to tell her.
When I don’t immediately answer, she slowly repeats, “Where do you live?”
I have two options: avoid the question or lie.
Since it’s almost impossible for me to lie to her, I break and let one of my truths slip.
“I live inourpenthouse.” I can tell by her wide eyes and slack jaw she is beyond shocked.
“What?” she murmurs.
“It’s nothing. Let’s go downstairs and grab your bag. The car is here.”
“No.” She swallows and grabs my arm as I pass her. “It’s not nothing. You’ve lived there all this time?”
I nod. “I tried to sell it once. But it didn’t feel right.”
“Why?”
“It reminded me—” I can’t finish my sentence, not ready to bring up our past again, especially not at one in the morning.
Not when there’s a glimmer of her happiness in her eyes right now.
Because I kept our place?
I’m not sure, but I fucking love to see them sparkle, and it only makes me feel better about how she’ll react when I show her all the other things I did to keep our memory alive.
“It’s okay. I’m exhausted and not exactly emotionally stable at the moment.”
“I’m sorry, Mads. I need to get you home.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, and, surprisingly, rubs her hand down my arm and interlinks our fingers.
Not a peep slips through my lips when she doesn’t let go, or when she stands close enough, her arm brushes mine in the elevator.
The little voice in the back of my head is a nuisance, reminding me she’s still engaged, but you know what? Fuck that.
For once, I’m going to be the bad guy.
She might have veered off path because of my mistakes, but she’s mine, and I’m not letting go of that any time soon.
In one swift move, I pull her to my chest, her back against me, and embrace her in my arms, holding her tightly against my body.
Her breath hitches, and her voice is barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”
“Shh. Don’t fight me, let me hold you for a minute.”
I wait, and I wait some more…then there it is.
She sighs, and her body melts into mine. She leans her head back against my shoulder, and in this moment, everything feels perfect.
“I know I have no right to ask this,” she murmurs.
