I’m making light of it with my tone, but it isn’t light to me, not at all. I just don’t want to scare Nina off by coming on too strong. She has no idea the effect she has on people, the quiet light and calm she brings with her everywhere she goes. Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop trying to convince her. “I mean, how many people do you think just randomly get offered a job by two movie stars after meeting them for five minutes in a diner? How many people convince a jaded Hollywood producer like Lyle to hand over the keys to his car?” I reach out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How many nuns get an FBI agent posing as a convict to blow his cover because he can’t stop thinking about her?”
Nina softens at that last example, though she still seems uncomfortable with the overall suggestion that so many people care about her. “At least three?” she guesses.
I shake my head at her. “Only one. Onlyyou, Nina.” My heart picks up speed as I realize the natural conclusion to this discussion. There’s one sure way to prove to her that she isn’t unlovable. “And just in case it isn’t obvious, just so it isn’t subtext anymore, just so we’re totally on the same page, I want to make it totally clear that I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a long time. I don’t think I ever stopped. And I know that I never will.”
It’s been implied so many times between us, especially in these last few days together. All of our plans for the future, as tentative as they might be, all hinge around each other. Wherever Nina goes, that’s where I’m planning on being.
But this is the first time I’m saying it, out loud, to her directly—without an audience and a camera crew present. I need her to hear it. I need her to know she isn’t unlovable. She’s the farthest thing possible from that. I know firsthand, because I tried my best to stop loving her, and I couldn’t manage it, even with all the odds stacked against us.
Nina’s big, beautiful eyes glisten with emotion. “I love you, too,” she tells me. “Still. Always.”
Chapter 44
Nina
Four Months Later . . .
Filming has wrapped on the as-yet-untitledMountain Mandocumentary, and for the last couple of weeks, Wes and I have been knee-deep in preparing for theGeekOutfilming. We’ll be doing a season of a YouTube show—thirteen episodes in total—that could potentially expand into more if it gains enough popularity. From what I’ve seen of Lyle’s storyboards and Wes’s ideas, coupled with Sienna and Rae’s financial backing, I think it definitely will.
As if prepping for a show isn’t busy enough, Wes and I have also been moving into our own place. We’ll be staying in Michigan to be close to Wes’s family, who have taken me in like one of their own; and luckily we’re only about an hour’s drive from Chicago, so I still see my friends for Pizookie night, and any other time I get to pop into town. Honestly, even though I’m technically farther away in distance than where I was living before with my family, I’ve gotten to see my friends way more often since moving—because nowIget to choose where I go and who I spend my time with. What I eat. What I wear.
I’m trying to take it slowly, little by little. Small changes to test the waters and see how I feel. In some ways, it’s been an overwhelming process, trying to decide what from my old life I want to keep, what I want to change, what I want to getrid of completely.Construction, destruction, reconstruction.I’ve started seeing a therapist, recommended by Helen’s friend Sandra, and that’s helped a lot.
But there have been some big changes, too. I don’t keep a food journal anymore. Yesterday I ate French toast for breakfastandhad ice cream in the afternoon, which is almost double the sugar allowance I used to be given for the whole week. Two days ago, it was a little warm, so I went outside in a tank top. My whole arms were showing! And ... I watchedBridgerton. I know, c-raaaazy stuff.
Luckily, Wes has been beside me the whole way to help me navigate this new terrain. He is so agreeable with whatever I want to try. I never knew men could be that way—easygoing and kind and ready to talk and compromise and laugh and be silly. My whole life, being around men meant being on edge, being careful, treading lightly. But Wes seems to have truly taken to heart what he told me all those weeks ago. I’m the captain. I set the pace, and he happily follows my lead.
In most ways, it’s absolutely wonderful.
In some ways, though, it’s proven to be a problem. Well, one way, specifically.
Wes has been so gentle with me. Even though we’ve been living together for months now, we haven’t slept together. We haven’t even fooled around. There’s been no touching of any bathing suit areas. We cuddle. We hold hands. We kiss, but it’s the kind of kisses from the Hallmark movies that used to be some of the only programming I was allowed to watch—chaste and close-mouthed—not the kind that set your body on fire.
At first, honestly, that was what I needed. Time to process, time to heal. But now we seem to be in a holding pattern. Wes has never said as much, never even hinted at it, but I know he’s waiting for me to take charge. To let him know I’m ready.
That’s the problem with being the captain. Sometimes you have to lead, even if you aren’t entirely sure how to.
Over the last couple weeks, I’ve started to feel ready again. I’ve been reading my romantasy books. And I haven’t been subtle about it, either—I’ve left them around the apartment for Wes to find, all those covers with scantily clad men. Still, nothing. I’ve been watchingBridgerton, hello! If that isn’t a sign that you’re thinking about sex, I’m not sure what is.
Deep down, I know that Wes is right to hold off. If this is something I want, I’m going to have to learn to ask for it—directly, not passive-aggressively. I need to be able to own my desires and not treat them like something secret or shameful.
But literally nothing in my upbringing or my life thus far has prepared me to have this kind of conversation. It’s like I’m fighting against all of my instincts, snuffing out that inner voice that tells me Wes will think less of me for having these urges or that I’m shameful for wanting these things.
Words have never been my strong suit. Luckily, I think I have an idea that willshowWes what I want, and that I’m finally ready.
When Wes walks into the living room, holding his phone up to me, a perplexed look on his face, I can’t help but laugh. “What’s this programmed onto my calendar?” My amusement seems to be contagious, because he’s grinning, too. “‘Meeting with wardrobe department.’ I don’t remember scheduling this.”
“Hmm, some smart person must have linked our calendars.” I rise from the couch, going up on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his shoulders. He has to bend down to accommodate me—and the guy worried he was too short to be onMountain Man. Ridiculous. “I know you’ve been busy, but I wanted to make sure we carve out some time for this. You don’t have anything planned for the next couple hours.”
“Smart.” Wes gives me one of his sweet, quick kisses. “Why’s my girl so smart?”
I pretend to consider it, then shrug. “You must have done something really good in your last life.”
He considers it. “I’m pretty sure in my last life I was a Scotsman.” Because of his unnatural love for bagpipes, he doesn’t need to elaborate. I’m already well aware.
Now that it’s time to implement my plan, I’m starting to get nervous. Maybe even second-guess myself. Do I really need to rock the boat? I’m pretty sure that’s the number-one thing captains are taughtnotto do.
But I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Why don’t you sit on the couch? I’ll show you a few of the pieces I’ve put together.”
