If I hadn’t been so shocked, I would’ve laughed. Instead, I just blinked, replaying her words.
Because there was no way.
She placed a barely-there kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Aren’t you going to say something?” Then another on the other corner.
She wanted me to form actual words right now?
Her expression fell. “Oh.” She stumbled backward. “Don’t mind me. I didn’t just confess that I had overwhelming feelings for you or anything.” She flipped around, hugging herself. Then she cracked her head against the shower wall. “I’ll just be dying in the corner.”
I grabbed her by the waist and guided her back into my arms. Chest to chest, close enough to share breath, we stood there.
After swallowing three times, the words “Four percent” came out, warbly and weak, like a deathbed confession.
She scowled, probably questioning my mental state. “Four percent? Four percent of what?”
“That’s all the padding I have left before I’mallthe way in love with you.”
She stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “I just confessed to being selfish enough to take you from the woman who’s meant for you, and you reward me by confessing you’re almost in love with me? After knowing me for one day?”
I laughed. “I’m sure men have fallen for you much faster.”
She pressed a hand to my cheek, her expression reverent. “But none of them were Griffin Dupree.” She pushed up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss over my left eyelid.
“Three percent,” I whispered.
She dropped a kiss over the right.
Eyes still closed, I breathed, “Two percent.” My lungs locked up, waiting for the next kiss, which I was confident would be on my lips. But nothing happened. I opened my eyes to see what the holdup was.
All her joy was gone, and she looked like she was holding back tears.
“Whoa. What’s wrong?” I asked.
She searched my face, like she was memorizing me. “I can’t do it. I can’t steal you from her. You should save the last percent,” she said, her voice raw. “Save it so when you meet your wife, you never have to tell her you were in love with Juliette Serrant.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Hey.” I curved my body around hers. “I don’t need to save it for my wife…” I brushed her cheek with my thumb. “Because I’m pretty sure…” Deep breath. “She’s you.”
Her face filled with hope. “You really think so? After only knowing me for twenty-four hours?”
“I do.” I smiled. “Pun intended.” I dropped my forehead to hers, drinking her in, trying not to overthink the fact that I was in a shower with Juliette Serrant and we were mid-DTR. “Does that freak you out?”
“No.” She shook her head, her nose brushing against mine. “It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
We stood there for a few seconds, just breathing the same air.
“I have a confession too,” I said.
“Mmm.” Her fingers toyed with my hair. “Let’s hear it.”
“I may or may not have had a celebrity crush on you.” I heard the stupidity of it the second it was out. Half the world had a crush on her—men, women, teenage boys, and grandmothers alike.
But the part that she grabbed onto was the word, “Had?” She propped her hands on her hips. “Past tense?” She looked truly disappointed.
“Have,” I said with way more confidence than I felt. “Definitely present tense. Obviously. Sorry, I misspoke. I?—”
“Hey, Griffin?” she murmured. “Stop talking.” In one swift motion, she pushed up on her tiptoes, hands sliding into my hair.
Her mouth claimed mine.
