“Violet.”
“Simon,” she drawled as she opened the door. “Have a good life.”
Before she could close the door, Simon was there, his hand planted in the center of the wood, his foot pushing against the bottom.
“We need to talk, Violet.”
“About what? I think you and Paige summed it up nicely.”
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
Tired of trying to close the door, she let go, spinning around and walking toward the kitchen. Simon stumbled behind her.
“I heard you talkin’ to Paige. You told her you didn’t want to deal withthat.” She pivoted, then stabbed her own chest with her thumb. “Me being thethat.”
“What?”
“That. She called me athat, Simon. I mean so little to you that you’d qualify me as athat.”
“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Of course you don’t. Men and their selective memories.” Violet huffed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it, Simon. I’m over you. We had a good run, but it’s time we accept that it’s not goin’ anywhere.”
“I love you.”
“I don’t need to hear your excuses. They—wait.” She turned around. “What?”
“I love you.”
She frowned. “No, you don’t.”
Simon nodded as he took a step toward her. “I do. I love you, Violet.”
She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Why? Because of the curse?”
“Yes.”
“You said nice guys don’t stick around, right?”
Violet narrowed her eyes, not sure where he was going with this. “Good for you for listening. What about it?”
He took another step closer. “I’m the nice guy who sticks.”
Swoon.
No. Not swoon. She wasn’t going to swoon.
“I lied,” she bit out. “It’s not because of the curse.”
“No?”
She hated that he was pushing the issue. Shouldn’t he just give up and walk out? That was usually what they did.
“No. No.” She flapped her arm. “Not the curse.”
“Then why?”
