I point down the hallway. “Guest room. Second door.”
She disappears down the hall. I stand in my living room, listening to the silence, and resist the urge to follow her.
Two hours later, I’m still awake.
I tried going to bed. Tried closing my eyes. But every time I do, I see Sadie’s face in the truck. That hollow look. The vandalism. Those words.
NOT EVEN IN YOUR OWN BOOK
Fuck them.
I get up, pull on a t-shirt, and head to the kitchen for a drink of water.
The house is dark except for the moonlight through the windows. I’m halfway to the sink when I hear her behind me. I turn.
Sadie’s standing there in one of my old t-shirts. I must’ve left it in the guest room. It falls mid-thigh. Her hair’s down, loose around her shoulders. She’s barefoot.
“I forgot to grab stuff from my place. I hope it’s okay.”
“Of course, it’s okay,tesoro,“ I say quietly. “You okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits.
“Me neither.”
She moves closer.
“I keep seeing it. Those words. And I keep thinking—“ Her voice cracks. “What if they’re right? What if writing about this place the way I did—the sex, the romance, all of it—what if that really is something to be ashamed of? What if Owen was right about me?”
“Stop.” I cross the kitchen over to her.
She closes her eyes. “I’m so tired, Mateo. Tired of walking into my own shop, wondering who’s going to look at me like I’m disgusting. Tired of pretending the comments don’t get to me. I hate that I have to prove I belong here.”
“Then stop.”
Her eyes open. “What?”
“Stop fighting to prove you belong. You do belong. You have since the day you got here.” I brush a tear from her cheek. “Anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth convincing.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. You just can’t see it yet.”
She laughs, broken and exhausted. “Why are you always here when I need you?”
I should say something safe. Something that keeps us in the careful friend zone we’ve lived in for five years.
“Because I care about you,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because you’re important to me.”
“How important?”
The words are barely a whisper, but they hit like a sledgehammer. And I’m so fucking tired of safe.
“Very,” I admit.
And I kiss her.
Not gently or tentatively, but with five years of want crashing into five years of restraint, and the restraint finally fucking loses.
