"Why not?"
"Because I've waited my whole life to hear someone say things like that to me. And now that you are, I don't know what to do with it."
"You don't have to do anything. Just let yourself feel it." I reach up, wiping away her tears with my thumb. "Let yourself believe that someone sees you and wants you exactly as you are."
"I'm scared," she whispers.
"I know. Me too."
"You're not scared. You're brave. You told me how you felt without hesitation."
"Are you kidding? I was terrified. I still am. Because you could still tell me no. You could still decide I'm not worth the risk."I smile softly. "But I decided being scared was better than spending another fifteen years wondering what if."
She's looking at me with those hazel eyes, and I can see her processing, thinking, weighing her options on that mental spreadsheet.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it: "The pros are winning."
"Yeah?"
"By a lot." She takes a shaky breath. "I'm in love with you too. I have been since that day on your porch when we talked about Jane Eyre and you actually listened to me ramble about the Brontë sisters like it mattered."
Everything stops. The world, my heart, time itself.
"Say that again," I breathe.
"I'm in love with you, Owen Harper. I have been for fifteen years. And it terrifies me because I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be someone's person. I don't know how to be enough for someone like you."
"Ivy, you're already enough. You're more than enough." I pull her closer, and she comes willingly, until there's no distance between us anymore. "Can I kiss you?"
Her breath catches. "I… I've never…"
"I know. We don't have to. I just wanted to ask."
"No, I want to. I just don't know if I'll be any good at it."
I smile, cradling her face in my hands. "There's no good or bad. There's just us."
"Okay," she whispers. "Okay."
I lean in slowly, giving her time to change her mind, to pull away. But she doesn't. She meets me halfway, and when our lips touch, it's gentle and sweet and perfect.
She tastes like chamomile tea and hope, and when she sighs against my mouth, something in my chest clicks into place. Like a piece of me I didn't know was missing has finally come home.
When we finally pull apart, she's looking at me with wonder.
"Wow," she says.
"Yeah." I'm grinning like an idiot. "Wow."
"That was my first kiss."
"I'm honored."
"At thirty-three years old, I just had my first kiss. That's pathetic."
"That's perfect. Because it means every first from here on out, we get to do together." I kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips again quickly. "And for the record, you're very good at it."
She laughs, and it's that real laugh I love. "You're biased."
