He smiled against my temple.
Then said, quietly, “They’re going to love me.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re the one I care about.”
My throat tightened.
I stared out at the Christmas lights blurring past the window.
“Drew.”
“I know.” His hand moved lightly over my shoulder. “Too much.”
I hated that he pulled back emotionally before I could.
“No,” I said, then stopped because I did not know how to finish.
No, it wasn’t too much. I was scared out of my mind because New Year’s Eve was ten days away and I had built the door myself and now I didn’t know how to keep him from walking through it.
Drew waited.
I said nothing.
Eventually, his arm tightened once around me, then relaxed. The houses got bigger. The lights brighter. The lawns more perfect. My mother’s world came into view one manicured yard at a time.
And sitting beside me was Drew Travers Montgomery.
Drew, who had cooked Thanksgiving with me in a stolen pocket of happiness.
Drew, whose body I wanted so badly I had started dreaming about finishing what he refused to start until I stopped lying.
Drew, who had said love twice before baggage claim and then pretended he hadn’t.
Drew, who might be the first man I had ever known who was worth risking everything for.
I slipped my hand into his. His fingers closed around mine immediately. The Suburban slowed in front of my parents’ house.
Wreath on the door.
Candles in every window.
My mother’s silhouette visible beyond the glass, already waiting.
Already watching.
Drew looked at the house, then at me.
His grin came back.
A little cocky.
A little soft.
A little dangerous.
“Showtime, Texas.”
