“I don’t know if I trust it yet.”
“I know.”
His jaw flexed.
“You’re really bad at arguing now.”
A laugh escaped me.
“I’m evolving.”
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed wet.
“What if I need time?”
“Then I’ll give you time.”
“What if I’m still mad?”
“Then be mad.”
“What if I want to kiss you and still be mad?”
My heart slammed.
“That sounds very on brand for us.”
He looked at me for one long, impossible second.
Then he moved.
Fast.
One second there was snow and space and fear between us.
The next, Drew had me in his arms.
He picked me up like I weighed nothing, spinning me once on the deck while I clutched his shoulders and made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Snow whirled around us. Somewhere inside the house, people screamed like he had scored a touchdown.
Drew buried his face in my neck.
I held on.
Hard.
“I’m still mad,” he said against my skin.
“I know.”
“I still don’t know if I trust this all the way.”
“I know.”
“I love you so much it makes me stupid.”
I pulled back enough to see his face.
“There he is.”
