Page 51 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“For what?”

“For the job. The wedding. The home. For every time I pushed you away because I was afraid.”

“You can’t pay me for those things.”

“I know.”

“Then take the money back.”

“No.”

She glares at me through her tears. The expression is so familiar, so alive, that hope breaks through the fear gripping my chest. “You’re infuriating,” she says.

“I’ve been told.”

“Mostly by me.”

“Mostly by everyone.”

Her mouth trembles into the beginning of a smile. I move closer. Only inches separate us now.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“You.”

The answer is immediate. My heart slams against my ribs.

“But I don’t know if wanting you is enough,” she adds. “Everything has fallen apart.”

“I’ll help you rebuild.”

“What if people judge me?”

“They will.”

“That isn’t comforting.”

“I won’t lie to you. But I’ll stand beside you while they do it.”

“What if you decide I’m too young again?”

“I’ll remind myself that you’re old enough to argue with me until I lose the will to live.”

A wet laugh escapes her.

“And if I decide you’re too old?”

“I’ll sell something else.”

She laughs harder. The sound is broken by a sob. Then she closes the distance and throws her arms around me. I catch her. The force of her body nearly knocks me back, but I hold her tightly, one arm around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head.

She buries her face against my chest. I close my eyes. For the first time since she drove away from the school, I can breathe.

“I thought I lost you,” I whisper.

“You told me to go.”

“I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”