Page 57 of You Saw the Best In Me

“You. Everything about you, Karina,” I’m honest, and that seems to shock her.

“Oh yeah, what about me?”

“You’re like a dream, and I can’t tell if this is real or not. We’re moving fast, but I don’t care; I want every second with you,” I confess, and she smiles sweetly, listening to every word.

“I’m all in, Mav. Nobody else could light a fire in my soul like you. I said I wanted to take it slow but meant in the bedroom. There’s nothing slow about how I plan to fall insanely in love with you,” she whispers, and I love how she lets her voice drop low when she’s saying something important.

She’s spent years showing the tough side of her, guarded and secretive, but with me, she lets the softer side show.

I’ve been studying her, learning about these small little quirks, and gathering information as if my life depended on a pop-quiz with Karina Collins as the subject.

“Bite your tongue until you meet Grams on Sunday, then tell me you still want me,” I joke, and she laughs.

“So that invite wasn’t just Harper asking?” she teases, and I shake my head.

“I want you to come and see what crazy shit I deal with. You’ve already got one foot in the door; might as well come all the way in,” I bargain, hoping she’ll say yes.

“I’ll give you all of me. In exchange, you give me all of you. Deal?” she holds her hand out with one pinky up.

“A pinky promise?” I raise my eyebrow, and she’s serious.

“It’s the only promise that counts, duh,” she insists, and as silly as it sounds, I love it.

We lock pinkies, and at that moment, I feel like I signed my soul over to her.

We’ve been driving for over two hours, but it’s getting late, and I want to take this girl home and hold her in my arms, so I turn around and head back toward Forest Falls.

“So you can’t cook?” I ask, and she makes a disgusted face.

“No, absolutely not. I burn shit, or it tastes like plain shit. There’s no in-between,” she shakes her head, and I don’t know how she survived all those years alone.

“What’s your favorite meal? Something you can’t cook on your own?” I want to ask her a million questions, attempting to learn every tiny detail about her.

She thinks about it for a minute, and I'm all ears when she’s got her answer.

“Mac and cheese. Not the box kind. That shit’s gross. But when I was a kid, my mom made baked mac and cheese, usually with pulled pork, and it was always my favorite,” she smiles at the memory and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

The shiny silver color looks so good in the sunlight, and I smell the rosy hair products she uses, instantly captivating me.

“I can make that, no problem,” I say confidently, and she scoffs.

“No problem? Okay, Mr. Chef. I’ll judge that,” she never fails to make everything a competition.

We drive home, deciding on what to eat tonight, and she gets her way when we pick up grinders. I learn that her comfort food is a sandwich with any meat and toppings, and I’m down for it.

We’ve spent the day together, and as the sun sets behind us, I realize it’s been one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. I carry our dinner and her bag upstairs, admiring how good she looks in those jeans.

When we reach the top of the stairs, she screams, and I nearly drop everything before I see the problem.

It’s April, her cat, sitting in the hallway.

I take the last two stairs and see an even bigger problem.

Karina’s door is wide open, and I shove everything I hold into her hands.

“Go inside, straight to the bathroom. Lock every single door,” I whisper, handing her my keys.

She opens my door and rushes inside, the lock clicking quietly.