Page 89 of Final Proposal

“I’m far from off the hook.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m an open book. Just ask me. Too bad there’s nothing interesting on the pages to read.” I chuckle.

“That’s one of your many party tricks.”

“What is?”

“Deflect, dodge, and then change the subject when it veers toward you. Make a joke. Laugh it off. Why are you so afraid to let someone get too close? To know you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t do that.”

But I know I damn well do. He’s just the first person who’s called me on it in a very long time.

Possibly because he’s the only one I’ve let get this close since . . . since Josh.

“Whatever you say, Elle. But at some point, people stop trying to know you when you won’t let them.”

His words hit me almost as hard as the unexpected memory of my mother. She was the one I had shared everything with. And just like my dad, she left. That was all the proof I needed that it was better to keep myself distanced from people. Because if you don’t love them, if you don’t allow yourself to love them, then there is no loss when they leave you.

“But at some point, people stop trying to know you when you won’t let them.”

Those words replay in my head as we talk about everything and nothing. Favorite sports teams. Bucket list items. Pet peeves. First loves.

We laugh. We grow quiet. We get to know each other on a level we haven’t before. And only when it’s two in the morning do we decide it’s time to get some sleep.

“Good night, Celery Ellery.”

“Good night, Fordham the University.”

It’s comforting having the heat of his body behind mine, and the weight of his arm over my waist.

And suddenly, despite the yawn on my lips, I can’t sleep.

All I can do is think. About Ford. About tonight. About everything he did and didn’t say. About how close I feel to him.

“Hey, Ford?”

“Hmm?”

“I know the why.”

“I’m glad you do.”

I love that he doesn’t ask me what it is. That he doesn’t press me when most would. I think that’s the only reason I decide to tell him.

That’s a lie.

I tell him because it’s important for him to know.

“I broke up with Chandler because I agreed to marry him for the wrong reasons. I never recognized it until the night I met you.” I take in a deep, steadying breath. “I felt more in one night talking to you, listening to you, laughing with you, than I ever did with him, a man I was going to marry. I left him because I never knew that feeling existed, and the thought of possibly never feeling it again scared the hell out of me.”

The admission takes my breath away. For a woman determined not to let herself feel, I just committed a cardinal sin and admitted how much he made me feel.

How much I wanted to feel again.

And while I’m scared as hell over putting it out there in the universe that has been so very cruel to me, I might even feel a tad bit of relief over saying it too.