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She probably is.

Good. She should be.

I back her against the counter.

Her hands slide into my hair.

When I pull away, we’re both breathing hard.

“You’re still an idiot,” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t try to divorce me every time you get scared.”

“I wasn’t scared.”

“Liar.”

I look at her. I should argue. Instead, the truth comes out. “I love you.”

Her smile disappears.

I’ve never said those words to a woman.

Never wanted to.

Now they’re out, and instead of feeling trapped, I feel like I can finally fucking breathe.

Lila stares at me. “You love me?”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“Don’t know.”

“You know.”

I sigh. “Probably somewhere around the third mug.”

She laughs. “The third mug?”

“Started finding your shit everywhere.”

“And that made you fall in love with me?”

“No. Annoyed the hell out of me.”

“Romantic.”

“Then I started liking it.”

Her fingers move over the back of my neck. “That’s almost sweet.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll put it on Facebook.”