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“The rest.”

I stare at him. “The rest of what?”

“Your bad decisions.”

I almost smile.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

His other hand settles on my waist. “The rest of the dates. The road trips. The shitty motel rooms.”

“Preferably better motels.”

“No promises.”

“Ryder.”

“The rest of the mornings I wake up with you stealing the blankets.”

“I did not steal them.”

“You absolutely did.”

“You’re bigger than me.”

“Not relevant.”

I put my hands against his chest. “Is this your grand romantic declaration?”

“I’m getting there.”

“You’re doing badly.”

“I’m nervous.”

That shuts me up.

Ryder Hale.

Nervous.

His hands tighten around my waist. “I love you, Clara.”

Everything inside me goes still.

He doesn’t look away. “I didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.”

My throat tightens.

“So I did what I always do. I left.”

“You didn’t actually leave.”

“Emotionally, librarian. Keep up.”

A laugh breaks through the tears threatening my eyes.