I look over at him, and he holds my gaze. His brown eyes searching mine. He reaches across the small space between us and takes my hand. He weaves his fingers through mine and just stares at our interlaced fingers.
My heart beats in my chest, and I just stare at the place our hands are joined, unable to deny the sensations that creep up my arms and spread across my body.
This seems like a natural thing, and yet, it isn’t.
“What was she like? Erin?”
He clears his throat, the spell broken.
“She was funny and kind. She made me smile when I thought I was incapable of smiling.”
The way he says it makes me realize he loved her.
“She was a great friend too, and I could talk to her about anything. We were honest with each other. Open. Neither had anything we couldn’t share.”
I lower my head. I didn’t think it would be this hard hearing him talk about another woman, and I feel terrible because a part of me is jealous. Jealous that she got to spend years with him I didn’t. Jealous that he loved her and yet she left him.
“She wanted me to find you, you know, talk to you about what happened. She wasn’t the kind of person that let things lie. I just didn’t have the heart to break up what I thought then was your family.”
“You should have tried.” I can’t shake the bitterness I feel.
“I never did stop caring about you. I spoke about you all the time. But as the years went on, I realized that I needed to be happy and settle down. I didn’t want to be alone. The silence was deafening.”
A few words, and that familiar tightening starts in my chest.
“Wyatt . . .”
“No. Listen.” He holds my gaze captive. “I should have done more. I should have fought. I know all that, and I cannot change any of it, but I want you to know that my feelings for you should never be in question.”
“It’s not that simple, Wyatt. You don’t get to walk in here after all these years and expect things to still be the way they used to be.”
“No—" He stands and kneels in front of me. “I expect it to be better. I want to be here for London, be her father, be here for you. That is what I meant the other day.”
I put my elbows on my knees and lean forward, my hands over my face.
I want to shout at him for making this so complicated. Am I ready for a relationship? No! Does my heart skip a beat when he says those things to me? Yes!
He places a hand on either side of my face. “Look at me.” I slowly drop my hands, and he stares at me intently. “There is no rush. We can take it at your pace.”
I look into his eyes, which are inches away from mine. I missed this, this closeness. I lean into his hands and feel the roughness of his skin on my cheeks. I shouldn't do this. I shouldn’t let myself feel this good, this comforted. He stands, offering me a hand. “It’s getting chilly. Let’s go inside.”
I lace my hands through his and follow him into my living room, feeling an oddly nervous sensation in the pit of my stomach.
