Something Reckless(78)
She shifts in my arms and rolls over to face me. “Can’t sleep?” she whispers.
I’m in love with you. But I can’t say the words, so I say the next best thing. “What are you doing on Christmas?”
She blinks at me in the darkness, and I wonder if she can see it on my face—the terror and awe at realizing I’ve fallen in love with her. “I don’t know yet.”
“Will you come have dinner with me at my parents’ house?”
“I didn’t know there was anything going on. Is it some campaign event or something?”
“No campaign, Rowdy. No cameras. I just want to take my girlfriend home to have Christmas dinner with my crazy family.”
“I—” She shakes her head, and I could kiss the moon right now because the light peeking in through the crack in the curtains lets me see her smile. “I’d like that.”
I gather her in my arms, and as I bury my nose in her hair and breathe in her scent, some long-tightened knot in my chest loosens a little.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Liz
“You’re glowing.”
I do my best to look incredulous at Hanna’s declaration—I don’t glow—but since I can’t seem to wipe this idiotic grin from my face, I’m pretty sure I’m failing.
Hanna comes out from around the bakery counter, takes my shoulders, and cocks her head side to side as she studies me. Then she grins too. “I was up all night with the girls—who decided it was party time at midnight—and I didn’t think there was anything I wanted to see more than my bed today, but this face?” Wrapping her arms around me, she pulls me into a tight hug. “I love seeing you happy.”
“I am,” I admit as I pull away. “Happy. I’m happy.” And I’m in love. Holy shit. I don’t even know how that happened. I woke up in bed next to Sam and he pulled me closer to him in his sleep, so I settled my head on his chest and inhaled his scent.
“How did it go this weekend?”
“He took me into the city. We ate and talked and made love.”
“You made love?” Hanna asks. “Interesting.”
“What, you want me to say we fucked?”
She arches a brow. “I don’t want you to say anything in particular. I just think it’s interesting that your choice of words to describe intercourse with Sam has changed. Not bad, just interesting.”
I shrug, and I can tell that goofy grin is back on my face. “I really like him, Hanna.”
“I know you do,” she says softly. “I’m just not sure why it took you so long to admit it.”
“I was trying to protect my heart. But that’s not actually something we can do, is it?”
She shakes her head, but she looks worried now. “We don’t get to choose who owns our heart and we don’t get to choose who has the power to break it.”
“He asked me to come to Christmas dinner at his parents’ house.”
“Wow.”
“And he called me his girlfriend.” My cheeks are starting to ache from all the smiling. “I might as well be fifteen for as happy as that word made me.”
“Tell me you’ve told him.”
“That I’m in love with him?”
“That’s not what I meant, but—wow. Have you told him that?”
My cheeks heat with the realization of what I just admitted. “No. It’s too soon. I’m afraid it will scare him off. What did you mean then?”
“About the night at the cabin? About Connor?”
If I walked into the bakery brimming with joy, her question just tapped a hole in it and I feel it leaking out of me. “How do I tell him that without ruining this? Never mind what it would mean for Connor. If Della found out, it would ruin their marriage.”
“Have a seat. You need sugar.” She walks behind the counter and studies the contents of the bakery case thoughtfully before selecting a new item I don’t recognize. “This should do the trick.” She places it on a plate and grabs a fork, a napkin, and a cup of coffee. Then she joins me at the little glass-topped table.
“What is it?” I ask. Not that I doubt her. If Hanna made it, it’ll be delicious.
“Chocolate chip brioche. Pretty much sugar, eggs, butter, and a crap-ton of chocolate chips.”
“Sold.” I slide my fork into the flaky dough and bring the first bite to my lips. “It’s delicious.” But I put down my fork, because her question stole my appetite right along with my smile.
“You have to tell him, Lizzy. It’s going to come out, and it needs to come from you.”
Fortunately, my stomach agrees to accept a few hearty swallows of coffee. “I don’t want to.”