Page 71 of Late to Love

I pitstop at the Dash In Diner first, and of course I’m greeted by Tom and Jerry on their customary stools on the far end of the counter. Willa nods and smiles at me from the kitchen window, and I make my order with a teenager who looks like she’s one minute away from collapsing in a heap of tears.

“You okay?” I lean forward and ask.

She gives me a watery look. “Yeah, just trying to keep a straight face around those two.”

I look where she indicates. “Tom and Jerry?”

She sniffs and nods. “They’re hilarious, but I made a bet with Miss Willa that I wouldn’t laugh.”

That, of course, makesmelaugh, but I clap my hand over my mouth to spare the girl.

Before long, I’m making my way up the back stairs that I spent way too long restoring and let myself in with the spare key that Anthony rolled his eyes about me having.

“Of course you can have a key,”he’d said.“Even if I said no, you’d probably produce some crazy skeleton key like the hardware store kid you are.”

He might be right. But I’ll never tell him.

The scent of his shower gel hits me when I let myself in, and I grin. By the time he’s come out, striding nearly naked across the loft like he always does—and God, I hope he never stops—I’ve plated dinner at the new farm-style table, complete with deep red napkins and new silverware, and am scrounging around for wine glasses to go with the bottle I impulse-bought on the way here.

I feel very grown up.

Which is silly. I’m twenty-four, so ofcourseI’m grown up. But I don’t know. It feels like today I’m making some major Big Girl Steps, and it feels so damn good.

“Darcy?”

My mouth goes dry at the sight of him, water droplets snaking down his bare torso, a thin towel wrapped loosely around his waist. When I meet his eyes, I’m confronted with a mixture of hope and wariness. I try to infuse as much warmth as possible in my smile when I say, “I brought dinner.”

“Guess I should get dressed, then,” he offers.

I shrug and let my gaze wander over his impressive body. “I’ll never tell you to put clothes on, Mr. Hall.”

His lips quirk up the tiniest bit.

A few minutes later, I’ve got the wine poured just as Anthony emerges from the bedroom. He’s in gray sweatpants—which I’ve told him are criminally distracting—and a plain black T-shirt, his bare feet padding across the loft as he nears the table.

“This is nice,” he says, then pins his eyes to mine as we each take a seat. He holds his wine glass aloft, then murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.”

We drink.

“I missed you,” I confess as I place my glass on the table. “But I needed the alone time, if that makes sense.”

He hums, cutting into his salad and taking a bite. His shoulders are relaxed, and there’s no tension in the set of his jaw. All signs that I’ve learned are him giving me the space I need to work out what I need to say. And whether that’s a product of him being seventeen years older than me or not, I appreciate it. Something tells me he’s always been like this: patient, giving.

I love you.Everything in me screams to say it, but for all my supposed growth over the past couple of days, I take the easy way out. “I launched my website and posted my first content.”

His eyes light up. “For your business?”

I nod, my expression matching his.

“Darcy, that’s incredible. I’m so fucking proud of you. How do you feel?”

And see, that right there? That’s what I’m talking about. “Like I love you.” My hand slaps over my mouth, and my eyes are probably the size of headlights. I literally just thought I was too scared to say something, but then he tells me he’s proud of me and thinks to ask how I feel, and I’m blurting it out without a second thought.

But the smile that spreads across his face, bright and beautiful and so fuckingsexyit hurts, helps me breathe a little easier. “I love you, too.”

“You do?” I squeak, my hand still over my mouth.

“Yeah, baby, I do.” He stands and tosses his napkin to the table, then holds his hand out. “Dinner can wait. Come here.”

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