Page 82 of It's a Love Story

“I missed you,” he says. “Every minute.”

“Same,” I say again and nuzzle into his neck.

“I know there’s a way you think this stuff is supposed to go,” he says. “And I don’t even know what date we’re on. But you were right, what you said before. I am in love with you.”

I raise my head so I can see his face. I scan his eyes to see what’s there. He means it, and he’s not afraid of it at all.

“I knew it when we were together,” he says. “And it nearly killed me when we were apart. I just wanted you to know. Because I know how much you like being right.”

“Yes,” I say.

“Yes, what?”

“I don’t know. I keep saying that.” Dan is looking at me with absolutely no expectation. He knows what he knows. “I love you too,” I say, my hand on his heart.

CHAPTER 37

IN THE EVENING I TAKE DAN TO MY HOUSE. I DON’Twant to show it to him as much as I want to see him in it, standing there next to the tile counter of my kitchen. Pulling a pitcher of cold water from my fridge. I want him to meet Clem and my mom and know how much I have, even though I have so few people. He stops short at the end of my walkway when he sees the bougainvillea growing along my porch.

“I’m going to film something here,” he says.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” He turns to me. “Maybe I’ll just take a million photos of you.”

He likes the robin’s-egg blue of my bookshelves and the way they seem moody in the amber light. He picks up a photo of my mom and me in my bedroom and says I have her eyes. I don’t tell him that I sobbed in my bed watchingGrapevinetwice. There’s plenty of time to rehash the past few weeks, and right now I want to move forward.

We make turkey sandwiches with big tomato slices and take them onto the porch swing. We drink ice-cold beer and watch the fireflies. His arm is around me, resting perfectly over my shoulder in a way that makes me want to keep brushing the tips of my fingers across his. It should be strange to have him here, Dan Finnegan, who I love, but it’s not. It feels like he was always supposed to be here.

“I should call Aidan,” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

“He’s been a little worried. They all have.”

“I’m going to have to explain this to them, aren’t I?”

“I don’t think so.”

“They must think I’m kind of . . .” And I gestureso-sowith my hand.

He laughs and pulls me closer. “A perfect pair.” We’re quiet for a bit. “He actually called yesterday, my dad. And I was looking at the phone thinking someone died. My dad never calls me.”

“What did he say?”

“He was so awkward, it was sweet. He didn’t really know what to say. He was driving and rambling on about the traffic in the summer and how expensive freon is getting and how it’s good to apologize when you need to.”

I smile up at him. “He thinks you did something dumb. Can we just keep it that way?”

“My dad’s not keeping score.”

“I love your dad,” I say. “So he’ll be happy about this?”

“Ecstatic. Actually I should tell them.” He pulls out his phone and then drops it on his lap. “I really don’t feel like breaking this quiet.”

“Maybe we should send them a selfie,” I say.

He smiles and kisses me. “This is going to shock you, but I’m not a big selfie guy.”

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