Page 118 of Best Served Cold

She smiles back, her expression just as rueful. “I guess I’m projecting. You’re right. My parents are never going to change, so I need to stop wanting it. I’ve got Aunt Penny, and Otis is…we’ve become really close now that I’m no longer trying to steer him away from making my mistakes.”

I rub my thumb over her cheek again, then lower my head to kiss her. “Don’t you dare forget Mrs. Ginnis.”

She pulls back to meet my gaze. “That wedding really made an impression on you.”

“Damn straight. And it changed you too. You made a promise to be good to yourself, and you have been. You’ve started accepting yourself, and it’s been beautiful to watch.”

“Rob…I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” There’s a warning in her tone. Maybe I’m a fool for ignoring it, but I’d be no less of a fool if I let her push me away because she’s worried I’ll leave her.

“It’s all jumbled together,” she continues, swallowing hard. “I almost had a panic attack last night, after we TPed Jonah’s house. I felt like I was that girl again, the one who’d done something stupid and caused so much trouble. It’s like I’m struggling with who I was back then, who I’ve tried to be, and who I am beneath it.”

“I like all of them.”

“You didn’t,” she says, her voice serious. “What if?—”

“I likeallof them. I’m fucking floored that you’re still able to see the positive side of things after what happened to you. That’s magic. Even if being optimistic is something you’ve done consciously.”

“You mean after what I did. It didn’t happen to me, Rob. I did it.”

“I’ve made hundreds of mistakes and nearly ruined my own life dozens of times. I’m not going to judge you for that. You took responsibility for what you did, and you grew from it.”

Her eyes well up with tears. “Fuck me,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make you cry again.”

“They’re good tears,” she says, smiling. “Like rain on a sunny day.”

“Who the hell wants it to rain on a sunny day?”

She leans in to kiss my cheek. “Me, I guess. There’s something beautiful about the mixture of happy and sad. I…I still wish the fire hadn’t happened. I’ll always wish that. It caused so much harm, even though no one was seriously hurt. But I wouldn’t willingly say goodbye to the life I have now. To the friendship I have with Hannah and Briar. And Otis. And…I wouldn’t have you.” She looks into my eyes, and I can see different versions of the future in them, each of them with us front and center.

“Damn, Sophie. It’s like you’re begging me to write a song right now.”

“Maybe I am,” she says softly, smiling even as tears course down her cheeks. “Maybe we’re writing one together. It’s a song I’d like to listen to.”

“Me too. I guess we should get on that.” I trace the tracks of her tears, then kiss them softly, my hand burrowing into her hair. Then I kiss her lips, wet from her tears. “I’m falling in love with you, Sophie. I didn’t expect it, but that’s the truth. I think it started the first time I saw that video of you throwing the ring in Jonah’s face. I’ve watched it a thousand times.”

Her eyes widen, and I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far. “If that’s saying too much, you can blame my council of elders,” I say, hoping to recapture some levity. “The Wise Women Group were very insistent that I should tell you how I feel.”

“They were right,” she says, getting onto her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my face. “But will you give me a little time to figure all of this out?”

“All the time you need.”

I kiss her neck, her cheek, her lips.

She makes a soft sound. “I should really take a shower.”

“Me too,” I say. “Want to be water-efficient?”

“Yes.”

I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist—completely bare aside from that T-shirt.

I push open the bathroom door with my back, my mouth on hers. If she had any real worry about morning breath, it’s evaporated, thank God, because she’s kissing me back just as feverishly. I set her down on the bathroom counter so I can pull my clothes off, and she watches me, her gaze hot, her legs splayed open. I step into them, accepting the silent invitation.

“It would be a pity to take that T-shirt off.” I slide my hand under it, caressing. Squeezing. Appreciating.

Her head tips back, giving me access to her neck, and I press a kiss to it, gratified to see the mark I left there who knows when.

“It would be more of a pity to leave it on,” she says huskily, and when she’s right, she’s right.

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