Page 138 of With a Cherry On Top

“I know this thing between us has to stay a secret, okay?” Her voice is sharp. “I’m not—this isn’t news. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Okay,” I say soothingly.

“I’m not asking you to make it public. In fact, I don’t want you to. I want this—exactly this.”

Does she really? Or is that what she’s telling herself so it doesn’t hurt as much?

“Okay,” I say again, even though it’s the last thing I want to agree to. But she’s overwhelmed. Scared. Scarred. So I step closer, hands hovering at her waist.

“Can I?”

She nods.

I wrap my arms around her, resting my hands on the small of her back. When she loops her arms around my neck, I start swaying.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re slow-dancing in the kitchen.”

“With no music?”

I shrug. “Do you want music?”

She studies me, like she’s trying to decode me. “Why are we slow-dancing in the kitchen?”

“Because I think you need someone to hold you more than you need someone to eat you out.”

She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t speak, either. Her fingers twitch against the back of my neck, and as she rests her forehead against my shoulder, I feel the tension ease from her like a long-held breath. Her arms stay around my neck, loose but holding.

“I’m sorry.” I slide my hands up and down her back in easy, grounding strokes. “For last night.” She doesn’t tense up, so Icontinue. “I’m sorry for how Logan spoke to you. I should’ve defended you. Should have told him about us. I didn’t want the fight to escalate, but you deserved better.”

She pulls back a little, just enough to look up at me. Her face isn’t guarded or angry. It’s just...open. Raw. “I’m used to worse,” she says quietly.

“I know,” I say, tension building in my jaw. “And I hate that. I hate that you think the only way to keep someone around is to ask for nothing.”

She bites her lip and looks down. “Aaron...”

I tip her chin up with two fingers.

“You’re allowed to want things. From me. From this. You don’t have to pretend you don’t.” She looks like she might cry, but she’s trying as hard as she can not to. So I add, “And you don’t have to tell me right now. But if you ever want more—if you ever wantanything—I’m listening.”

For a second, I think she’s going to argue. Tell me not to get attached, that this isn’t real and nothing happened last night and we’re fine. But she leans back in and rests her head on my shoulder again. “I want you to stay.”

That’s it. She deserves so much more than a guy who juststays. But I get it. After everything she’s been through—everythingI’vebeen through too—all we want is each other’s presence.

All we want is to slow-dance in the kitchen.

“I will,” I say. “As long as you’ll have me.”

We stay like that for a while. No music. No words. Just two people swaying through the silence, holding on to the wreckage like it’s something worth saving.

“I dropped Sadie’s dress off at school this morning. Even left her a little encouraging note with a Bluey doodle. I hope she’ll love it,” she says after a while, interrupting the peaceful silence.

“I’m sure she will.” I swallow past the sludge in my throat at the mention of today. “I can’t stop worrying that she’ll be there alone. She didn’t want me there, didn’t want her aunt either. I told her she didn’t need to go—that we’d spend the day together, go to the movies. But she wanted to participate, and she’s still...hopeful. What if Josie doesn’t show up?”

Charlotte stops swaying. I pull back and watch her face, expecting worry, maybe even pity, but finding something entirely different.

Anger.

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