Page 51 of Married to Number 22
So no, I don’thaveto do this.
We can be smart, go slow—date and learn each other, fall in love—real, lifelongadultlove—again. We can play it safe, cautious, move incrementally, step by step by step.
But I’ve spent my whole life being smart, going step by step.
And that meant I lost Luna when I was a teenager.
It meant I had all these years without her.
I should have kept in touch. I should have told her how deeply I felt back then. I should have done everything I could to keep her in my life.
I didn’t.
I fucked up.
So, it may not be smart. It may be wildly out of character for me.
But this is Luns.
She’s been my heart since sixth grade.
Ignoring the slowly creeping line, I turn her toward me, cup her jaw, tilting her head up so our gazes align. “Luns,” I say again.
“What?” she whispers.
Flowery things flow through my head, big sentiments that I want to declare, but it’s too soon for that childhood love and too soon for huge declarations. I need to time to bind her too me, to make her understand, for that love beneath the surface to grow.
Then I realize that’s the old me talking.
So…
I embrace the full fuck-it vibe of Vegas and say, “I loved you back then and I let you go.”
Her mouth falls open and I take advantage, kissing her deeply, stroking my tongue over hers, tasting her long enough that I hear a cough behind me, that I realize the space in line in front of us has grown to epic proportions.
So, I draw her forward again.
And when we pause again, I bend, murmur in her ear, “That was the biggest mistake of my life, sweetheart.”
She sucks in a breath.
“Now, knowing that—” I brush my mouth over hers again, making sure to keep it short and sweet and hot. “So do you honestly think that now that you’re back in my life I’m going to ever let you go again?”
Twenty
Luna
Doyou honestly think that now that you’re back in my life I’m going to ever let you go again?
My hands shake as I do up the zipper on my side.
This is crazy.
And yet, I’m doing up the zipper on a white dress I bought specifically for this moment.
And it’s not some frumpy potato sack—it’s the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen. It’s something I bought because I imagined what Aiden would think when he saw me, how his face would change and his eyes would warm and his expression would heat.
And now he’s waiting just outside the bathroom and I’m seconds away from him seeing it.
