Page 124 of To Love or to Lose
But nothing of this sort, not even since they’ve been home long-term.
I hear footsteps on the stairs behind me, and I realize I’ve been standing on the porch—staring at the front door—for quite a while.
“Hi!” Winnie smiles at me, with Eloise standing next to her.
“Hey.” I smile back.
That’s when the front door flies open. “Girls! What are you waiting for? Come on!” Wren waves us into the house, shutting the door behind us as we take our shoes off.
“The boys are waiting in the kitchen,” she tells us, “Oh, just wait until you guys see the cake we made. It is adorable!”
“Can’t wait to see it, Wren!” Winnie responds.
“Ladies!” Logan’s voice explodes through the kitchen as we enter. “How are you?” He asks as he hugs each of us.
“I’m ready to eat,” Eloise jokes as she pulls out a barstool.
“Well, you guys are going to be making your own pizzas,” Wren says, and I feel a hand grip my arm as she pulls the supplies out of the fridge.
“What—” My voice is cut off when a hand clasps over my lips.
“Shh,” Jameson whispers in my ear as he pulls me into the Callaghan’s sitting room.
“Jameson!” I hiss, turning within his hold to look up at him.
“Hi, love.” He smirks, holding one of my wrists in each of his hands. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I clip. “What are you doing?”
His smile only grows, highlighting his perfect, white teeth as he leans closer to me. “Just wanted to say hi.”
That makes a small smile form on my face. “You couldn’t have done that at the door?”
He kisses my cheek. “Not the right way.”
He’s right. We agreed we were going to keep whatever is going on between us hidden, at least until we come up with agood explanation of how we went from hating one another to kissing one another.
And honestly I need time to figure it out for myself. Going from hating Jameson one moment to doing whatever this is with him is confusing, even for me.
My entire life has been built around reasoning and logic, and the way Jameson and I fell into place so easily is so conflicting because of how illogical it feels.
Yet, it doesn’t feel illogical in the way that it’s wrong, which is why I’ve chosen to ignore every part of my brain that’s screaming at me for being so senseless.
Because how could something that feels so right ever be wrong?
“I also have a question for you,” he says, fiddling with my fingers.
“Okay,” I sigh dramatically. “I guess you can tell your parents about me.”
He laughs, which makes me start laughing. “Well, I think we should at least go out on a date first.”
“That didn’t sound like a question,” I tell him, trying my best to keep my tone serious.
He pauses, like he’s thinking of the correct response. “Should I get down on one knee, you think?”
“If you must.” I motion toward the floor.
The fits of laughter start again, quieter this time before he grabs my face between his two palms. “Would you like to go on a date with me, Genova?”
