Page 66 of Falling Into Forever
I won’t survive losing our love twice.
His words play on a loop in my mind.
Will I survive the inevitable end when he realizes I’m more work than I’m worth? Because he will, won’t he?
A blast of icy-cold air cuts through me when the wind rustles the trees, and I spin my head left to right. But my mind is playing tricks on me because I could have sworn I heard my oldest sister’s voice swaying with that breeze.
Crap. Maybe I am losing my mind.
* * *
The walkto the brewery normally takes fifteen minutes, but Dante allows me to drag my feet, and we arrive twenty-five minutes later. He droned on about life and what he’s been up to. I should have been listening. I wanted to listen, but the devil on one shoulder was antagonizing the angel on the other.
They fought over Dante the entire walk and blocked out most of his words. By the time we arrived, neither had been a clear winner.
“Did you work it out?” he asks when we reach the parking lot.
“Huh? Work what out?”
“The storm that’s brewing in your head. I’m guessing it’s your wants fighting against what you thought you needed.” There’s no condescension in his tone, just understanding that comes from a soul-deep connection with someone.
“No, it’s still kicking up dust.”
He tugs on my hand, and we stop at the front door. “So let it. But don’t lie to yourself either. We’ve both been telling ourselves what we thought we had to in order to survive. But now we know the truth. Now we can fight for what should have been ours all along.”
“What’s that?” I ask when he reaches for the door.
“Love.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to. Love is what you fight for, and somewhere along the line, I convinced myself I couldn’t have it.
But what if I can? What if he’s right? What if I’ve been wrong this entire time?
My questions are forgotten the second we enter the bar. Ainsley spots us first and darts straight for me, followed by old Mrs. Walker, the organizer of Sexy Scenes and Sips.
“You made it,” Ainsley sing-songs before wrapping me in an awkward hug, then she turns and does the same to Dante. I only bristle a little at how natural affection is for them.
“Well, Sassy. Good to see you, dear,” Mrs. Walker says, holding a copy ofCome September. “It so happens this was our read this month.”
“Wonderful,” I grunt. Just what I freaking need. Why in the world would they read my book? There are millions of romance novels out there. Why choose mine?
“Come on now, Oscar. It won’t be that bad,” Dante murmurs into my hair before he kisses the side of my head.
“We’ve got words for you too, Dante Thompson.” Mrs. Walker scolds. “But I’ll save those for the bookstore. Now, Ainsley—”
She’s interrupted when Mr. Walker joins us. “Dr. Greer,” he says, cutting in front of his wife. “I need to see you immediately.”
Ainsley’s face instantly turns professional. “What’s wrong, Mr. Walker?”
“I’ve got ah, a problem. Again. I think Millie’s book gave me an,” he leans in to whisper, “STD.” But Mr. Walker is in his seventies and refuses to use his hearing aid, so it sounds like someone trying to talk over a football game.
Ainsley stands stoically, but Dante and I lose our composure.
“Mr. Walker, I assure you, you cannot get an STD from a book,” Ainsley says in her most professional voice, but I heard the quiver. She’s trying not to laugh too. “STD is a sexually transmitted disease. I believe your rash is from walking in the woods and not killing all the poison ivy that lines your property.”
“No,” he says with a wave of his hand. “It’s not only the book. It’s what she’s doing with—”
“And that’s our cue to move along,” Dante says with a hand pressed to the small of my back.
