After the Kiss
Page 38
Julie gave a tiny smile. “I can imagine. I think she figures that since she can’t fix her own love life, she’ll interfere in someone else’s.”
“Yeah, she mentioned things with Greg ended badly. How’s she doing?”
Julie hitched her heel up on the bench and tightened laces that didn’t need tightening as she wondered why they were talking about Grace instead of them.
Still, Grace was a safe topic, so . . .
“She’s all right,” Julie replied. “Actually . . . no. She’s a wreck. Says she’s going ‘off men.’”
Mitchell turned to look at her. “Off men. As in she’s playing for the other team?”
Julie let out a little laugh. “No. Or at least, not that she’s told me. She’s just declaring a boycott on romance. She’s angling for a year’s sabbatical, but Riley and I are trying to talk her down to six months.”
He fell silent for several moments. “And you? Are you going off men?”
Depends on the man.
But she didn’t say it.
She’d already risked enough of her heart in that article. She wasn’t about to go running off her mouth on top of it.
Not until she’d heard what he’d had to say.
She dodged his question with one of her own. “How’d you know I’d be out running?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you were doing? Running? It looks more like you’re dying.”
She cut him a glance.
“Right,” he said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “It was just a hunch, you know . . . that you’d come back to run here.”
“And you knew it would be today?” she asked skeptically.
He didn’t meet her eyes, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “I’ve um . . . I’ve been coming here for the past couple days, actually. Waiting for you.”
Julie’s stomach flipped.
“That’s very stalkerish of you,” she said softly.
And very sweet.
He nodded awkwardly before handing her a foil-wrapped package. Wordlessly she opened it, and when she saw what was inside, she gave a watery smile.
It was a hot dog.
Just like on that first day. No, not exactly like the first day. No relish this time. For some reason, that one small change made her feel like weeping more than anything else. It represented all of the nuances that changed a man from being just a guy to being the guy.
Although she could barely fathom the idea of eating, she took a bite of the hot dog, painfully aware that he was watching her chew.
“So all these days you’ve been waiting for me . . . is there something you wanted to discuss, or was it just a sit-in-awkward-silence type of deal?”
Please say something.
He reached down to pick up the magazine by his side. Its cover was wrinkled and water-splattered. Either he’d dug it out of the garbage or he’d read it. Several times, from the looks of it.
Wordlessly he turned to a dog-eared page of the magazine—her article. Julie winced and looked away. Her article in his hands was the ultimate vulnerability. As though he just had to make a fist in order to crush her.
Hell, this man could crush her with a word.
And then he began to read.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been doing something I’ve done an awful lot of. I’ve fallen in love.
Then I went and did something crazy. Something wonderful. I stayed in love. I stayed past the first kiss, the first inside joke, the first fight.
But I did it all wrong. I played it like a game, and I broke someone’s heart.
And broke my own in the process.
Julie blinked against a new rush of tears. Writing the words had been hard enough. Hearing them from his mouth . . .
“Don’t,” she said quietly. “Please.”
But he read on as though he hadn’t heard her protest.
Does it hurt like hell? Yes. Do I miss him more than anything? Yes.
But would I go back and fall in love with this guy all over again, even knowing it would end badly?
Absolutely.
Because despite what I’ve been writing all these years, the best part of love isn’t about the giggles or the flirting or even the toe-curling first kiss.
The best part comes after all that. It’s that realization that he knows you can’t cook but pretends to let you try. It’s hating baseball but watching it anyway because it makes him smile.
Real love—the kind that matters—is giving your heart to someone even after he tries to hand it back.
And it’s knowing that you’d give him your heart over and over again. If only he’d ask.
Mitchell’s fingers flexed slightly around the pages as he broke off.
They sat in strained silence for several moments, and Julie hardly dared to breathe.
Hardly dared to hope.
“Did you mean it?” he asked finally, his voice sounding gravelly, not at all like the smooth, confident Mitchell she’d come to know.
“I meant it,” she said softly. “The only way it could have been more heartfelt is if they’d splattered my blood over the page.”
“A lovely visual,” he said casually.
She tried to roll her eyes at his lame attempt at humor, but instead she watched as her hand found his on the park bench. “Mitchell. Would you . . . do you . . . just . . . please, please tell me if I’ll get another chance.”
“Another chance at what, Julie?”
She forced herself to look him in the eye. “You. Us. A relationship with someone I care about.”
His hand slowly reached out and he ran a thumb over her cheek. “Care about?”
Julie closed her eyes briefly at his gentle touch, not daring to hope.
He spoke again. “I fell in love with you here, you know. On this bench, watching you eat a hot dog like a starving animal.”
Her eyes flew open, but he set two fingers over her lips, preventing her from speaking. “The way I spoke to you that day at Kelli’s house was unforgivable.”
She lifted a shoulder. Well, yeah.
His eyes dropped to her chin as though unable to look her in the eye. “I held on to my mad for so long, hating you. But I read your article and realized you were hurting too, and I couldn’t stop replaying the things I said, and I—I realized I never apologized. Never asked you to forgive me.”
He leaned his forehead on hers and took a deep breath. “The truth is, Julie, I didn’t think about the bet when I was with you. I tried. I tried all the time, but when I was with you there was no room for anything but you. For the first time I wanted a relationship for the person and not the security.”
“Mitchell—”
“Not done. You can write about relationships all you want. Get as personal as you want. Your serial dating days are over, Ms. Greene. From here on out, anything related to your personal relationships better be about me.”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Me too.”
He tugged at her ponytail, forcing her face up to his. “You told me you loved me, and I threw it in your face.”
She gave a small smile. “Well, yeah. You’re a jerk.”
“Try me again.”
Julie swallowed. Took a breath. Took a risk. “I love you.”
His eyes went bright and fierce. “You’d better. Because I love you so damn much.”
“Forever?” she asked.
“Forever. Or at least until I decide I can’t live without box seats at Yankee Stadium.”
“Ah, so Wall Street’s a funny guy now.”
“You bet your ass. Now, how about you write about this?” His lips found hers just as she felt something cool and firm slip onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
Julie felt the blood drain from her face. Or maybe it rushed to her face. Either way, her thoughts were scattering in every direction, and her heart felt lodged in her throat.
“Mitchell—”
“If you need time, take time. But don’t say no just yet,” he said quickly, urgently. “I know it’s soon, and I know it’s crazy.” He put a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up. “But it’s right, too,” he added softly. “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, she mentioned things with Greg ended badly. How’s she doing?”
Julie hitched her heel up on the bench and tightened laces that didn’t need tightening as she wondered why they were talking about Grace instead of them.
Still, Grace was a safe topic, so . . .
“She’s all right,” Julie replied. “Actually . . . no. She’s a wreck. Says she’s going ‘off men.’”
Mitchell turned to look at her. “Off men. As in she’s playing for the other team?”
Julie let out a little laugh. “No. Or at least, not that she’s told me. She’s just declaring a boycott on romance. She’s angling for a year’s sabbatical, but Riley and I are trying to talk her down to six months.”
He fell silent for several moments. “And you? Are you going off men?”
Depends on the man.
But she didn’t say it.
She’d already risked enough of her heart in that article. She wasn’t about to go running off her mouth on top of it.
Not until she’d heard what he’d had to say.
She dodged his question with one of her own. “How’d you know I’d be out running?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you were doing? Running? It looks more like you’re dying.”
She cut him a glance.
“Right,” he said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “It was just a hunch, you know . . . that you’d come back to run here.”
“And you knew it would be today?” she asked skeptically.
He didn’t meet her eyes, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “I’ve um . . . I’ve been coming here for the past couple days, actually. Waiting for you.”
Julie’s stomach flipped.
“That’s very stalkerish of you,” she said softly.
And very sweet.
He nodded awkwardly before handing her a foil-wrapped package. Wordlessly she opened it, and when she saw what was inside, she gave a watery smile.
It was a hot dog.
Just like on that first day. No, not exactly like the first day. No relish this time. For some reason, that one small change made her feel like weeping more than anything else. It represented all of the nuances that changed a man from being just a guy to being the guy.
Although she could barely fathom the idea of eating, she took a bite of the hot dog, painfully aware that he was watching her chew.
“So all these days you’ve been waiting for me . . . is there something you wanted to discuss, or was it just a sit-in-awkward-silence type of deal?”
Please say something.
He reached down to pick up the magazine by his side. Its cover was wrinkled and water-splattered. Either he’d dug it out of the garbage or he’d read it. Several times, from the looks of it.
Wordlessly he turned to a dog-eared page of the magazine—her article. Julie winced and looked away. Her article in his hands was the ultimate vulnerability. As though he just had to make a fist in order to crush her.
Hell, this man could crush her with a word.
And then he began to read.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been doing something I’ve done an awful lot of. I’ve fallen in love.
Then I went and did something crazy. Something wonderful. I stayed in love. I stayed past the first kiss, the first inside joke, the first fight.
But I did it all wrong. I played it like a game, and I broke someone’s heart.
And broke my own in the process.
Julie blinked against a new rush of tears. Writing the words had been hard enough. Hearing them from his mouth . . .
“Don’t,” she said quietly. “Please.”
But he read on as though he hadn’t heard her protest.
Does it hurt like hell? Yes. Do I miss him more than anything? Yes.
But would I go back and fall in love with this guy all over again, even knowing it would end badly?
Absolutely.
Because despite what I’ve been writing all these years, the best part of love isn’t about the giggles or the flirting or even the toe-curling first kiss.
The best part comes after all that. It’s that realization that he knows you can’t cook but pretends to let you try. It’s hating baseball but watching it anyway because it makes him smile.
Real love—the kind that matters—is giving your heart to someone even after he tries to hand it back.
And it’s knowing that you’d give him your heart over and over again. If only he’d ask.
Mitchell’s fingers flexed slightly around the pages as he broke off.
They sat in strained silence for several moments, and Julie hardly dared to breathe.
Hardly dared to hope.
“Did you mean it?” he asked finally, his voice sounding gravelly, not at all like the smooth, confident Mitchell she’d come to know.
“I meant it,” she said softly. “The only way it could have been more heartfelt is if they’d splattered my blood over the page.”
“A lovely visual,” he said casually.
She tried to roll her eyes at his lame attempt at humor, but instead she watched as her hand found his on the park bench. “Mitchell. Would you . . . do you . . . just . . . please, please tell me if I’ll get another chance.”
“Another chance at what, Julie?”
She forced herself to look him in the eye. “You. Us. A relationship with someone I care about.”
His hand slowly reached out and he ran a thumb over her cheek. “Care about?”
Julie closed her eyes briefly at his gentle touch, not daring to hope.
He spoke again. “I fell in love with you here, you know. On this bench, watching you eat a hot dog like a starving animal.”
Her eyes flew open, but he set two fingers over her lips, preventing her from speaking. “The way I spoke to you that day at Kelli’s house was unforgivable.”
She lifted a shoulder. Well, yeah.
His eyes dropped to her chin as though unable to look her in the eye. “I held on to my mad for so long, hating you. But I read your article and realized you were hurting too, and I couldn’t stop replaying the things I said, and I—I realized I never apologized. Never asked you to forgive me.”
He leaned his forehead on hers and took a deep breath. “The truth is, Julie, I didn’t think about the bet when I was with you. I tried. I tried all the time, but when I was with you there was no room for anything but you. For the first time I wanted a relationship for the person and not the security.”
“Mitchell—”
“Not done. You can write about relationships all you want. Get as personal as you want. Your serial dating days are over, Ms. Greene. From here on out, anything related to your personal relationships better be about me.”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Me too.”
He tugged at her ponytail, forcing her face up to his. “You told me you loved me, and I threw it in your face.”
She gave a small smile. “Well, yeah. You’re a jerk.”
“Try me again.”
Julie swallowed. Took a breath. Took a risk. “I love you.”
His eyes went bright and fierce. “You’d better. Because I love you so damn much.”
“Forever?” she asked.
“Forever. Or at least until I decide I can’t live without box seats at Yankee Stadium.”
“Ah, so Wall Street’s a funny guy now.”
“You bet your ass. Now, how about you write about this?” His lips found hers just as she felt something cool and firm slip onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
Julie felt the blood drain from her face. Or maybe it rushed to her face. Either way, her thoughts were scattering in every direction, and her heart felt lodged in her throat.
“Mitchell—”
“If you need time, take time. But don’t say no just yet,” he said quickly, urgently. “I know it’s soon, and I know it’s crazy.” He put a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up. “But it’s right, too,” he added softly. “Isn’t it?”
