Only Love
Page 15
“Okay.”
“I don’t relate easily to people.”
“Fine.”
“And I’m not interested in being social.”
“So I gathered.” She tilted her head toward the door. “That’s why I’m trying to leave.”
“But that doesn’t give me the right to be an asshole to you.” I squeezed her arm, then let it go. “So for that, I apologize.”
She glanced down at her arm where my hand had been, then looked up at me again. Her eyes were so blue, so clear. So honest. Part of me ached to be honest with her—not like I’d been at the table, not in a defensive way, but in a real way. A deeper way.
Who are you kidding? If she knew the truth about you, she’d still be running for the door.
“You know,” she said, drawing herself up, as if gathering her strength, “I let Grams talk me into coming over here tonight. Let her curl my hair and dress me up and convince me I’d been wrong about you.”
“Wrong about me?”
“Yes. I told her that you’d made it very clear you weren’t interested in me. But I came over here anyway, because the truth is, I’ve hardly been able to think about anything but you since we met. It doesn’t make sense at all, and it’s totally unlike me, but there it is.”
There were so many things I wanted to say. Tell her she’d been on my mind all day, tell her how beautiful she was, tell her how, in another life, I’d be kissing her right now, not clenching my fists because I was scared if she stayed here any longer, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her.
But touching her would’ve been wrong. And at this point in my life, when I had a chance to choose between right and wrong, I needed to choose right. There had been too many times in the past where the choice hadn’t been mine. I needed to atone for that.
“So was I?” she pressed. “Wrong about you?”
I stood a little taller and forced myself to look her in the eye. “No. You weren’t.”
Eleven
Stella
I knew it, I thought as I made my way across his front lawn, arms crossed over my chest. Normally I stuck to the walkways, but tonight I cut right across the grass. I knew I should have ignored Grams and listened to my gut. I just made a fool of myself.
Instead of going in the house—I really didn’t want to answer Grams’s questions or deal with her disappointment (my own was enough)—I plunked myself down on the front porch steps. The smell of sawdust and raw wood reminded me of Ryan … or was that my sweater? I sniffed the sleeve and winced. Maybe I should have let Grams douse me with Chanel No. 5.
Even the magical pie had failed me. Or maybe it was me who failed the pie.
From my jeans pocket, I pulled a tissue and wiped off the offensive red lipstick. Why had I even bothered? I wasn’t Emme, who could charm a man just by smiling at him, and I wasn’t Maren, who had always been at peace with herself just as she was. I wasn’t even Grams, who’d kept Gramps waiting outside her school for five extra minutes so everyone could see her climbing into his fancy Packard.
I was me. Boring, beige me, even in red lipstick and a tight sweater. And I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been rejected twice in one week.
I’m not sure how long I sat there feeling sorry for myself before I heard a voice.
“Hey.”
I gasped, my heart racing. “Oh my God. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Ryan tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and came closer. He’d changed, I noticed. And his hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower.
“It’s fine.”
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Different things.” I didn’t have to share anything with him. “What are you doing out here?”
He looked toward his house. “I felt bad. About the way you left. I came to see if you were still awake.”
“Why would you feel bad?” I rose to my feet. “There’s no shame in being honest.”
“No?”
“No. I’ll take honesty over pretense any day.”
He met my eyes. “Me too.”
“Well then, nothing to feel bad about. Why should you pretend to feel something you don’t?” I started to go up the steps but he grabbed my hand.
“Stella. Wait.”
I let him tug me back down, but I wished I was wearing my own clothing and not this stupid fuzzy sweater.
“I wasn’t honest,” he said. “At my house.”
“What?”
“When I said you’d been right about me—that I had no interest in you.”
“I don’t understand.”
He put his hands back in his pockets. “The truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”
The ground shifted beneath my feet. “You haven’t?”
“No. I lied because I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From me. Everything else I told you about me is true. I do have rough edges. I don’t relate well to people. But I’m not interested in changing that. I don’t need to be fixed.”
“I wasn’t trying to fix you, Ryan. I was trying to flirt with you.” I lowered my head. “And I’m feeling pretty embarrassed that you couldn’t tell the difference.”
“Hey.” He put one hand beneath my chin and lifted it. “This has nothing to do with you. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. And if things were different—” He stopped. Took his hand away.
“If things were different, what?” I asked.
“If things were different,” he said, slowly and seriously, “I wouldn’t be standing here telling myself not to touch you.”
My breath caught. “Is that what you’re doing?”
He nodded once.
God, he was gorgeous. And his voice was so low and sweet. His body so big and strong. I wanted to know what it was like to kiss him for real. To feel those arms around me. To press my chest against his and let my heart beat hard against it.
“I had a dream about you last night,” I whispered.
He swallowed. “Actually, I had one about you too.”
“In my dream, we were holding hands, and we ran up a hill and rolled down the other side. And then I told you to kiss me.”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, mine went a little differently.”
“Did you kiss me in your dream?”
“Yeah. I did.” His eyes were locked on mine, dark and glittering with a fire I could feel under my skin.
“Ryan. Kiss me now.”
“It would be a mistake, Stella.” But he gripped my upper arms and pulled me so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “I’m not the man in your dreams.”
“Prove it,” I whispered.
One second later his mouth was on mine, and I was wrapped in the strongest, warmest, tightest embrace I’d ever felt. His tongue swept between my lips and I was dizzy with the taste of apples and cinnamon. I couldn’t feel my feet on the ground.
His hands moved underneath my sweater and roamed over my back. God, it had been so long since anyone had touched my bare skin, even longer since I’d welcomed it. He slid them down over my ass and pulled me even tighter against him. I could feel the thick, hard bulge of his erection through our jeans and desperately wanted more.
Would it be different with him? Would I be different? Was it worth the risk to try?
But all of a sudden, he pushed me away and took a step back. “Go inside now, Stella,” he said, breathing hard.
“But—”
“I mean it. Get in the fucking house. Now.” His tone told me not to argue. His stance was angry.
Frankly, it scared me a little.
With my heart pounding and my breath caught in my chest, I turned away from him, ran up the steps and into the house, shutting the front door behind me.
By the time I looked out the living room window, he was gone.
As soon as I got to my room, I picked up my phone and looked at the time: 9:57 PM. Emme was so tired these days, I didn’t want to take the chance of waking her, so I called Maren. It was still early in Oregon.
“I don’t relate easily to people.”
“Fine.”
“And I’m not interested in being social.”
“So I gathered.” She tilted her head toward the door. “That’s why I’m trying to leave.”
“But that doesn’t give me the right to be an asshole to you.” I squeezed her arm, then let it go. “So for that, I apologize.”
She glanced down at her arm where my hand had been, then looked up at me again. Her eyes were so blue, so clear. So honest. Part of me ached to be honest with her—not like I’d been at the table, not in a defensive way, but in a real way. A deeper way.
Who are you kidding? If she knew the truth about you, she’d still be running for the door.
“You know,” she said, drawing herself up, as if gathering her strength, “I let Grams talk me into coming over here tonight. Let her curl my hair and dress me up and convince me I’d been wrong about you.”
“Wrong about me?”
“Yes. I told her that you’d made it very clear you weren’t interested in me. But I came over here anyway, because the truth is, I’ve hardly been able to think about anything but you since we met. It doesn’t make sense at all, and it’s totally unlike me, but there it is.”
There were so many things I wanted to say. Tell her she’d been on my mind all day, tell her how beautiful she was, tell her how, in another life, I’d be kissing her right now, not clenching my fists because I was scared if she stayed here any longer, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her.
But touching her would’ve been wrong. And at this point in my life, when I had a chance to choose between right and wrong, I needed to choose right. There had been too many times in the past where the choice hadn’t been mine. I needed to atone for that.
“So was I?” she pressed. “Wrong about you?”
I stood a little taller and forced myself to look her in the eye. “No. You weren’t.”
Eleven
Stella
I knew it, I thought as I made my way across his front lawn, arms crossed over my chest. Normally I stuck to the walkways, but tonight I cut right across the grass. I knew I should have ignored Grams and listened to my gut. I just made a fool of myself.
Instead of going in the house—I really didn’t want to answer Grams’s questions or deal with her disappointment (my own was enough)—I plunked myself down on the front porch steps. The smell of sawdust and raw wood reminded me of Ryan … or was that my sweater? I sniffed the sleeve and winced. Maybe I should have let Grams douse me with Chanel No. 5.
Even the magical pie had failed me. Or maybe it was me who failed the pie.
From my jeans pocket, I pulled a tissue and wiped off the offensive red lipstick. Why had I even bothered? I wasn’t Emme, who could charm a man just by smiling at him, and I wasn’t Maren, who had always been at peace with herself just as she was. I wasn’t even Grams, who’d kept Gramps waiting outside her school for five extra minutes so everyone could see her climbing into his fancy Packard.
I was me. Boring, beige me, even in red lipstick and a tight sweater. And I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been rejected twice in one week.
I’m not sure how long I sat there feeling sorry for myself before I heard a voice.
“Hey.”
I gasped, my heart racing. “Oh my God. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Ryan tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and came closer. He’d changed, I noticed. And his hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower.
“It’s fine.”
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Different things.” I didn’t have to share anything with him. “What are you doing out here?”
He looked toward his house. “I felt bad. About the way you left. I came to see if you were still awake.”
“Why would you feel bad?” I rose to my feet. “There’s no shame in being honest.”
“No?”
“No. I’ll take honesty over pretense any day.”
He met my eyes. “Me too.”
“Well then, nothing to feel bad about. Why should you pretend to feel something you don’t?” I started to go up the steps but he grabbed my hand.
“Stella. Wait.”
I let him tug me back down, but I wished I was wearing my own clothing and not this stupid fuzzy sweater.
“I wasn’t honest,” he said. “At my house.”
“What?”
“When I said you’d been right about me—that I had no interest in you.”
“I don’t understand.”
He put his hands back in his pockets. “The truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”
The ground shifted beneath my feet. “You haven’t?”
“No. I lied because I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From me. Everything else I told you about me is true. I do have rough edges. I don’t relate well to people. But I’m not interested in changing that. I don’t need to be fixed.”
“I wasn’t trying to fix you, Ryan. I was trying to flirt with you.” I lowered my head. “And I’m feeling pretty embarrassed that you couldn’t tell the difference.”
“Hey.” He put one hand beneath my chin and lifted it. “This has nothing to do with you. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. And if things were different—” He stopped. Took his hand away.
“If things were different, what?” I asked.
“If things were different,” he said, slowly and seriously, “I wouldn’t be standing here telling myself not to touch you.”
My breath caught. “Is that what you’re doing?”
He nodded once.
God, he was gorgeous. And his voice was so low and sweet. His body so big and strong. I wanted to know what it was like to kiss him for real. To feel those arms around me. To press my chest against his and let my heart beat hard against it.
“I had a dream about you last night,” I whispered.
He swallowed. “Actually, I had one about you too.”
“In my dream, we were holding hands, and we ran up a hill and rolled down the other side. And then I told you to kiss me.”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, mine went a little differently.”
“Did you kiss me in your dream?”
“Yeah. I did.” His eyes were locked on mine, dark and glittering with a fire I could feel under my skin.
“Ryan. Kiss me now.”
“It would be a mistake, Stella.” But he gripped my upper arms and pulled me so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “I’m not the man in your dreams.”
“Prove it,” I whispered.
One second later his mouth was on mine, and I was wrapped in the strongest, warmest, tightest embrace I’d ever felt. His tongue swept between my lips and I was dizzy with the taste of apples and cinnamon. I couldn’t feel my feet on the ground.
His hands moved underneath my sweater and roamed over my back. God, it had been so long since anyone had touched my bare skin, even longer since I’d welcomed it. He slid them down over my ass and pulled me even tighter against him. I could feel the thick, hard bulge of his erection through our jeans and desperately wanted more.
Would it be different with him? Would I be different? Was it worth the risk to try?
But all of a sudden, he pushed me away and took a step back. “Go inside now, Stella,” he said, breathing hard.
“But—”
“I mean it. Get in the fucking house. Now.” His tone told me not to argue. His stance was angry.
Frankly, it scared me a little.
With my heart pounding and my breath caught in my chest, I turned away from him, ran up the steps and into the house, shutting the front door behind me.
By the time I looked out the living room window, he was gone.
As soon as I got to my room, I picked up my phone and looked at the time: 9:57 PM. Emme was so tired these days, I didn’t want to take the chance of waking her, so I called Maren. It was still early in Oregon.
