Down the Rabbit Hole

“Okay. I’m scared.”


He nodded, like he’d known for a while. “So am I. I get it. Life’s scary.” He recaptured her hand. “And love is the scariest part of all. It’s supposed to be. If love was as easy and free as everyone says it should be it would hold no value. It would be as ordinary and objective as . . . getting hungry. But it isn’t easy and it isn’t free; it’s rare and fragile.” He secured her other hand. “Don’t let your fear force you to turn your back on something so special and out of the ordinary.”

“Yeah. Extraordinary. I saw what loving someone can do to you when my dad left my mom. She suffered. It broke something inside of her . . . and me. I knew better. But then Jeremy came along and I thought: Oh wow. This is real love, not what my parents had. This is something extraordinary.”

“And it was.” His frown was worried, his sigh was sympathetic. “Loving someone is never wrong. It’s what you live for. It’s . . . it’s why you live; how you should live. But it takes two people to keep it alive, Elise. If one person gives up on it, it dies—and it’s a painful death.”

“With a new girlfriend and all my money, I don’t think Jeremy’s feeling much pain.”

“I’m not talking about Jeremy. I couldn’t care less about Jeremy. People have shit in their lives—you scrape it off your shoes and keep walking.” He stooped to look into her downcast eyes. “I’m talking about you, Elise. About us. Right here. Right now. You’re the one I care about.”

She looked up, knowing she’d see everything he was saying with his voice set solid in his eyes. It terrified her.

His smile was small, sweet, endearing. “Besides, it’s too late to run away from me now. You’re crazy about me.” She frowned and his smile grew, but only a bit. “You can deny it if it makes you feel safer, but I know when someone loves me, the same way I know when someone doesn’t. I can see it in your eyes; hear it in your voice. I can feel it when we touch . . . and when we kiss.

“And you feel it, too. That’s why you’re afraid, isn’t it? Because it feels like you’re exposing your underbelly to me. Because you’re feeling weak and vulnerable.” He brought her hands up between them, kissed the back of one and then the other. “That’s not what I want you to feel. I want you to trust me. But I’ll take it—for now—because I know what it means.”

“How can you be so certain?” It was very unfair. “How do you know I haven’t met someone else?”

“Have you?”

“That’s not the point. How do you know you can trust me? This could be revenge love . . . Maybe I’m using you to get back at your entire gender.”

“Are you?”

“No! That’s not it either. What I need to know is—”

“What you need is a guarantee.” He tipped her a sly look. “They don’t even have those in your romance novels. Love is a leap of faith . . . and hope and determination . . . and you know that already. You’re just afraid and—while I am prepared and very willing to hammer at it until we’re old and gray—you’re the only one who can do anything about it.”