But not now, never now.
Now she just wanted to go over to him. To tell him all the things she’d always longed for him to say to her: I didn’t mean it. I take it back. I’m sorry, I was a fool, I don’t know what I was thinking. All the things he had said to her, and was still saying right at this moment. She could practically see it written across his features. It was there when his brows knitted together as he waited for her to decide, and there again in the relief when she told Lydia she had to go see him and then started to walk his way.
Had anything been as beautiful as that relief?
That happiness, when she took hold of his hand?
She knew he wouldn’t pull away, she knew it, she knew she had nothing to fear—and it was glorious. All of the wonder of the world was in that one moment, when she threaded her fingers through his. It was like rewriting the past, and having it stick. Like time traveling, to put right what once went wrong.
And she knew he felt it, too.
If he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have brought her hand to his lips, to kiss. Right there in front of all the people milling around—his bros over by the keg and all the girls who adored him right down to their bones. In front of Lydia, who mouthed I knew it in a way that was both amazing and crazy, plastic cup raised in a silent salute that just about made it okay.
Things were going to be okay.
She could hear it in his voice when he asked, “Are you sure this is cool with you?”
“I’m sure. Are you sure?”
“You know I am.”
And she did. She did know.
How could anyone doubt, when he said it so softly, so gravely? He even glanced away after he’d told her, as if the emotion of doing it was just a little too much.
Though that might have been Lydia drawing his attention.
She pointed to her eyes and then pointed at him before turning to speak to Brad.
Who was in fact wearing a shirt that showed off his delightful chest.
“Your buddy looks kind of disapproving.”
“Well, in her defense, you did Stockholm me.”
“I want to deny it, but right now it kind of feels like I did.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret: I went willingly to my doom.”
“It will never be your doom. I promise you. I promise.”
He squeezed her hand tight. As if he could imprint that promise on her skin.
But really it was her, now, who needed to reassure him.
“Not even if I’m an asshole who keeps you like a dirty secret?”
“You weren’t an asshole. You protected yourself. I like that.”
“It doesn’t seem like you like it.”
“Not going to lie—it stings, too. But it’s a sweet kind of sting. Like the kind of thing you might get after taking a bullet in the shoulder for someone you love.”
She had something planned to say, after hearing that first sting.
But it started to melt at the idea of it being sweet. And then he got to the other part, the part about the bullet and the shoulder and the love, and the words dissolved altogether. She froze right where she was, looking up at him through the faintly smoky air. Half leaning on his arm, hand in his. Everything as it was, only he had just said those words.
And now he was slowly becoming aware of that fact.
She watched his eyes widen slightly, and then he jerked his gaze to her.
“Oh. Oh no, wait…no, I meant…you know what I meant.”
“Wow, okay, because for a second there…”
“Yeah, for a second I was like in love with you after five minutes of friendship.”
He laughed, while she tried not to think about how thin that sound was.
It was probably just her imagination. Or his embarrassment over this mistake.
“Right? Has it been five minutes? Because it feels like thirty seconds.”
“Well, actually it’s been around a month, but I take your point.”
“A month is still absolutely nothing.”
“No, god no. It’s a tiny amount of time.”
“And that bullet comment was totally cool enough.”
“You like the bullet thing?”
God, his tone was almost tentative.
And so full of yearning.
“I did. Like, a lot. I mean, I don’t want you to have a bullet lodged in your shoulder. But the fact that you would…that you have…that you don’t mind that much…”
“I don’t mind that much.”
“You know what? Me neither,” she said.
Then hauled him down for a proper kiss.
One that had lips and lots of tongue, and left him grinning like a buffoon.
“If I had known it would have made you look this fucking giddy,” she said, “I would have kissed you in public waaaaay before now. Seriously, it’s weird that you’re this happy about it. Like I’m having déjà vu, only with everything the opposite of how it should be.”
“It’s not just the public thing. I was…thinking…”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” she said. “I heard it gives you wrinkles.”
“I knew you only cared because I’m so pretty. I get ugly and it’s over.”
“I will admit I do like your dewy, youthful skin.”