I close the distance between us quickly and wrap my arms around his waist, the necklace secured safely in my hand. There’s so much I want to say, but the lump in my throat keeps all words away. We just stand in the middle of the room and hold each other, in a way, letting each other know we’re here together. That right now, liking each other is enough.
By the time I pull away, something has passed between us and when I look at him again, he’s still the handsome cashmere I know him to be, but he’s something else. Something deeper, something more intimate, something more . . . important.
My throat feels parched as I realize what this feeling is. Love. I love him.
I’ve known it was possible to love Fenton for a long time. Even though I haven’t given myself permission to feel it, I’m there. It’s an overwhelming, breathtaking moment, and I know now that I’ve never been in love before. Not like this.
He makes me happy, gives me hope, makes me feel protected. We have undeniable chemistry and being with him is the easiest thing in the world. He’s handsome and smart and sexy and kind.
And I love him.
“You okay, rudo?” he asks, his voice soft.
“I don’t think I can accept this,” I say again, watching the light reflect off the gold in my hand, still reeling from my realization.
“I want you to have it. Please.”
“Are you sure? It was your mother’s.”
“It was. And she would have loved you.”
I grin shyly. “You don’t know that.”
“I do know that. She’d like that you keep me in my place and she’d like your heart. She’d like that you make me think about things. She always said that if what you’re doing is easy, it’s not worth doing. And I think . . . I think I fell into that trap a little bit and you’re forcing me out.”
“Well, I won’t let you take the easy road,” I joke.
“I’m sure.” He steps behind me and lifts the necklace out of my hand. He lays the charm on my chest and brings the chain to the back of my neck. His fingertips sweep the hair off the back of my neck, my skin breaking out into goose bumps at the contact. He fastens the piece of jewelry and moves to face me again. “It’s perfect.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
He nods, his gaze glued to the elephant. “I’m absolutely sure. It’s right where it belongs. When you get scared or nervous or start losing your faith, I want you to touch it and remember to be loyal to what you believe in. And that I believe in you.”
“Okay then. Thank you,” I whisper, blinking back tears.
His lips lower to mine in a soft display of something. What, I’m not sure, I just know it’s not love. Because he doesn’t believe in love. But me? I just fell head over heels.
I touch my cheeks. They feel hot to the touch and dry against my fingers. I slathered on tons of night cream before coming to bed, but they still feel parched.
We spent the entire day watching a mishmash of local bands perform at an outdoor arena. It was something I’d have done before Brady went missing and I realized how much I’ve missed things like this. The excitement and energy pricked a part of my psyche that has gone untouched for a long time, the distraction that I so desperately needed.
This was living—laughing, holding hands with a good-looking man. Drinking ice cold beer and eating with no care for nutritional value while listening to music I’ve never heard before. It was such a beautiful, brilliant day and exactly what I needed to keep my mind off of my mother’s call earlier.
It seemed like a good idea to give each other a little space and to kind of absorb all the newness to this relationship, a connection I still can’t quite define. It’s love, I’m sure. But a new type of love that needs space to blossom and grow.
Even though I insisted some time apart might be a good thing, Fenton disagreed. Adamantly. He insisted I stay another night with him and it’s very difficult, if not impossible, to tell him no when his mind gets set on something.
After a quick pit stop at my house to get clean clothes and toiletries, we were back at his. After a quick shower, a quick fuck with me sitting on the bathroom countertop, and a pizza delivery and wine, we now lie in bed and listen to the little fountain Fenton turned on in the corner of the bedroom.
The water trickles over rocks, the sound dancing like a dream. My head is on his chest, absorbing the tranquility, when Fenton whips out his phone. He studies it, sweeps his fingers across, and then responds to an email or a text. His brows are pulled together, his message going in fast and hard.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
He nods, but doesn’t answer me. I just watch him continue to type away, a flutter of movement that seems to go on forever. Finally he seems satisfied, and with one final glance, pops the phone onto the nightstand.
“That was some serious texting,” I point out, not wanting to press but more than a little interested.
“So it was,” he grins, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
“It’s work. You wouldn’t care.”
“Lame,” I sigh, rolling my eyes for effect. “You never tell me anything.”