Page 74 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

“Waldorf salad accompanied by Muffy McCrory née Fairchild’s specialty.”

“Which is?”

Colin grimaced. “Creamed chipped beef.”

Ew. “Okay, um, I’m guessing that pairs best with...” She cringed. “Red?”

“The only thing creamed chipped beef pairs with is an industrial incinerator.” Colin grabbed both bottles from her and made quick work of tearing the foil off the bottle of pinot, before doing the same with the bottle of chardonnay. “And if you can’t get your hands on one of those—”

“Lemme guess—store-bought’s fine?”

Colin chuckled softly and handed her a glass filled with white wine.

“I missed you.”

She narrowly avoiding choking on a mouthful of wine. “You saw me on Saturday—”

“Yeah, and I missed you as soon as I walked out your front door.” He crossed his arms. “What’s your point?”

Her knees weakened and she slumped against the counter. “I—I ghosted you, I—”

“I don’t think it counts as ghosting if it’s been under forty-eight hours,” he mused.

“Be serious, will you?”

She gasped softly when he set his hands down on the counter, boxing her in, the granite biting into her back. Her heart rabbited inside her chest, pulse skipping.

“Who says I’m not?”

She stared up at him through her lashes. “I figured you’d be upset.”

She would be angry. Hell, she was angry. Angry at herself for acting like such a coward. Angry that a tiny part of her wished Colin would be angry with her, too. Not because she was trying to punish herself, but because if he were angry, maybe he’d stop treating her so softly. Maybe they’d argue and maybe he’d be the one who wouldn’t answer her texts next time and she could tell Lulu and anyone else who asked that she’d tried.

If denying herself what she actually wanted counted as a form of self-flagellation, maybe she was trying to punish herself.

His expression softened. “You don’t owe me anything, Truly.”

Her eyes prickled and her sinuses burned. He wasn’t supposed to be nice. “Don’t I?”

The smile slid off his face. “No.” He sounded appalled. “Jesus, no. I figured after Saturday, you either needed space or had changed your mind. If you want me to back off all you have to do is—”

“No.” She fisted her hand in his shirt, suddenly terrified by the prospect of him going anywhere. “I don’t want that. I don’t. I’m sorry, okay? I—” The lump in her throat swelled, making it difficult to swallow. “You’re right. I do like you. I like your obscure facts and how your eyes light up when you talk about them, when you share them with me. I like it that you aren’t afraid to call me out on my bullshit and that for some reason that’s completely beyond me, you haven’t given up on me even though I’ve given you a hundred opportunities and a thousand reasons why. For some reason you like me and most of the time I’m not even sure why, but you do and I like that, too. I pretty much melt when you say my name, it sounds better when you say it, and when I’m with you, it’s easy to forget what I’m afraid of, but when I’m not, I guess I have a tendency to get in my head.”

And in her own way.

His hands drifted from the counter to her hips. He leaned in, nose brushing hers for one breath, two, and her socked toes curled against the tile floor.

“You want me to tell you why I like you?” he whispered. “I can do that. Gladly.”

She strained closer, wanting his lips against hers like she needed her next breath. “Colin, you don’t actually have to—”

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve met in my entire life. You’re stubborn and you’re proud—”

“Those aren’t compliments. Those are—”

“—and you’re bossy,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re also passionate and when you believe in something, you believe in it with your whole heart. And maybe”—the softest of shuddering sighs escaped him—“I’ve been looking for someone who believes in me like that.”

Finally, finally his lips crashed against hers.

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