Page 121 of The Thought of You

He’s done too much for me, and the feeling of weakness creeps up my spine. This is why I don’t ask for help. It’s why I take care of everything myself. I hate being a burden to anyone, and I hate owing anyone anything.

“Why are you acting like saying two words is figuring out how big the universe is?” Owen folds his arms over his chest.

“If you don’t care about getting anything in return, then why do you insist on a thank-you?”

“It’s good practice for you,” he shoots back.

“You cleaned my whole house!” I throw my hands up. “Not just that, you got other people involved too.” I point to Bo, but he’s nowhere to be found.

He must’ve snuck out during yet another one of my ridiculous squabbles with Owen.

“Bo and your mom,” I continue. “Did you ask Leon for advice on the lawn too? I’m sure he was so happy to hear from you. He just loves weirdo do-gooders knocking on his door unannounced.”

“What is your problem? Do you need to go back to sleep? Clearly, you didn’t get enough rest last night.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Owen,” I clip. “I don’t need you to fix me.”

He jolts backward, a frown etched into his face in the most unnatural way. Only grins and smirks belong there, but I’ve put a damn frown in their place.

“I know you can’t help yourself, but I can handle this on my own,” I assert.

“Can’t help myself?”

“I never thought I’d say this, but you help too much. Your sisters, your nephew, your parents. When do you ever do anything for yourself?” I pose.

“That’s what this is about?” He releases a humorless laugh. “I didn’t realize lending a hand to those I care about is a crime, but thank you for clearing that up for me.”

“It’s not, but don’t you ever get sick of being taken advantage of?” I ask, lowering my voice. “I don’t want to be yet another person you need to drop everything for. I just want…”

“What do you want, Addie?”

I cringe at his use of my first name. No Lockhart, angel, or baby.

Just Addie.

And it drips with disappointment.

What is my problem? Am I seriously mad because he’s so considerate and caring? That his heart is as big as this freaking town?

Or do I just not understand it because he actually does it out of the kindness of his soul and not because he’s seeking praise? Not like me.

“I want to be more like you,” I whisper.

His expression drops into one of shock.

He looks as surprised as I feel by my answer. Where did that come from? Is that why I’m upset—because he’s making me realize I’m a compliment whore?

I lick my lips, acutely aware of the words as I speak them. “I don’t want to care so much about the give-and-take of good deeds. I wish I could just appreciate the favor and let it rest.”

The tension in his brow eases, and one corner of his mouth curls upward. “You can start that journey by saying thanks.”

I shift uncomfortably in place as years of habit come to a head. “I dreamt that you held my hair back while I vomited.” I wince.

“That was real.”

“And carrying me to the bedroom?”

“Also real.” He nods, his expression frustratingly unreadable.

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