Page 122 of The Thought of You

“You mowed my lawn too,” I say, and this time, it’s more of a statement since I already know the truth.

He mowed my freaking lawn while I practically wasted away last night. I hate that I’m partially upset over my existential crisis, but also that I didn’t have the chance to witness—and gawk—at a sweaty Owen, who might’ve been shirtless, engaging in physical labor.

I bet the sun glistened off his muscles, and I missed the whole thing.

But that’s not the important part.

“This is hard for me.” I blow out a heavy exhale, my head fuzzy and overwhelmed. “I’ve been severely independent since I was a kid. When my parents divorced, I was suddenly ten going on thirty. I had to be the adult in our house, and not once did my mother thank me. Do you know what she did? She criticized me for being too responsible and making perfect decisions. She said I should be outside playing in the dirt with the rest of the kids in our neighborhood. Can you believe it?” I scoff.

“It shouldn’t have been that way for you,” he says softly. “Nothing about that was fair.”

I swallow the lime-sized lump in my throat, thankful for the validation. It’s a relief, to say the least. Why have I never talked about this before? I could’ve freed myself from the burden long ago.

I wring my hands in front of me. “I guess it’s why I’m so desperate for praise. I never got it from the two people who always meant the most to me, and in turn, I never learned how to offer it when someone does nice things for me. And you, Owen, have done the kindest things of all.”

He dips his head, scratching the back of his neck, and when he raises up again, his cheeks redden. The shy blush squeezes my heart.

Owen has proven time and again that this is just who he is. This isn’t a game, and he’s not working an angle. He’s just a kind guy.

And I don’t deserve him.

I shake my head as I lament, “I’ve said such terrible things to you and about you—over ten years’ worth.”

“Right back at you.” He chuckles.

I round the counter and stop a foot from him, inhaling deeply as if to try and absorb some of his confidence and all-around goodness. “Thank you.” And for some unknown reason, I poke his chest with the tip of my finger.

He lifts a brow.

The tops of my ears burn. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He full-on smirks as he covers the spot I poked with his large hand. “I’ll cherish it always.”

“You really didn’t have to do any of this, but I’m very grateful.”

“You are welcome,” he says, his voice thick with sincerity. “And I’m very glad you’re feeling better.”

“It was scary there for a while.” I slide my fingers into my hair, which gives me pause. “Oh, God. I look like shit, don’t I?”

“Never.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Never.” He cracks a grin and pulls me in for a hug, his arms easily swallowing me. He rests his chin on my head and sighs. “Did I mention how glad I am that you’re feeling better?”

My smile spreads against his chest as I breathe him in, thankful he’s here.

“And…” He pulls back. “Is this a good time to let you know I also fixed your dryer? Judd was here to help until Mary reminded him they were supposed to be with their niece and nephew, so I did it alone.”

“That’s it.” I shake my head and separate myself the rest of the way from his embrace.

“What?”

“That’s the last straw.” I throw my hand up and round the counter toward the stove. “I thank you for all you’ve done, but I’m making you pancakes for all your troubles. That’ll make us even.”

As he takes a seat on a stool at the counter, he teases, “It’s bad luck to reject pancakes.”

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