Page 44 of Those Two Words

“Honestly, waking up to breakfast and coffee really helps. I can’t wait for a bubble bath and cheesy rom-com later. The attacks usually wipe me out, so I really appreciate you getting my shift covered today.”

“Was the color thing a way of coping?” he asks hesitantly. I shouldn’t be surprised at how observant he was, and from small snippets I remember of last night, I was very vocal in my search for that something green.

It doesn’t always work, but the second my panicked eyes found his, it did its job. Sometimes it’s less of a distraction and more a sense of accomplishment, like my brain is happy we found our way out.

“Umm, yeah. It’s kinda like the five-four-three-two-one technique. I don’t know if you know it.” I shrug. “Only I like to find five things of the same color. For some reason, I picked green.”

Understanding dawns in those same green eyes.“Green’s a good color.”

“I think it saved me last night.”

He goes to say something but stops himself and stands. Collecting the dishes from the table, he tilts his head toward the hallway behind us. “I left your phone by the front door. Let me get these dishes done and I can drive you home.” He turns away but then pivots. “Not that I’m saying you need to leave, you can stay. I need to get Lot?—”

Laughing, I hold up a hand. “Patrick, it’s fine. I could really do with a soak in the tub and another ten hours of sleep.”

“Only if you’re sure, but I’m driving you. Your clothes are in the washer, but I’ll drop them by tomorrow.”

Lifting the hem of the worn, maroon T-shirt I’m still wearing, I shrug a shoulder. “I think this suits me better. Don’t you think?”

Something flares in his eyes, similar to the look he was giving me this morning, but rather than overthinking it, I go in search of my phone.

I find it sitting on a wooden sideboard by the front door, but when I spot the open door to what looks like a study, my curiosity is piqued. Dumbbells and a treadmill sit in one corner, while a large desk sits in the other. The desk isn’t covered in papers and menus like I’d expect, but something that makes me question if fate likes to fuck with me.

On top of the dark, oak desk sits a half-completed jigsaw puzzle.

As far as coincidences go, this one is pretty unbelievable. Because this is the exact same jigsaw puzzle I started the other week. You can make out the bottom of the Eiffel Tower in this one, and I’m a little envious that he’s made more progress than me.

“Hey, there you are—Oh,” Patrick says from the doorway, but I don’t turn to look at him. I’m too busy picking up a stray piece and slotting it in place.

“Do you still like doing them?” he murmurs.

“Yeah. I never stopped.” I run my fingers along the cardboard landscape. “It’s one of the earliest memories I have with my mom. It’s a good distraction when things get a little…tough.”

This puzzle reminds me a lot of the one framed at my parents’ house, forever missing its thousandth piece. I moaned about it for months to Patrick, who thought it was hilarious. He even convinced my dad to frame it in the hallway downstairs, so it was the first thing I’d see when I stepped through the front door.

“I started this one the other week.” I turn to face him, only to find he’s standing much closer now. Inches away, in fact. His finger traces the piece I just placed, and I can feel the heat from his body as he leans in close.

We know how close we’re standing, but I don’t think either of us holds the willpower to pull away. Or the want.

“What are the odds.” I think he’s still talking about the puzzle, but being this close to him jumbles my brain. “It reminded me of you. That’s why I bought it.” His hands move to my shoulders with a soft touch, and even through the material of the T-shirt, the heat of it is dizzying.

“So did the one before that. But everything reminds me of you. Wherever I look, there you are. How did you do it?” He must see the question in my eyes. “How have you kept such a tight hold of my heart, my mind, after so many years?”

He swallows hard with the admission, and I watch in fascination as his throat bobs. Slowly dragging my gaze up his neck, past his chin with the tiny scar on the cleft, and up to lips so full they don’t belong on a man. When I meet his eyes, I find them glowing with longing.

“Patrick,” I whisper.

“It was useless, wasn’t it?”

“What was?”

“Trying to not be pulled into your orbit again. I was always going to end up back in it.”

“I never wanted to leave yours,” I murmur.

“We’ve made a mess of this, but you must know, Jo.” His hands slip up to frame my face, long fingers clasping the back of my head while his thumbs stroke across my cheeks.

“Know what?” I ask breathlessly.

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