Page 40 of Years in the Making

“Hey,” he says quietly, taking my hands in his. “I’m not going anywhere, LG. You get that right?”

I nod and squeeze his hands. “Promise me one thing?” I ask, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

“Sure.”

“When we’re done taking it slow, you’ll show me what we did in your dreams.”

A laugh bursts out of him. “Sure, LG. I’ll give you a play-by-play.”

I behave myself for the rest of the day although I don’t know how. I deserve some kind of reward for my efforts. Around two, we extricate ourselves from the patio furniture to go in search of food.

“We’ve got a couple of cucumbers, a bag of baby carrots, a…” I pull a tub of hummus out to see if it passes the sniff test. “Seemingly okay tub of caramelized onion hummus and a block of cheddar so old it’ll turn to dust if you so much as breathe near it.”

“That’s the only kind of cheddar I eat.” Teddy grins and takes a few of the ingredients from me. “Any eggs?”

I pull the carton from the fridge and open it to reveal six.

“Okay, put two of those in a pot and cover it with water.”

Not too long after, we are curled up together on the couchwith a board of odds and ends from the kitchen displayed beautifully.

“I’m not loving this guy’s holier-than-thou attitude,” Teddy proclaims, pointing a carrot at the screen.

“If I was alone I’d be fast-forwarding through every single one of his scenes.”

“Are they important?” he asks with one eyebrow quirked.

“Sadly for your first viewing, yes. He’s basically the main servant.”

“Damn.” He slumps back against the couch, his head rolling in my direction. “What?”

I’m staring at him with an amused smirk. “Nothing. I just kind of love that you feel the same way.”

“Are there Mr. Bates fans out there?”

“Many. In fact, I’d say most people are. Actually, I didn’t feel this way during my first viewing, but I’ve grown to despise him.” I pull my feet under me and turn more to face him. My head resting on the back of the couch, mirroring his. “Maybe you’re a better judge of people than I am.”

He reaches and tucks a piece of stray hair behind my ear. “I’m not sure about that. I do know that I was right about you, though.”

Christ almighty, is he doing this to me purposely? Does he know what hearing him say things like that does to my head and heart? It takes every bit of self-control to stay exactly where I am and just smile back at him. The stopping and starting today has been a lot, and I don’t want to stop again so I will not start. It’s times like this I wish he’d say normal twenty-two-year-old-guy shit. Drop a few more “bros” and “dudes” and a few less Mr. Darcy lines.

“And what convinced you to try and be right about me?” I ask and mentally punch myself because I know whatever he says next is going to melt every piece of me.

“Your glasses,” he says without hesitation.

“My glasses?” Okay, so no melting.

“You had them pushed into your hair.” He’s looking at the top of my head like he can see them there now. “I don’t know why. I just thought, damn, I like that.”

“Huh” is the only response I can muster.

“Not what you were expecting? Or hoping for maybe?” He grins back.

“No, I just didn’t have that on my bingo card.”

“What did you expect me to say? That I thought you were hot? That I wondered what these lips”—he runs his thumb along my bottom lip, and I fight the urge to open my mouth and let it in—“would feel like under mine?”

I nod slowly.

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