Page 74 of The Perfect Love

“I want to, but are you sure? I don’t want to push your boundaries.”

She lets out a weak laugh, and for a second, she looks like she might cry.

“I want you to come in.” Her voice is a little raw, and now I’m on edge again. What happened today? Something that upset her? Someone? Because I’d be happy to put the fear of God into whoever it was. She shakes off the emotion and smiles at me. “Come on. We should talk—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

When I walk inside, I’m still worried but also feeling like an idiot. Maybe I should’ve waited for her to reach out to me. I don’t want her to think I came here just to get her to let me in.

But she seems okay? She’s smiling softly as she gestures to the living area.

“Well, this is it… not huge, but it’s home.” She spins around the small living room that gives off all the cozy vibes I’d expect from her. There’s a fully loaded bookcase in the corner next to a window. Under the window is a table full of plants. There’s also a small couch, a chair, a coffee table, and a TV stand with a TV that’s nearly too big for it.

“It’s perfectly you.”

She smiles brightly at that. “Thanks.” She throws her thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen—which butts up against the living room. “I was just going to make some hot chocolate. Want some?”

“Yeah, sounds great. Can I help?”

“Hm. I don’t know. Can I trust you with my super secret recipe?”

I follow her into the small kitchen area and lift the package of hot cocoa off the counter. “Boxed hot cocoa mix?”

She opens the fridge, then peers over her shoulder at me. “That’s just the beginning.”

“Well, I promise if you share your super secret recipe, it’ll stay safe with me.”

She sets milk, canned whipped cream, and chocolate syrup on the counter, before spinning around and returning with chocolate chips, vanilla extract, and sprinkles.

“Getting fancy,” I say.

“And this is just my base recipe. Wait till you try the caramel version. Or peanut butter. Ooh and one time I added raspberry jam. So good. You like raspberry stuff, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Did I tell her that? “How did you know?”

“You ordered a raspberry cheesecake latte on our date.”

Something mushy and romantic swells in my stomach. She was paying attention. And now I feel like an asshole for thinkingshe was ghosting me. Maybe she’s not the only one who has to learn to trust.

“Yeah. Raspberry and chocolate go great together.”

“Agreed. I don’t have any raspberry jam right now, but I’ll put it on the list.”

She bops around the kitchen, warming milk and then assembling the fancy—and delicious smelling—hot chocolate.

With a mug in each hand, she nods toward the living room. “Let’s sit.”

We take seats at opposite ends of the couch, and Chels hands me my mug. She opens her mouth, but then grabs her phone and turns it on.

“I’m sorry,” I say, but her voice sounds over mine, saying the same words.

Then we both laugh.

“Why are you sorry?” she asks.

“I know you said it’s okay, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to have me here. Respecting your boundaries is important to me.”

Again, she smiles, but this time there’s something brighter with more mischief in it.

“You don’t need to apologize. Despite what happened the night we met, I am capable of knowing what I need and making my own decisions. I didn’t mean to scare you that first night, but I didn’t really know you then. Now that I do, I see all the ways you respect me and my boundaries, and I’m grateful. So I need you to trust that if I say I’m okay with something, I am.”

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