Page 97 of Closer

I blink at her, surprise no doubt written all over my face. “Yeah?”

The corner of her mouth lifts. Barely, but it’s there. “Yeah. I mean, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t starve. Or resort to takeout every night.”

I clutch my chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m a grown-ass man. I can feed myself.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. When’s the last time you cooked something that didn’t come out of a box or a bag?”

“I made eggs this morning.”

“Scrambled eggs don’t count.”

“Says who?”

“Says the person who slaved over a lasagna for your ungrateful ass.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. A real, genuine laugh that starts in my belly and bubbles up my throat. She looks so indignant, so adorably offended on behalf of her culinary skills.

She staresat me for a beat before dissolving into giggles, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. And just like that, the strange tension between us dissipates. Leaving something warm and light in its wake.

“Fine, fine.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m a helpless bachelor in need of a woman’s touch. Happy?” And the only one I want is her.

“Exceedingly.” She grins at me, her eyes sparkling. “Guess I’ll have to stick around and make sure you don’t die of malnutrition.”

There’s a teasing tilt to her voice, but the words land like a sucker punch to my gut. Because that’s what I want, isn’t it? Her, here, with me. Not for a few days or weeks, but… always.

“Guess so,” I say.

An awkward silence descends.

I clear my throat. “So, Mr. Darcy. What’s so great about him anyway?”

“Oh. Um, I don’t know. I guess I just like the idea of someone changing for the better. Overcoming their pride and prejudice for the sake of love. It’s cheesy, sorry.”

I tilt my head, considering. “But Lizzie changes too, doesn’t she? Realizes she misjudged him based on first impressions and her own biases.”

Surprise flickers across her face. “You’ve read it?”

“Maybe I have.” I give a one-shouldered shrug.

She narrows her eyes at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. Trying to reconcile the me she thought she knew with this new information.

“Okay, then.” She props her chin on her hand. “What’s your take on Darcy? Think he’s a romantic hero? Or an arrogant prick who doesn’t deserve Elizabeth?”

I rub my chin, settling back in my chair. “Can’t he be both? People are complicated. We’ve all got our flaws and baggage. Doesn’t mean we’re not capable of growth. Of becoming better versions of ourselves.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. I half-expect her to laugh in my face and call me out for waxing poetic about some fictional character.

But she doesn’t.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says softly. “We’re all works in progress. Stumbling our way towards something real and true, even when we fuck it up along the way.”

An ache spreads through me at the vulnerability in her voice. At the way, her eyes have gone soft and hazy, downcast.

I breathe out her name, barely more than a whisper. “Lil.”

She sits back, her spine straightening and the walls slamming back into place. “Anyway. That’s my pretentious English major take on it.”

“Nah, I like it. You’re a smart cookie, Edmunds.”

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