Page 109 of By the Letter

Bea took a big bite of her muffin. She chewed twice then her face morphed into a look of horror. Bright red eyes rounded, and her mouth puckered in disgust. Then she ran for the sink, spitting violently. I followed her, worried she was choking. When she stuck her mouth under the faucet, I realized that wasn’t the case.

“Oh my god,” she cried between huge gulps of water. “Something’s wrong with those muffins. Don’t eat them. Throw them away immediately.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them. Roman and his brothers love them.”

Bea straightened, snatching a towel to wipe off her face. “No human being could love those muffins. They’re vile.”

I folded my arms over my bump. “The Wells brothers do. They all eat everything I cook.”

She shook her head. “There’s half a container of cinnamon in them. Did you make a mistake when you were mixing the ingredients?”

“No. Well, the first time I made them, I added too much, but Roman loved them. He seems to really love it when I add a lot of extra garlic and pepper to his dinner too. It doesn’t taste good to me, but he always clears his plate. Even Adrian devoured my ginger cookies. And that time I ran out of sugar, I used extra ginger to make up for it…”

I trailed off, considering what I was saying. None of the food I’d made for Rome and his brothers had tasted right to me, but he’d insisted it was delicious. He’d also done most of the cooking lately.

“So, Roman eats your disgusting cooking and tells you it’s delicious?” Bea snorted. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. He has it bad for you, Shira.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh my god. He hates my cooking and eats it anyway so he doesn’t hurt my feelings because he despises when I cry!”

“He loves you.”

“He loves me,” I whispered.

She knocked on my forehead. “Glad it finally sank in. Now, get your butt in gear and get your man. Don’t make him wait.”

“You need to make the most of this life you’ve got, Shira. Grab it with both hands.”

I picked up the plate of muffins. “Here goes nothing.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

Roman

I couldn’t figure outhow not to be angry. I really didn’t want to be angry at Shira. Logically, I knew the shit she’d pulled was all about her and not me, but I wasn’t succeeding. Deep down—maybe not even that deep—I still grappled with not feeling worthy of love. No matter how hard I pushed or how high my accomplishments stacked, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being lacking. My brothers would tell me how wrong I was—they had, many times, in fact—yet here I was, rattling my chains in a big empty house because the woman I loved didn’t believe it.

For a man with my baggage, her rejection was a knife to the gut. I could tell myself Shira was shutting me out to protect herself until I was blue in the face. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust me; it was that she’d come from the lesson she’d learned far tooyoung—stay quiet and endure. But when it came to deep wounds that hadn’t healed, logic had no place.

I should have eased her in. Called her my girlfriend months ago. Told her I loved her when I was holding her in bed weeks after that. Let her come to me with her own declarations in her own time. I’d made mistakes, thinking Shira would understand how things were. But we were coming at this from two different directions, and today had been a blindside.

Still, I was pissed.

She was there, and I was here.

That wasn’t right. My gut roiled, and my entire body protested being this close to her and not having her in my arms. She’d put that distance there, and maybe it was right and needed, but I didn’t give a damn. If I was going to get her where I needed her to be, she was going to have to be within touching distance to do it.

Resolved, I headed to my front door. Before I could make it there, there was a light, timid knock that froze me in place. Only one set of knuckles made that sound on my door.

She’d come.

She’d fucking come.

I closed the rest of the distance and swung the door open. Taking her by the elbow, I pulled her into my house and locked the door behind her. For good measure, I planted myself in front of it so she couldn’t escape. That might’ve been barbaric, but I was past reason. She wasn’t leaving.

Parched, I drank every inch of her in. She was holding a plate of muffins, which was strange, but her face was what caught me. Cheeks ruddy, eyes bloodshot, nose pink, lips swollen—she’d clearly spent a lot of time crying, and that tore me up.

Her chin wobbled. “I’m so sorry, Roman.”

I nodded once. We were in this place partially because I’d kept my mouth shut. There would be no more of that. It was time to lay it all on the line.

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