Page 111 of Always Knew It Was You

It turns out that the food arrives way before Carly, and the servers even have time to set up some candelabras and flower vases for a romantic candlelit dinner. The rich umami scent of the meat flavors the air, complemented perfectly by the well-spiced buttered asparagus and the milder, gentle smell of the roses. My stomach grumbles already, but I still have a few more hours to wait after that. She’s taking her sweet-ass time.

Is everything alright?I can’t help but wonder as my worry begins to grow. I call her once and it goes through, but she doesn’t answer her phone.

I call Emma next and ask, “Hey, is Carly with you?”

“No,” she says. “Why?”

“Never mind.” I hang up because I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but my tension grows. Lakewood is reportedly safe, but just a few months ago there was a kidnapping in this town, which led to a shootout. I can’t forget the sound of gunshots as I grabbed Amelia and carried her out of that forest. They kept her in a shed in the woods. And for some reason, I can’t stop seeing Carly tied up somewhere crying for my help.

No. Calm down. She’s probably with Mrs. Peach right now and lost track of time. Damn it, why didn’t I get Mrs. Peach’s number?

I’m about to call Emma and ask for Mrs. Peach’s number when I hear the door unlock. Relief floods me as I hear the familiar footsteps. She’s okay. She’s here.

“Carly, why weren’t you answering your phone? You scared the crap out of–” I freeze when I catch sight of her face, taking in her reddened eyes and her flushed cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, but there’s no way I can accept that when it looks like she’s just been crying her eyes out. My mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario.The results came out on her way home and she failed the test, didn’t she?

My poor baby.

I don’t say anything. She probably isn’t ready to talk about it yet, so I simply go to her arms wide and wait to draw her close into a tight bear hug. She steps right in and hugs me back with her arms around my waist. I feel wetness spread across the front of my shirt, which tells me that she’s crying some more. My heart aches. I lift her into my arms and carry her to the couch wrapping her up in my arms as she cries. As we settle in, I stroke her hair, kissing her forehead, trying to give her as much comfort as I can while her cries wrench my heartstrings.

I’ve never seen her like this before. She sounds like she’s suffering so badly that it’s hard for me to even think much less talk. All I want to do is make it okay, to make her okay, so she isn’t sad anymore. And I’ll do anything, promise anything, to take it away.

But I remain silent as I think about the best way to handle this. I don’t want to say the wrong thing, make it worse.

I hold her for long enough for the sobs to subside. Then she just rests against my chest, hiccupping away while I rub her back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask and she immediately shakes her head.

Her eyes instead travel to the spread on the dining table and her breath hitches again. “You made me dinner?”

“Yeah,” I say instantly and then when she glances at me, I sigh. “No. I was going to lie and say I did it but even I don’t think that’s believable.”

She snorts and says, “Well, it’s the thought that counts. Thank you.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say. I’ve never had to comfort a crying woman who wasn’t crying because of me before.

As I rub her back, my heart breaking for her and my ears hypersensitive to every gasp and sigh to immediately soothe it, it suddenly hits me.

Holy shit.

Is this what love feels like?

My mind runs through a list of scenarios, every cheesy movie I’ve ever been forced to watch, everything my friends in love have ever said and done, and it hits me that I must truly love Carly.

Because I’m feeling all the same things. The sexual attraction I could explain away. Even the affection I feel for her could be camaraderie because we both come from messed-up families and it only makes sense that that would bond us together.

But the fact that I’m pretty sure that I would slice my own wrist open if it meant that she didn’t have to cry again… well, that kind of psychotic thought can only be love.

I love Carly.

And even more damning, the thought of that doesn’t terrify me. I don’t feel trapped or angry at myself, or panicked.

I feel... free. Free to let myself feel all the things I’ve been trying not to feel for her. Free to let myself explore those emotions, voice them out and promise her the world like I’ve wanted to for a while now....

Except maybe now’s not the best time to tell her all this. She’s too broken up about the test, and I don’t want her to feel like I’m making it about me.

So I just keep holding her in silence.

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