Page 146 of Fumbled Into Love

“My therapist said something to me that has rattled through my mind.” Deon crouches in front of me, meeting my gaze. “She told me that I was potentially throwing away a lifetime with someone I love in fear of getting hurt again.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?” are the first words I manage to croak out. Not the important question tumbling through my mind, but the only one that I can manage.

He nods.

“There’s still a lot I need to work through—trauma I need to unpack and heal from—but I want that with you.” Deon pauses, forcing my gaze upward. If I hadn’t already collapsed to the floor, I would fall again from the intensity of the look he gave me. “I want a lifetime of lovewith you.”

“You do?”

An hour ago, I wasconvincedthat this was over, that what felt real to me was fake for him. But I was wrong.

I’ve never been so thrilled to be wrong in my life.

He still hasn’t said those three little words and I hold onto my heart, waiting for that final confession.

Once he says it, my heart doesn’t belong to me anymore.

But hehasto say it.

He’s hinted and inferred and the poster in the photosayshe loves me, but I need him to tell me.

I need him to make this real.

“More than anything else in the world,” he says earnestly and my heart attempts to leap out of my chest. “Can I show you the rest?”

“There’s more?” I ask in disbelief.

Deon laughs, deep and true, and shows me the rest of the house.

Acrylic shelves in the bathroom for my makeup and skincare.

Christmas stockings he hung in the living room and all the decorations he found in the clearance section.

There are empty picture frames on the wall waiting to be filled with photos of us.

As we finish the tour around the house and I’ve cried every tear I have, Deon returns to the couch and picks up a friendship bracelet.

It’s a rainbow of colors.

The knots are uneven and the colors don’t alternate in any explicable pattern, but it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, second only to the smile Deon wears as he extends it.

“I love you.” He says the words simply as if he’s said them every day of his life. “I am madly, wildly, consumingly in love with you.”

I sniffle. I guess I’m not quite out of tears. His eyes flicker around the room, wide as saucers, as I stare at him.

“No takesies backsies. If you mean it,” I murmur, “then you can’t take it back.”

He said it and I need to hear it again, now and tomorrow and every day for the rest of our lives.

Deon cups my cheek, banishing a stray tear, and with conviction, he says, “You brought me back to life. You are thelove of my lifeand if my life measures down to only the love I have for you, then that life will have been enough for me. You’ve filled it with joy and happiness and unforgettable memories.”

He laughs softly when an odd choking-slash-grunt sound escapes my body. I’m in shock. I have no control over my sounds, tears, or heart palpitations right now. Not when Deon is telling me that he loves me and wants me and ischoosing me.

“So, I have no plans on taking anything back.”

“Say it again,” I whisper, heart in my throat. “Make it real.”

“It’s always been real,” he admits, holding the bracelet between us, “But I’ll say it every day from now until forever if you let me. I love you.”

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