Page 47 of To Her

I looked up, meeting his eyes. There was something there—warmth, understanding, and something else I couldn't quite name.

"I meant what I said," I admitted quietly. "I was jealous. I didn't realize until I saw you with her that I... that I care about you. More than I've let myself admit."

Con's smile was slow and sweet. "I know."

"You know?"

"Geri, I've been waiting for you to figure it out for months."

I stared at him, processing his words. "But... you asked Hilary out."

He had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "I did. And she's great. But..."

"But what?"

"But she's not you."

The simple statement hit me with unexpected force. A warmth spread through my chest, a feeling so foreign and yet so welcome that I almost didn't recognize it as happiness.

"What about your date?" I asked.

"We had a nice dinner, and I explained that there was someone else I couldn't get out of my head. She was very understanding."

"I bet," I muttered, thinking of how nice Hilary was. It was hard to even dislike her properly.

Con laughed. "Are you still jealous?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted.

"Don't be," he said, reaching across the bar to take my hand. "There's only one person I want to be with, and she just ran through the snow in her work clothes to tell me she was jealous."

I felt my cheeks heat. "That was... not my finest moment."

"I disagree. I thought it was pretty spectacular."

Mike cleared his throat loudly from nearby, reminding me I was still on the clock. "I should get back to work," I said reluctantly.

"What time do you finish?" Con asked.

"Midnight."

"I'll wait."

"You don't have to?—"

"I want to," he interrupted. "We have a lot to talk about, don't you think?"

I nodded, a smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, I guess we do."

Con moved to a table in the corner, nursing his water and occasionally catching my eye across the room. Each time our gazes met, I felt that same warm flutter in my chest. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

The rest of my shift passed in a blur. I was hyperaware of Con's presence, of the conversation waiting for us, of the possibilities suddenly opening up before me. For once, the prospect of vulnerability didn't fill me with dread. Instead, I felt something like anticipation, like standing at the top of a ski run—nervous but eager for the rush that would follow.

At midnight, I hung up my apron and collected my tips. Con was waiting by the door, his jacket already on.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded, suddenly shy again. We stepped out into the cold night air, the snow crunching beneath our boots. Con reached for my hand, his fingers warm against mine despite the chill.

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