Page 46 of Fragile Hearts

His words get closer, and a few seconds later, he’s in my doorway, a smile on his beautiful, tanned face. All perfectly straight white teeth, that dimple, and as he leans against the doorframe, he winks at me.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” I stop, having no idea what to say, except that I know if I start talking, I could end up in a puddle of tears.

“Come here,” Owen says, stepping farther into my room. My hands are shaking as I try to get the suitcase closed, my breathing is growing labored, and I can feel the threat of tears sting my nose.

He holds out his hand, and I take it, going willingly into his embrace, my head resting on his chest. I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes, letting his smell calm me.

We’ve been sharing a bed for the past several days, and while nothing ever happens, it’s probably the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life. There’s something about him that soothes me, that makes me feel safe and cared for.

I can feel the tears begin to spill over despite every attempt to stop them. Wetting Owen’s shirt, I know I should pull away, not wanting to stain his shirt with makeup, but I can’t bring myself to.

“What’s going on?” Owen asks softly, his lips gently kissing the top of my head, his hand tracing lazy circles on my back.

“This is overwhelming for me,” I admit. “Packing is hard. It reminds me of moving, and I’ve never had a suitcase. I had to borrow this one from Sage.”

Everything comes out in a rush, my heart slamming into my chest, my arms tightening around Owen, seeking the comfort I know he brings me.

“Fuck, Sloane, I’m sorry. You should have told me,” Owen responds, his words low and sweet. “I want this weekend to be special for you, not stressful. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing.” I don’t know what to tell him. Fixing this isn’t something that happens overnight. I know I need therapy, something I just can’t afford right now. But someday…

“I want you to come to me when you feel this way. You can tell me anything. I’ll be here. No matter what,” Owen says, and my heart feels like it’s going to shatter into a million pieces.

“I worry I’m too much for you. That I’ll scare you away. That you won’t want to deal with all my bullshit.”

“Never. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re worth it.” He eases me back, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “Never be afraid to tell me anything, Sloane.”

I nod, taking a deep breath. Looking over my shoulder at the suitcase, my clothes nearly busting out of it, the zipper straining where it is closed.

“What you got in there?” Owen asks, chuckling a little as he motions to the suitcase, looking like a ten-pound sausage crammed into a five-pound casing.

“Everything. I don’t know how to pack.”

“Can I help you?” Owen offers, and it’s literally the sweetest thing he’s ever said to me. At least in my eyes, it is. His offer comes with no conditions and no judgment, and that puts me at ease immediately. Everything about Owen is like this—never the desire to change me, but rather to help me.

I nod again, walking over to the overstuffed suitcase. I tug at the zipper, freeing it, and it nearly pops open like one of those cans filled with fake snakes.

He laughs, and I follow, shaking my head at how ridiculous my suitcase looks.

“Guess you didn’t take my advice and just pack bikinis, huh?” Owen jokes as he lifts a few things from the suitcase. Holding them up, he laughs again. “I think the only thing you didn’t pack was your work uniform.”

My cheeks turn hot, and I giggle a little. Rifling through, I pull out one of my Orchid Bay pencil skirts and button-up.

“Sweets, did you think they were going to put you to work?” Owen asks. Taking it from me, he tosses it onto the bed.

“I don’t know,” I say, covering my face with my hands.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Owen says, kindness lacing his words. He pulls me to him, dropping a few simple kisses to my temple before moving back to the suitcase.

“Okay, so we’re going to be gone for three nights. Pack something for each day, and underwear, socks if you need them, and a couple of swimsuits. You’ll need your toothbrush, but I have toothpaste and any makeup or that kind of stuff. One night we have a dinner, but I’ve already taken care of that.” He brushes over this last comment, trying to move onto the next quickly, but I stop him.

“A dinner? What do you mean you’ve taken care of that?”

“It’s formal, so I have a dress for you.” He shrugs, again with his typical casual nature. “Now, there are places to hike, so you might want to take something to hike in. Other than that, you’re good.”

“Owen.”

“What?”

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