Page 80 of Love Letters to Christmas

“What?” I croak.

Half a smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “You’ve been sending me letters for, what? A few weeks? So I’ve been waiting at least that long knowingly. Who knows how long I’ve waited unknowingly.”

My stomach sours, and I cave in on myself. “Was I really that obvious? From the very start?”

“You have a very distinct handwriting.”

I whimper. “No, I don’t. My mother has always said it’s bland and boring, like a child still learning how to write.”

Brian frowns. “Your narcissistic mother was even threatened by the fact you have a cuter handwriting than her? That’s…gross.”

“She isn’t…” I can’t finish whatever I was going to say when I see Brian’s expression. He is quietly angry. Calmly upset. A silent force to be reckoned with. And I can’t bring myself to finish contradicting him.

Firm, he says, “She is.” He releases the strictness. “But that’s not important right now…” He scratches his cheek and clears his throat. “What happened last night, Mail-ia? I thought I made the requited nature of my feelings apparent.”

I hide beneath my comforter. “You did. I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Just talk to me. If you’re not ready for anything, okay. We’ll continue as we have been, and I’ll apologize if I’ve pressured you. If there’s something else going on, I need to know.”

“You’re too good for me,” I blurt.

“How so?”

“What do you meanhow so? You’re everything I’m not. You have a good job, a nice home, loads of friends. You’re thoughtful.Kind. Compassionate.”

He interjects, “I’ve let you write me love letters for weeks because I’ve wanted genuine wax seals from you. I’m no saint, A-mail-ia. Not even close.”

“That’s just howpassionateyou are!”

He tugs my blanket down off my head so I’m once again forced to weather him directly. Brows dipped, he sighs. “I think, maybe, you give me way too many allowances.”

I jut my lip. “I do not. You simply have never done anything wrong ever, and I am constantly messing up.”

“Earth to, A-mail-ia… Reality has been trying to reach you, but you’ve been adamantly shredding its letters…” Concern ripples in his eyes. “I mess up all the time. I just pretend I haven’t or resort to a backup plan. I’m human. Promise.”

“I know that,” I whisper. “Logically, I know that…but I can’t bring myself to believe it.”

“Ah…” He lets go of my blanket. “And since you recognize that your mindset involving me isn’t healthy, you’re refusing to entertain what we could be.”

Oh, if only. If only that were the issue. I don’t care if I over-adore him. He isdear. He deserves loyal admiration at unhealthy levels. There’s nothing wrong with loving someone so much it distorts the world around them, so long as they can be trusted. And I trust Brian. Completely. Folding my arms over my eyes, I sniffle.

“No…” he murmurs. “That’s not it. You’re too sweet to care about over-loving me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not good enough,” I whisper. “I don’t feel good enough. I’m scared I’ll become a burden. I’m scared I’ll rely on you too much. I’m just…scared. What am I supposed to do with myself if the thing I’ve been chasing for most of my life suddenly becomesmine? Wanting you has been the only good part of my personality…for years. What am I supposed to do without it?How am I supposed to be worthy of you if it’s the only good thing in me?”

Brian watches me, green eyes steady. “A-mail-ia,” he says, in a tone that suggests he has the answers to all my problems, “once we’re in a relationship, you don’t have to stop wanting me. I think, probably, wanting one another is a foundational part of being together.” He sets my food tray down on the other side of my bed, then braces his elbow beside my shoulder. Hovering over me, he combs his fingers through my hair. “I plan to keep wanting you, even though it is more than clear I have you heart…” He touches a fingertip to my chest. “…mind…” He kisses my forehead. “ …and soul.” His lips pause just before mine. His breath—pepperminty and Christmas—warms them. “Do you think you could adopt some hubris for me and understand just howgood enoughyou really are?”

Shivering, I say, “I-I’d become unbearable.”

“Have you ever considered that I’d like you to be unbearable?” He kisses the corner of my mouth, and my eyelids become too heavy to keep open. “I’munbearable. It’s so lonely being the only one.”

“You’re…not.”

“I once spent thirty minutes telling Liam about this season’s stamps, only for him to get a roll of one hundred American flags in the futile attempt to maintain aprofessional business frontand save a rough total of twenty-five cents. I judged him for weeks after that. I’m still judging.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“For people like us, maybe.” His forehead settles against mine. “A-mail-ia…am I not allowed to like you just the way you are? In the same way that you like me just the way I am? Blinded to faults? Consumed by nothing but the idea of making you mine?”

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