Page 27 of The Hang Up
She studies me. “You’re serious about this. About me.”
I meet her gaze. “Lena, I’ve been serious about you since I was sixteen. I just needed to grow up enough to prove it.”
She walks over to the bed and sits beside me, her expression soft. “You’re doing a good job.”
The doorbell rings, and I jump to my feet. “I’ll grab the pizza.”
She chuckles as I head to the front door, her laughter trailing after me.
When I open the door, the delivery guy eyes me, smirking. “Rough hair. Good night?”
I laugh and hand him a tip. “Something like that.”
When I bring the box back into the bedroom, Lena is already settled against the headboard, her legs crossed and her eyes bright.
I hand her a slice, and we eat in bed, greasy fingers and bare feet and soft music playing from the speaker on the dresser. For the first time since I returned to Lilac Harbor, I don’t feel like I’m chasing something I lost.
I feel like I’ve found something I never stopped loving.
And this time, I’m not letting go.
THIRTEEN
Lena
I wake up tangled in Holden’s sheets, his arms wrapped around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish before sunrise.
His nose is pressed to my neck, his breath slow and steady and warm against my skin. I know I should move. I have to be at Clay & Cupcakes in an hour. But for now, I let myself stay.
For the first time in a long, long time, I feel weightless.
Holden’s fingers twitch against my hip like he’s dreaming. I smile as he shifts, pulling me closer.
His voice is gravelly, still heavy with sleep. “You’re awake.”
“I should go,” I whisper, but still make no effort to move.
His lips brush my shoulder. “Not yet.”
I shiver, anticipation sparking through me as his hand slides up my bare stomach, slow and reverent. Like I’m something to worship.
Like I’m his.
My breath hitches as he kisses the back of my neck, his palm curling under my breast.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and need. “So perfect.”
“Holden…”
He rolls me onto my back, his eyes meeting mine in the dim morning light. His eyes contain desire, yes, but also something deeper. Something that looks like love and feels like forever.
He kisses me softly, like we have all the time in the world. Then he kisses me again, longer, harder, sliding his hand between my thighs as he murmurs my name like a prayer.
Everything else disappears.
All I know is him, his mouth on mine, his body pressing against me, the way he touches me like he remembers every inch, every soft gasp, every place I like best.
Maybe he does.
