Page 59 of Accidentally Yours
“Love?” Gigi asked, gently. “Is that what this is?”
Paige blinked, dazed. “I—” She didn’t mean to say the word, but it had come out and exploded between them, like a firework. Tux rubbed against her legs, wanting to cast his vote too.
“I’ve got these”—Paige exhaled, sagging against the counter in defeat—“huge feelings for this man. Feelings I don’t know how to control, and it freaks me out. I feel like if I let myself actuallyhavethis . . . it’ll disappear. Or I’ll ruin it.”
Alice and Gigi swooped in. They wrapped her into a warm, wordless group hug that Paige never wanted to leave.
When the three of them finally pulled apart, Alice’s eyes were shining. “Just follow your heart, Paige. You’ll figure it out. And if it’s meant to be, Ethan will be patient. And . . . he sounds like a very patient man.”
“We know you don’t open up easily,” Gigi added, putting her head on Paige’s shoulder and giving her another squeeze.
“But when you do?” Alice smiled. “It’s magical. I mean, I was terrified of you when we first met. You were so direct and sarcastic. I tried to avoid you when you came in the bookstore.”
Paige snorted and wiped her eyes, and Alice continued. “But the more I got to know you, the more I realized you’re not scary. You’re just guarded. And once you let me in, you became the most loyal, hilarious, thoughtful friend ever.”
“You love deeply, Paige,” Gigi clarified. “You just do it on your terms and on your own time. And that’s okay. But don’t let fear decide for you.”
Alice nodded. “Exactly.”
Paige looked between her friends—her chosen family—and felt the first crack in her fear. Because shehadopened up to them. She loved them. And they loved her back—flaws, defenses, sharp edges, and all.
Maybe love didn’t have to be loud or perfect. Maybe it just had to be true.
And maybe, just maybe . . . it was time to stop pretending and start letting herself be seen.
Especially by him.
The next morning, Paige chased words across Chicago like they were running from her. She started at the busiest coffee shop on Madison Avenue, sipping burnt espresso and hoping the buzz of strangers would jolt something loose. When that failed, she took the train without a destination—just her notebook and the rhythm of the tracks. Finally, she landed on a lakeside bench along the walking path near Lake Michigan, the breeze warm against her skin, the water a restless gray.
And there, something cracked open.
Her fingers flew, finally able to keep up with the chaos inside her. The chapter poured out, emotions swirling between the lines. It was raw and vulnerable, and fueled by the wonderful and tough emotions she’d felt in the past few days. When she closed her laptop, she knew the writing was good, but what caught her off guard was the ache that followed.
She wanted Ethan to read it. To sit beside her, shoulder to shoulder, peeking over her laptop and tossing in snarky line edits or asking questions that made her think. She wanted his laughter at the dialogue, his quiet encouragement when her fingers hovered too long above the keys. She wantedhim.
But aside from a few short, writing-related texts, they hadn’t talked since their date.
She wanted to. She just wasn’t sure how to break the ice. Not yet.
So, she stuck to the safe topic of their book and sent Ethan a text.
Paige: Finally finished my chapter. Ready for your feedback.
Then she went home to wait for Ethan’s response. She made a sandwich, curled up on the couch, and turned on a rerun ofMurder, She Wrote. Angela Lansbury’s calm unraveling of motives and murder was like a balm for her soul. Familiar. Comforting. Safe. Exactly what she needed.
Halfway through the episode, Paige drifted off.
When she blinked awake, a new mystery was unfolding on the screen. She stretched, yawned, and reached for her laptop, a sudden urge tugging her. Maybe Ethan had read her chapter. Maybe he’d left comments. Maybe he wanted to get together and talk?
But just as she stood, her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Ethan’s name lit the screen.
Her heart gave a traitorous little leap, and she quickly grabbed her phone and read his message.
It wasn’t about the book. Or their almost-kiss. Or the messy feelings still tangled between them.
But it was something.
