Page 115 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“Well, I have some news too,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “I’ve been doing a little research.” I nod to indicate my laptop. “And you might be surprised to learn how many high school history teachers are needed in your neck of the woods.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” She shrugs. “Teachers are incredibly important. And one high school history teacher, in particular, is incredibly importantto me.”
“I sure hope you’re talking about yours truly.”
Sara ducks her head, feigning shyness. “You know I am, Mr. Fuller.”
“Good.” A grin creeps across my face. “Then I assume you won’t object if I apply for teaching jobs out your way for next school year?”
“I do, in fact object,” she says.
My smile wavers. “Wait. Are we still joking around?”
“I’m not.” She lifts her shoulders. “I don’t want you to apply to teaching positions in the city.”
Whoa.
My gut twinges, and I pull my hand away, struggling to absorb what she’s saying. I didn’t see this coming, and I want to respect her wishes, but I also need to be honest about how I feel. “Okay, I get it. You probably think I’m moving too fast.” I gulp down the boulder threatening to block my throat. “But I’m going to plead my case now, because I didn’t fight for you ten years ago. Back then, I told you I wasn’t looking for something serious. I said I had no interest in a long-distance relationship. I claimed I didn’t feel the same way about you as you felt about me. But I wasn’t telling the truth. Ididwant those things. And Istillwant them. Well, everything except the long-distance part. The truth is, Sara Hathaway, I just want to be near you … forever … no matter what. And if that means me moving to the city, then I’ll move to the city. Please.”
She blinks at me, and her lips part. “Three.”
“In other words, I’m not just applying for a new teaching job. I’m applying to be your man.” I reach for her hands again, holding them both in mine. “In case I haven’t made that abundantly clear.”
She offers up a small laugh. “Oh, you’re being themostabundant right now. But I still don’t want you tomove to the city.”
I stare at her, bewildered. “But … why?”
“BecauseIdon’t want to live there. And I’m going to turn down the position at Hathaway Cooke.”
“Wait, what?” My jaw drops.
“I’d like to rephrase,” she says. “Idowant to be an attorney. That part hasn’t changed. But when I imagine my vision for an ideal future, an eighty-hour work week just isn’t a part of the picture.”
“Eighty-plus.”
“Ah.” A smirk tugs at her lips. “So youwerepaying attention.”
I quirk a brow. “Abundantly.”
“Anyway, I’ve been doing some thinking …” She takes the tip of her finger and touches it to my forehead, slowly drawing a gentle line downward, along my nose, over my lips, across my chin, all the way to my chest, where she lays a palm directly over my heart, which—I’m pretty sure—is about to pound right through my ribcage.
“Thinking about what?”
She meets my gaze. “What if I movedhere,set up my own office in Abieville, and worked independently for myself?”
Cue my chest cavity exploding.
“I could take on cases that really matter to me,” she continues. “Family law, not corporate. I’d like to specialize in adoption and foster care, but also do wills, trusts, estate planning.” She tilts her head, and her eyes are shining so much brighter than they ever did when she talked about Hathaway Cooke. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re brilliant,” I blurt, and I mean it. Still, a rope of unease is coiling around my middle. “What about your parents, though?” I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “Do they know about any of this?”
She nods. “I already told them everything.”
“Wow.” I blow out a long gust of air. “I wish I could’ve been with you when you did.”
“Me too.” She gives my hands another squeeze.
“So.” I take a beat. “How did they react when you told them?”
