Page 88 of Saving Her Heart
"Are you forcing it?" she asks.
"No," I say immediately. "Being with him feels like the most natural thing in the world."
"Then what's the problem?"
I'm quiet for a moment, watching the boats in the marina through the window. "Sometimes I catch him looking at jewelry store windows when we walk past. He thinks he's being subtle, but he's not."
"And?" Charli prompts.
"And it makes me happy and terrified at the same time," I confess. "Like, what if he proposes? What if he doesn't? What if I'm reading too much into window shopping?"
"Have you talked to him about it?" she asks.
"About marriage?" I shake my head. "We've talked about the future in abstract terms. Kids someday, buying a house eventually. But not... specifics."
"Why not?"
"Because talking about it makes it real," I say. "And real things can break."
Charli sighs. "You and your rules. I thought you were past all that."
"I am. Mostly. But old habits die hard." I take a bite of toast, needing something to do with my hands. "What if he's not ready? What if I bring it up and he thinks I'm pushing?"
"Or what if he's waiting for a sign from you that you're ready?" Charli counters. "Men are simple creatures, Kendall. Sometimes they need clear signals."
"I live with him. How much clearer can the signal be?"
"Living together and wanting to marry someone are different things," she says. "Trust me, I dated plenty of guys I'd live with but never marry."
"Sawyer proposed after six months," I point out.
"Sawyer knew what he wanted and went after it," she says. "But he also knew I was ready because I told him I was."
"You told him you wanted to get married?"
"I told him I could see a future with him. The whole future—marriage, kids, arguing about where to retire. Once he knew I was all in, the ring appeared pretty quickly."
I think about this, stirring my coffee absentmindedly. "I don't know how to have that conversation."
"Sure you do," Charli says. "You just open your mouth and say words."
"Very helpful," I mutter.
"Look," she says, leaning forward. "You've already wasted ten years. Do you really want to waste more time being afraid to talk about what you both clearly want?"
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Michael, my assistant property manager.
Michael: Small crisis at Building 2. Nothing major but need your input.
"Work?" Charli asks, seeing my expression.
"Always," I confirm. "But it can wait five minutes."
"No, it can't," she says, knowing me too well. "You're already mentally solving whatever the problem is. Go. But think about what I said."
"I will," I promise, standing and throwing money on the table.
"Kendall?" she calls as I'm leaving. "He loves you. Like, stupidly, obviously, embarrassingly in love with you. Whatever you decide, whatever timeline you want, he'll wait. But maybe... maybe don't make him wait too long?"
