Page 142 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“Yeah?”
But she doesn’t finish the thought. She traces patterns on my chest with her finger, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of my skin under her hands.
I hope, just a little. Maybe this thing between us could be real. Could last beyond the five months we agreed to.
The thing is, I’ve been here before. I’ve let myself believe that someone cared about me, that I mattered to them beyond what I could provide. And every time, I’ve been wrong.
Every time, I’ve stood there wondering what I did wrong, why I wasn’t enough, why love always seems to come with conditions I can’t meet.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Juliet murmurs against my shoulder.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Come back to me.”
The way she says it, like I’m somewhere she can reach if I just let her, makes my throat tight.
“I’m here,” I say. I’ll try my best to make it true.
The next morning, I wake up before her and spend a few minutes just watching her sleep. She is wearing my hoodie with the hood pulled up over her head, the long sleeves drowning her hands. It’s cute.
I make coffee and sit on the porch, breathing in the crisp mountain air and trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.
Five months. That was the deal. Five months of a fake engagement, then we both get what we need and go our separate ways.
But I don’t want to go my separate way anymore. I want to wake up next to her every morning. I want to make her coffee and listen to her talk about work and be the reason she laughs.
I want to keep Juliet Monroe in my life.
And that terrifies me more than any opponent I’ve ever faced.
Wanting something this much means someone can take it away. It means I can lose it.I could lose her.
“Morning,” Juliet says, appearing in the doorway with her own mug of coffee. She’s wearing my sweatshirt and nothing else. The sight of her bare legs makes my brain short-circuit for a moment.
“Morning. Sleep okay?”
“Best I’ve had in weeks.” She settles next to me on the porch swing, pulling her feet up under her. “This place is perfect. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She looks out at the trees, at the mountains in the distance. “It’s nice to be somewhere that’s just ours. No cameras, no expectations. Just us.”
Just us. Like we’re a legitimate couple instead of two people playing pretend.
Maybe we are. Maybe somewhere along the way, the pretending became real.
“Juliet,” I start, but she cuts me off, shaking her head.
“I know,” she says quietly. “I know this is complicated. I know we have rules and contracts and expiration dates. But this weekend... can we just be here? Can we just be us without all the rest of it?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Because I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I would like to exist in this bubble where she’s mine and I’m hers and nothing else matters.
Even if it’s only for a weekend.
Even if it’s all I get.
