Page 49 of Ink Me Three Times
Because he’s funny, yeah, but he’s also gentle. Steady. The kind of guy who notices when you’re overwhelmed and says something just stupid enough to make you laugh. The kind who looks at you like you’re not something to fix, but something to understand.
And it’s messing me up.
Bad.
"I shouldn’t be here," I say, softer now, eyes dropping to the rim of my cup. "I mean, it’s complicated, right?"
I don’t mention Mitchell, but I’m sure he gets what I’m talking about.
I don’t think I need to even consider Freddie here, since that was clearly just amoment of madness.
He nods once, slowly. Like he does get it. Like he getsme.
"Complicated doesn’t scare me," he says, voice low. "People are complicated. Life’s messy. That doesn’t make it wrong."
That makes something stutter in my chest.
I try to laugh it off, push it away. "You say that now, but you haven’t seen me panic buy three gallons of ice cream and sob through reruns of Kitchen Nightmares."
"I’m great with ice cream," he says, leaning forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. "And I’ll yell at bad restaurants right along with you."
Dammit.
He’s not supposed to be this charming. Or this hot. Or this genuine. Not when I’m supposed to be swearing off all forms of messy entanglement for at least six to twelve business months.
I look down, fiddling with the edge of my paper cup. "You know I came here to escape everything, right? A breakup. A city I hated. My own lack of life skills. My last boss called me ‘unmanageable.’" I glance up. "She wasn’t wrong."
Timothy just smiles, soft and warm. "You don’t seem unmanageable to me."
"That’s because you haven’t seen me try to assemble IKEA furniture."
"Even better. I’ll bring the Allen wrench and a fire extinguisher."
I laugh again, but it’s shakier now. Thinner around the edges. The kind of laugh you make right before the truth slips out.
"I think I’m just tired of being the one who wants more," I say, the words tumbling out before I can catch them. "Like… I get attached, and they don’t. Or I try too hard, or I pretend not to care, and either way, I end up the idiot in the end."
It’s quiet for a second. I wish I could suck the words back in.
Then Timothy says, "Maybe it’s not you. Maybe they just weren’t capable of seeing how rare you are."
I stare at him.
He shrugs, but there’s no playfulness now. "You walk into a room and light it up. You act like you’re invisible, but you’re theone everyone’s watching. Even when you’re pissed off. Especially when you’re pissed off."
My face is hot. My stomach’s doing weird rollercoaster flips.
"You don’t know me that well," I whisper.
"Sure I do," he says. "I’ve been paying attention."
And then his fingers brush mine again, just a featherlight touch, knuckle to knuckle, and my pulse trips like I’ve stuck my finger in an outlet.
I shouldn’t do this.
I should absolutely not do this.
I lean in anyway.
