Page 82 of The Problem with Perfect

Like a lost boy who has found his home.

She pulls back after a moment, her eyes red, and she wipes at something on my face.

Only then do I realize…I’m crying, too.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” she whispers. “And it’s time you stop pretending, too.”

Bellamy stands back up to her full height, dropping her hands and pulling her warmth away. She crosses the room to the kitchen island, collecting her purse and slinging it over her shoulder.

“I’m willing to fight for you, Rusty, because someone in your life needs to do it. But you have to fight for you, too.”

She crosses the room and heads out the front door, leaving me behind to wonder what the hell to do next.

* * *

I spend the next few days trying to work when really I’m busy thinking about what Bellamy said to me: the claims she made about me being a martyr, her declaration that we’re good for each other, how our relationship has stopped being pretend and turned into something genuine.

Not in a million years did I ever think Bellamy Mitchell would knock me on my ass like she has, and yet here I am, splayed out on the ground, wondering how I got here.

But I know how I got here, don’t I?

She’s been tripping me up since the very beginning, with her beautiful laugh that I hear in my dreams and the way she refuses to give up on the people she loves.

And I’m one of those people now, at least that’s what I’m assuming. You don’t make a grandstand like Bellamy did for someone you have a few feelings for. You do it for the person you haveallthe feelings for.

Even though she might not have said it, I felt it in every word as they poured from her lips: Bellamy is in love with me.

I might try to deny it, but I’m in love with her too, which still leaves me in the position I was in before, wanting her with everything inside of me but worried that by allowing myself to have her, I’m not only risking everything I’ve sacrificed but also robbing her of a chance at something better—someonebetter.

Because I’m sure there’s someone better out there for her than me.

* * *

We finalize the installation of the brewing equipment and dive head-first into creating the first massive batch of Cedar Cider. I spent the past month reading through all the manuals to make sure I wouldn’t be wasting any time once they were installed, so it’s easy to jump right in.

The machines from BruWorks have ended up being not that different from Master Brewer, and by the end of the weekend, I’ve gotten my first batch fermenting and the countdown has begun to tasting our first beers on large-scale brewing equipment. It should be a celebratory day, and I’m grateful to have Jackson with me when I press the final button on the screen to get things going, but the desire to call Bellamy and share the news with her is overwhelming.

It’s amazing how quickly I’ve become accustomed to talking to her about even the most mundane topics. We haven’t spoken since Monday night, the longest stretch of time we’ve gone without seeing each other or talking on the phone since that first day at the bonfire when she cried in my car.

It almost makes me want to laugh, the idea of Bellamy crying over Connor. That feels like a lifetime ago, like another world, one where she was a toy to him instead of the fucking goddess I know she is.

Eventually, when I don’t know what to do or who to talk to, I decide to call the one person who might be able to give me some advice, the person I think knows Bellamy the best.

“If you’re callingme, something’s seriously wrong,” Bishop says, his voice carrying a warning through the phone that’s impossible to miss. “If you’ve broken my sister’s heart, I hope you remember that I amexcellentwith a baseball bat.”

My lips tilt up. “I thought you knew we weren’t really dating.”

“I did, and I called bullshit on that the first night she told me about it.”

I laugh. “How’s that?”

“I’ve always thought you were a great guy, and I know my sister well enough to know it would be nearly impossible for her not to realize how much better you would be for her than that fucker Connor.”

I groan. “He’s such a little shit.”

“Fucking thank you! I’ve been telling her that ever since she first told me about her crush back in high school. Like, the guy is the worst.” He sighs. “But anyway, I’m not trying to say you guys are soul mates or anything, but I could see a mutual attraction happening from a mile away. That’s my point.”

“Well, that’s why I called.” I pause, closing my eyes and feeling a whole lot younger than my 32 years. “What if wearesoul mates?”

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