Page 95 of Wallflower in Bloom

“Violet?” Jack asked, his voice raw and sleepy. He poked his head through the closet door. “Why are you in here?”

She couldn’t answer through the sobs. Just shook her head. He doesn’t want you. Just being nice.

He crouched down and wiped a stream of tears from her face with his thumb. “Oh no, my love. What’s wrong?”

She tried to think of a lie to shield herself, but she was too tired.

“No one”—she gasped for breath—“wants me.”

“What’s this all about?” He sat beside her on a pile of clothes.

“Bad dream,” she hiccupped. “And I won’t have anybody. You’ll go. I’ll be alone because”—a sob wracked her body—“no one wants me.”

He gathered her up in his arms. She couldn’t stop the tears from coming. At least if she was crying in her comfort closet, it was nice to lean on a solid chest.

His hand smoothed her hair, and the weight of his hand felt like torturous perfection.

“Fuck all, this is my fault. I should have been brave sooner,” he muttered, rubbing her arms. He kissed the top of her head, and she let herself feel a drop of happiness in the sea of tears.

“What if—” He paused and pulled back so she’d look at him. “What if I wanted you?”

She shook her head vigorously against him. Why couldn’t he understand? “Not like that. I want somebody to want my soul. I want them to see me and still want all of it.”

She was at her wit’s end. How could he possibly understand? How could anyone that handsome understand no one wanted all of her? All her quirks and needs and oddities. They never did.

“Love.” He lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “I’ve seen your soul. I saw it the minute I walked into this cottage. You are romantic and caring and kind and stubborn and…a packrat.” He gestured to the surrounding closet. She let out a watery laugh.

He pulled her legs into his lap to cuddle up and interlaced his fingers with hers. “I know we said no strings, but I failed miserably. Weeks ago. I fear my strings have been hopelessly twined with yours.”

Weeks ago? Was she still dreaming?

“But you’re leaving,” she said in a watery voice. She couldn’t let herself hope this could be true. It would hurt too much if she misread the situation. “Your life is there. I’m here. Forever.”

He kissed her cheek slowly. “We have four weeks left,” he offered. “We could ignore this undeniable connection or make the most of it.”

Four weeks. Four weeks to live out her dream of dating, really dating, the man she loved.

“Not no strings.” She sniffled. She needed to be crystal clear. So sure they were on the same page.

“Not fake dating. All the strings, all the reality.” He squeezed her to him. “Because it stopped being fake the moment I really saw you: the brave, kind girl who confronted her deepest fears to help others. Because my soul feels alive when I’m with you. Because I want all of you.”

A new burst of tears wracked through her as she leaned into his chest, not wanting to believe this was real.

“Violet Parker,” he said into her ear as she nuzzled in the crook of his neck. “Will you be my not fake girlfriend?” The smile in his voice had her smiling through her tears.

“I need you to”—she hiccupped—“say that again.”

“Be with me. Actually date me.” He pulled back and looked into her eyes, the mischief dancing in them that she adored.

“Again,” she whispered, not taking her eyes off his mouth.

“I want all of you, my greedy little minx,” he muttered as his mouth came to hers.

Her heart beat like a kettledrum. She needed to feel every inch of him to make sure this was real. He wanted her.

She pulled him down on top of her and stretched out on the closet floor. Wanted to feel the weight of him against her.

His tongue met hers as their kisses grew hungrier, more needy. She wanted him inside her, wanted him everywhere. Her hands skimmed across his muscular back. She tugged his shirt off, needing to feel his skin, the crush of his chest hair against her.

---