Page 57 of Make Me Love You

She struggled against him. “Let go of me!”

“Just listen. Listen first, and if you still want to walk away after, fine. Just listen. Please.”

She stopped struggling. Her shoulders vibrated, but he knew her well enough to know it was anger, not tears. She was pissed. That was fine. He could handle her anger. It was her other moods he didn’t know what to do with—like how she had gone all withdrawn while they were painting. Something had been eating at her, but she hadn’t seemed interested in sharing.

But her anger, yeah. She was more than happy to share that.

And he was more than happy to handle it.

He didn’t know why that was, why all her fury only made him feel softer. She was a wave crashing on the shore, and he was the sand, soothing the wave into placidity before it returned to the ocean. That was about the sappiest damn thought he had ever had, but so what? He was softer with her, and in that softness was more strength than he ever knew he possessed.

“Emma-bear.” He leaned in, surrounding her with his body, and lowered his head to press his cheek against hers. “You know I had nothing to do with this. You know that, because you know me. Even the worst thing I ever did to you, it wasn’t from spite. It wasn’t like this.”

She swallowed hard. “Everyone is staring.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

He knew she didn’t either, not really. She was used to people staring at her. At first with pity, because of her mom. And then with morbid fascination, like rubbernecking a car wreck, because of her dad. That hadn’t lasted very long, because people had learned pretty quick that if they stared at Emma, then Emma might stare back, and no sane person wanted to be on the receiving end of a death glare from Emma. She had a way of making a person feel like they needed to get right with Jesus in a hurry.

“I hate that picture of my dad. Is that what everyone thinks of him? He gets out in less than six months. I know what he did was wrong, I get it. But he’s not going to do that again, because it’s not like my mom can resurrect herself and die of cancer all over again, you know? I want people to remember who he was before, all the good he did. He deserves a second chance.”

“I know, honey. I’ll take care of it. I have a pretty good idea who put them up, and I’ll see to it that they’re taken down.”

“I’m trying to set up a life for him here, in Hart’s Ridge. With me. The food truck, he wouldn’t have been very good at that. It’s a small space, just enough work for two. He wouldn’t have fit. So the bed and breakfast...I don’t believe in fate, but it felt like that. Like it was meant to be. He would love telling people all about the history of the house and the town over breakfast. Seriously, he would love that. Everything was finally falling together, and now this? On top of...”

He heard the catch in her voice. “On top of what?”

“I—” She made a gulping noise that sounded suspiciously like swallowing a sob. “I made a mistake. The lamp posts...I knew they were on the historic register, but I didn’t know I needed approval to fix the chipped paint. My first official act as mayor was to break the law. I screwed up, Eli. Like, really, really screwed up.”

The pain in her voice. He ached for her, for what she was feeling. “How were you supposed to know something like that? You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. There are laws for everything. It should have occurred to me that there was a law for this, too. My mom would have known. And my dad...well, at least when he broke the law he did it on purpose. If I had paid more attention in school, if I had learned what I was supposed to learn, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Come on, Emma. You know that’s not true. Not everything is learned in school. So you’re not perfect. No one is. You’re something even better than perfect.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“There’s not a word for it, because there’s never been anyone like you. You have an incredible ability to make things better, not just for yourself, but for everyone around you. You’re going to make this better, too. You’re going to fix it. I don’t even have to ask, because I know you’re already on it. So stop putting the bar at perfect. You’re never going to touch it, but that doesn’t matter. You don’t have to.”

Her shoulders had stopped vibrating and she leaned into him, just a little. “Okay,” she said finally. “You can let go of me now.”

He was disinclined to do that.

“What if I don’t want to?” Not now, not ever. But he wasn’t going to say that part out loud, because he already knew the answer. She wasn’t going to keep him. When the election was over, they would be, too.

“I don’t think you have a choice. You’re in uniform, which means you have to work. You can’t stand here on Main Street, holding me hostage all day. Unless you plan to arrest me. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Arrest otherwise upstanding citizens for their very first infraction?”

And there it was. He knew her nerves were frayed to their breaking point, finding out she broke the law while also seeing those damn posters. But she meant it just the same. She still hadn’t forgiven him, not that he had ever asked her to. And dammit, he was tired of it. Never mind that, as far as first infractions went, making crystal fucking meth was not exactly jaywalking. He wasn’t going to take this crap from her. She was sleeping with him, dammit. He had been inside of her. She needed to know what he stood for.

He released her and spun her around by the shoulders to face him. “Emma Louise Andrews, don’t you ever say that to me again. I’ve made mistakes. I know I have. But I’ve worked damn hard to rectify those mistakes. There was a time, when I put on this uniform, I couldn’t look myself in the face. I was too ashamed. But serve and protect—I learned what that meant. I learned how to do it, not just pay lip service. I wear this uniform with pride now. Don’t you dare say otherwise.”

She stared at him with wide gray eyes. He had surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to push back, probably because pushing back wasn’t something he usually did. Not when it came to her.

“Okay,” she said, but he could tell she didn’t understand. And he wanted her to. Wanted her to understand how he felt about his job. Wanted her to understand him.

“Come with me,” he said impulsively.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Come with you where?”

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