Page 98 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

Now it’s my turn to hold my breath.

“It wasn’t my intention to… complicate things,” he says. “Between us.”

I chew my bottom lip and pretend to suddenly be engrossed with the passing scenery. My heart dips and sways in my chest. The truth is that last night didn’t feel complicated. My feelings about Quentin have never been clearer.

I love the way that I feel when I’m with him. Challenged, but not defensive. In control, but vulnerable. Happy. Safe.

I love the way I fell asleep with his arms around me, with his heart beating steady against mine.

I love the way that I woke up with the scent of him on my skin, the subtle ache of him in my body.

“What happens after the partnership vote?” I ask.

“It’s going to be you,” he says. “It was always going to be you.”

“And if it isn’t?”

He threads his fingers into mine. “For me, it’s you.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t fight my growing smile. “You don’t seem too upset for a guy who’s talking about losing out on hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Does this guy have you?”

I chew my lip. “Yes.”

“Then he’s way too busy counting his lucky stars to be upset,” he teases. “But there are a few things he needs to know.”

“Such as?”

“Tell me your terms and conditions.”

“Who says I have terms and conditions?”

“Um. I know you.”

I give him a coy smile. I consider my usual parameters, and none of them feel necessary. Quentin is so different. Or maybe it’s that he makes me feel different.

“Only one,” I say finally. “Don’t break my heart.”

There’s a beat of surprise. I can feel it simmering between us, the realization that I’ve just admitted that:

a) I – Heidi Krupp, the best part of breaking up – have a heart;

b) It’s fragile enough to be broken; and

c) Quentin undeniably has it.

He stretches my hand across the console and kisses my wrist just above the twine wish bracelet.

“Deal.”

I settle into the comfort of the passenger seat with my bare feet propped on the dashboard and our fingers still intertwined. Behind my sunglasses, I close my eyes, smiling as sunlight and shadows shift across my vision, like a kaleidoscope of warm, red-orange color, mapping the way home.

25.

Quentin never makes it to his place. We get off the elevator at my floor, and he walks me to my door under the guise of making sure I don’t accidentally attempt to enter the wrong apartment. The moment we’re inside, we drop our bags by the door and tug each other closer.

“Are you happy now that you’ve seen me home safely?” I say, looping my arms around his neck.

---