Page 170 of Can't Help Falling

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, then holds me close to him. I sink into his chest, reminded of how I felt in this fireman’s arms before I knew it was him.

“So, I told you how I feel.” He gently pulls back and levels my gaze. “I told you a few of the things that make you special, though I can think of a lot more. And I told you how I want our relationship to change.” He says this pointedly, like there’s a double meaning to them. “You said to forget about the romance and just get the words out, but I wanted to at least try and speak your language.”

I frown. “Wait, I didn’t say—”

He quirks a brow.

I think over what he said. “I said to forget about the romance and just get the words out?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I only said that in an email.”

He nods. “Which is where I read it.”

“You read my emails?” My shoulders straighten. This could be a problem.

He laughs, his gaze falling for a single second, then back to my eyes. “Only the ones that were addressed to me.”

Realization washes over me. “You’re—”

“Practical in Poughkeepsie.” He winces.

My jaw goes slack. “And I’m—”

“The girl I love.”

“Owen.” My mind spins with memories of the things we said in those emails. All that time, he was talking about me? “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I thought we could look at stars and eat Twix bars and maybe kiss some more.”

I smile. “You have Twix bars?”

He opens the picnic basket. It’s overflowing with all my favorite candy.

“Oh my gosh, that’s my kind of picnic.”

“I thought you might like that.”

I reach over and take one.

“Maybe if we’re lucky it’ll rain, and I can spend a few more hours kissing you and making that fantasy come true too.”

“I don’t need all of that,” I say, meaning it. “I just need you.”

“That I can give you,” he says. “I’m all yours.”

I smile. “All mine.”

He nods.

Another kiss. How can I be so off-kilter and so at ease at the same time? I inhale the scent of him and finally set the moment in my memory, forcing myself to zero in on every detail—the way he smells, the way his lips taste, the way his hands feel on my body. I don’t want to forget any of it. I want to memorize it all so I can replay it over and over.

We lay back on the blanket, my head on his chest and his arm wrapped around me. Above us, the stars and the tree lights twinkle.

“It’s not a pick-up truck, but it’ll do,” I say quietly.

There’s a quiet pause with only the sounds of the great outdoors and the gentle strings of the music coming from the speaker.

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