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“I stepped down as CEO of Cookie Jar long before I started dating her. Taking the company public was in the works for years. Ava would never have dated me if I hadn’t had all that IPO cash. I didn’t move out here to the lake because I was brokenhearted. I moved out here because being with her made me realize how disgusted I was by my life in Austin.”
“Oh.”
“The six months I dated her were the worst of my life. She wanted me to travel with her, all the time. It was endless parties with people I didn’t know and movie premieres for shit I didn’t want to see. The only thing she ever cared about was spending my money and how we looked together in pictures.”
“Then why did you stay with her for six months?” It’s a rude question, but one I can’t help but ask.
“I don’t know. Everyone I knew kept telling me it was supposed to be fun. That I’d worked so hard all my life and that this was supposed to be my reward. Here I was, dating this woman that everyone told me was gorgeous and amazing, at parties where everyone else seemed to have the time of their lives. I was bored to tears, wearing uncomfortable clothes that I hated, and it was—”
His expression says it all.
I think about how careful he is with his surroundings now. How quiet and peaceful he keeps the house. How all the surfaces are either cold and smooth or silky soft. I’ve felt his clothes … Hell, I’ve worn his clothes. They’re all natural fabrics. Nary an itchy tag to be found.
He hasn’t said it, but I’m pretty sure he’s on the spectrum and that he has sensory processing issues.
Being with Ava—at loud parties, in uncomfortable clothes, surrounded by music and conversation that held no interest for him—it must have been torture.
I want to pull him into my arms and hold him. To shelter him from ever having to face her again.
Instead, I make one final protest. “But you went to therapy for her.”
Maybe it’s narrow minded of me to think men who go to therapy are extraordinary, since it’s the twenty-first century. But this is still Texas and we haven’t yet shaken off the stereotype that men are too strong for that kind of nonsense.
But Ian just meets my gaze, his lips twitching, like he’s in on the joke. “I went to therapy for me. To figure out why I stayed with her so long. Not because I wanted her back, but because I thought the fact that I’d never wanted her at all meant there was something wrong with me.”
And just like that, all my questions and doubts fade away.
Because how could this man, this kind, complicated, beautiful man ever feel like there was something wrong with him?
I pull him back to me, cupping his jaw and steering his gaze to mine. “There is nothing wrong with you. You are perfect.”
There’s that lip twitch again.
“I am far from perfect.” His hand slips up to mine. He pulls it from his jaw and presses a kiss to my palm. “I am cranky and solitary. I would always rather be at home, where I’m comfortable, with a decent internet connection or a good book than out in the real world with other people. Therapy didn’t help me get over Ava. I was never involved with her enough for that. It helped me realize I was okay alone. And I thought that was how I’d live my life from here on out. Alone in my house. In this huge empty house that wasn’t even a home before you. It was just a building that I lived in.
“Then you came along. And you are the only person who could have coaxed me out of my shell. The only person I’d want to be with, because being with you feels as natural as breathing. It’s like being alone, only better. But I only want that if you want that, too.”
I swallow past the tears rising in my eyes as I nod. “Yeah. I think I do want that.”
“You kept saying that I loved Ava, but I didn’t. I never felt that way about her. I don’t think I even knew what love was until you.”
My breath catches in surprise. “Love?”
He pulls back, just a little. Like my question startled him. After a minute, he gives one of those decisive nods of his. “Yeah. Love. I love you, Savannah.
He’s so close, practically whispering the words into my skin. I want him. I want his lips on mine. His skin against mine. His heart beating under my palm.
But I also don’t want any of those things to happen. I want this moment to have the space it needs. I want to stretch it out, to distort time and space so this moment lasts forever.
I don’t know how to respond, how to crack open my heart and show this amazing man all the things he makes me feel. How all his edges match up to mine to fill in the empty places in my heart.
Or maybe I can’t find the words because there simply aren’t any.
Instead, I turn his hand to brush a kiss on his knuckles. “So, if you don’t like the term girlfriend, is there a different term you do like? I’m open to ideas.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he presses his forehead briefly to mine. “How about mine?”
Epilogue
