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“But about the marriage...” he continued, “I still haven’t figured out a way to show you what it means to me that you’d do this. Give up your freedom. Let me move into your cozy little house and alter your whole world.For me.Words will never be enough.“ The corner of his lip quirked in a coy half-smile. “I’m pretty sure I can find a better way to demonstrate my thanks.”
I ignored the flirtation in his deepened voice. The eyes that kept flickering with inadequately expressed gratitude. “Gus, I’m not giving anything up. I don’t see it like that, and I’m sorry you do. I have my reasons. Even selfish reasons for asking you.”
His mouth parted. He started to shake his head no, but he stopped himself, looking down at my lips for the barest hint of aninstant, as if he wanted to kiss me. I wished he would. Not out of gratitude, but desire. “What reasons? Selfish?”
He glanced at my lips again before he seemed to realize how close we were. He leaned back. Did he desire me? Even a little bit? Or was he being gaslit by his own relief and happiness that I’d swooped in and fulfilled his dreams for him?
I pulled away from him and attended to dinner, hoping it would clear my head. “Gus, if this is going to work, you can’t be thanking me all the time. You’ll have to trust that I know what I’m doing. Let’s just go back to being friends. You’re my best friend. Well, I have a lot of best friends, but they’re all partnered up now. You’re now my best single friend. So, just be my friend and we’ll have fun with this. Maybe it turns into something more down the road. Maybe, down a different road, we hate each other and have to live in separate houses, but... be my friend? For now?”
He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest, looking at me, deciding if I was telling the truth. His studying gaze made me want to shrink within myself or fold my tiny body into an even tinier compartment.
“Okay, then. Let’s get down to business.
I groaned. “I don’t know if I’m ready—”
“Opening presents on Christmas Day or Christmas Eve?”
Oh, thank God.Lightwas what we needed right now.LightI could do.
“Yule,” I said.
He chuckled. “I’ll wait for Santa, if you don’t mind. Uh, joint financials or every person for themselves?”
“Does it matter? We both have a ton of debt and get paid nothing. Joint. Share the poverty.” I shrugged.
There was a long pause as he watched me sauté the shrimp. “Kids?” he asked. His tone was different, but I could tell he was trying not to be.
So much for light.
A shrimp bounced out of the skillet as I overshot my strength. He wasn’t going to like my answer. It would probably end the conversation—probably end our very short —but it was best to spit it out.
“I got my tubes tied in grad school. I’m sorry if that’s a deal-breaker, but I’ve never wanted kids, and even if I did, I’d rather just foster or something. I understand—”
“I got a vasectomy. Just don’t tell the church—we’re supposed to be fruitful and all that.”
“Still? That’s surprisingly Catholic of them.”
“How dare they?” he drawled. A long moment passed between us, where neither of us looked away. Too long.
“Love language?” I asked.
He laughed and looked at his crossed feet. He looked so at ease in my kitchen—our kitchen. This wouldn’t be easy to go from zero to one hundred, mashing our lives together into something resembling a sustainable marriage, but there would be a lot of lovely moments along the way. Like watching this indomitable man get boyish and embarrassed. “Physical touch. Yours?”
“I don’t know. They all sound nice.”
His brow crinkled in the center and he angled his body toward the stove. “I can do all of them. And we can explore what works for you if you truly don’t know.”
I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t expect you to love me, okay? Especially not enough to put the work into what exactly makes me feel loved. You’re not the only one with a past, Gus. And I don’t feel like talking about mine yet. Or ever.” It cameout with more heat than usual. I flipped another shrimp too hard, and it skidded under the burner.
“Hey, I...” He pulled the spatula out of my grasp and flicked the burner off before pulling me into his arms. It was the first time we’d hugged since the proposal, and I’d forgotten how much I’d missed being in his arms. There was something too easy about him. He already felt like home.
He didn’t finish what he started to say. He just held me against his body, wrapping his arms tightly across my back, his height curving around me, shielding me from what he didn’t know, allowing me to melt against him.
And melt I did. I nestled my head under his chin and laid my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat rocked me, and our breaths synced.
“This. This must be my love language. Your hugs.”
He chuckled low. I felt it inside my body.
