Page 22 of Daring to Love

She nods once before she turns and in silence, we leave the pub. I follow her lead, all the while trying to come up with something to say. But for once, the words tumble around in my head, completely nonsensical and vapid, that I feel it’s best to keep them to myself.

How ironic: words are my life, what I make a living of, and yet here I am, unable to make head or tails of them.

She stops walking abruptly, and I practically stumble into her back and take a hold on her arms to prevent falling flat on my arse.

“Everything we’ve talked about tonight is still off the record, right?” she asks and glances back at me.

I nod. “I gave you my word.”

Once again, desire pools in my gut when she wets her lips and turns in my arms.

“Good, because I want to tell you something, but I don’t want it to be part of your piece about me.”

“Okay?”

I don’t mean for it to come out as a question, but truth be told, I’m almost scared of what it is.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, Finlay.”

I wait a beat, but I must be dense because I don’t understand why she’s so anxious, but her body language gives her away. She won’t meet my eyes, instead staring down on her feet, and her fingers fumbling with that wretched bag.

Finally, I speak up.

“And you feel this is important to tell me, because...?” I prod.

She shrugs as she lets out a long sigh.

“I just do…”

I frown and push my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

“Right. Well, I suppose you need to spell it out for me, Amelie. I’m confused.”

She seems to mull over my words for a few seconds, but as she raises her head, the vulnerability that bores into me is like a punch to my gut.

She squares her shoulders.

“I’m sure you mean for your story to give a very personal insight into who I am, correct?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “If your story – my life, actually – is going to be sent out into the world, I might as well be as upfront with you as you’ve promised you’ll be with me.”

A sinking sensation settles over me and for the first time since I met her tonight, I hold my breath, anxious for what she’s going to reveal about herself.

“Wait,” I mutter. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Her eyes shoot up.

“Pardon me?”

The sinking feeling intensifies, but I have to know.

“Are you gay? Is that the reason you’re so nervous about me writing this story?”

Fuck, I really hope she’s not gay.

Her lips quirk up at the corners and she shakes her head.

“No, I’m not gay.”

I release the breath I’ve been holding, and relief floods through me.