Page 27 of Fight from the Heart

“I thought we were in love and going to spend the rest of our lives together. It turns out, he was fucking my best friend, who happened to be my maid of honor, and they got married instead.”

Motherfucker. “Lilac,” I say softly, but her eyes remain focused on the crackling fire.

“I was twenty-five, and in a small town, word gets around when you get jilted. Thankfully, it was before we hit the altar, but it still stung, and it was still far enough along in the planning that I had a church to call, a reception to cancel, and gifts arriving daily that had to be returned. You can’t return a wedding dress, though.”

She’s quiet for a second, thinking before she speaks next. “When all your friends are long-standing sweethearts and marry each other, they tend to pick sides, and then there you are, in the middle of your thirties, still by yourself.”

Is this why she was upset with her sister’s engagement announcement? Pam was extra feisty earlier, and while she was mad at me for demanding she come to my house, I’m wondering if there was more going on in her pretty head when she arrived here.

“Who was he?” I ask, deciding to avoid any questions about her sister’s new status. I’m ready to look up the toolbag who hurt her and pummel him into the dirt where the scumbag belongs.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, but it does. Someone hurt her. Ripped her heart out. I don’t understand. She’s an incredible woman—smart, well-read, and beautiful to boot.

“Do you still love him?”

“God, no. It’s been eleven years. I’ve moved on, and clearly, he did before we even exchanged rings.”

“Did you love him then?”

“I thought I did. I mean, I really thought he was my forever, but in hindsight, I see he wasn’t any more than the rest of the long-term relationships I’d had. He was comfort and commitment, until he wasn’t, and I’m the fool who is loyal to a fault.”

She reaches for her wine and sips the rest. She’s certainly been loyal to me, and maybe I’ve taken advantage of that trait of hers.

“I told you my father would say you have to love yourself before you can expect someone to love you back. Maybe that’s been my problem. I haven’t always loved myself first.” The sadness in her tone rips my cold heart in two, like a physical cutting down the middle.

“Lilac.” The call of her name is sympathy and surprise. She must love herself. She’s too confident and pulled together. She’s one of the strongest people I know.

“Don’t pity me,” she says under her breath, using my words against me.

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for the dickhead who missed out on you and the world of schmucks who didn’t appreciate the dedication of a fantastic woman.” Holy fuck, I could be speaking about myself. “I feel sorry for me as the most selfish of asshole because I don’t let you know enough how I feel about you.”

Mainly because I can’t. I physically cannot have her know she’s my everything. I’ll never deserve someone half as golden as the angel sitting across from me.

“You’re . . . important to me,” I add. The comment sounds weak, even to me, and I want to kick myself. I’m a man of words, so why can’t I just tell her how I feel?

Pam remains quiet for too long, and we need a change of subject.

“Okay, so dinner first,” I state, hoping to sound more cheerful than I feel. “What should we have?”

Her brows pinch as she looks up at me.

“I’m hoping you can teach me the process here, plus I’m starving. What should we have for dinner?” I tip a brow.

“Are you looking to have sex with me?”

I choke on her honesty. “No, angel. I’m not playing this as a means to get into your pants. I really want to know how this works.” Wouldn’t it be a wonder, though, if it worked on her? If she gave herself to me willingly and not because of some process to woo her with dinner first?

“So what you’re saying is, you really want me to just fix you some dinner?” she mocks.

“I’m serious. Teach me your dating ways, wise Lilac,” I tease and find I do want to learn how to do things properly, because if I ever considered dating, I’d want it to be with her. I’d want to do right by her.

+ + +

Following her into the dark kitchen, I hold the flashlight mode on my phone to help her look through my fridge. Next she opens cabinets. Pulling down a box of pasta and a jar of spaghetti sauce, Pam smiles at me.

“Viola. Dinner.”

“How do you microwave that?”