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Stupid Matchmaking Love

Page 157

by Amy Boyles

“To get here,” she corrects, smirking slightly. What I wouldn’t give to kiss those lips again. “Rowe said y’all were fishing.”

“Oh, that. Well, I didn’t want to come in my old clothes, so I went home and changed.”

“Ah, I see.”

We walk through the main lobby, past the help desk, past the gift store, and outside, where a bright, sunny day greets us and a cool breeze whips past.

There’s a small memorial garden on the side of the hospital, and we both head there naturally, neither of us talking, but damn, it feels like somehow we’re still in sync. Even my body remembers and wants to drift toward her like she’s a magnet.

We walk down the brick path, and all this silence is eating away at me. “Look, Cristina—”

At the same time, she says, “Rhett, I—”

We stop. She looks away shyly and I say, “Ladies first.”

She takes a deep breath like she’s preparing to go into battle, and I don’t know what I expect her to say, but I’m surprised when she delivers, “How have you been?”

“Um, good. I’m, um, talking to someone—again. It’s been a while, and I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Her eyes grow wide in surprise, and I nudge her with my elbow. “What? You didn’t think I would?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . Wow. I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” Cristina smiles, but it’s wobbly. “I’m glad you are.”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m not completely fixed or anything. We’ve only had one session, but it went well.”

“Rhett, you don’t need to be fixed.”

My heart pretty much explodes right then and there, but somehow I manage to keep myself together. “I appreciate you saying that.”

I spot a bench and ask if she’d like to sit. Soon as we do, the wind kicks up, bringing with it the smell of her shampoo. I’ve missed her honeysuckle scent. Dreamed about it, even.

“I met with Glen,” she says quietly.

My brows lift. “Really? How’d it go?”

“Good.” She stares out into the garden, which is like a miniature botanical garden, filled with bright blooms and waxy green foliage. “I told him I forgive him, but if he ever contacts me again, my father will get the law involved. He doesn’t have the right to be part of my life.”

She’s staring straight ahead, and I’m just about knocked over. Not just by her beauty, but because she did the bravest thing I can think of.

Without thinking, I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers and squeezing. She squeezes back.

“I’m proud of you,” I say.

“I’m proud of me, too.”

We exchange a look, and all I want to do is kiss her, hold her, tell her everything’s going to be okay.

“Rhett,” she says softly, “I know you ended things because you think you were protecting me, but I just . . . I’ve had a lot of time to think about us and about what brought us together. There was a lot of pressure on us with the competition. It made everything intense.”

“And quick.”

“That, too.”

“But I think”—she takes a breath, like she’s looking for courage—“we could face our challenges side by side. We’re stronger together than we are apart.”

Every word she says is true. “You’re right,” I reply slowly, and the admission feels like a dam breaking. “God, Cristina, you’re right. These past weeks without you have been the worst of my life. Worse than losing Sarah. Worse than being condemned for falling asleep. Because at least then, I didn’t know what I was missing being without you.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “But you left.”

“Because I thought I was protecting you. But all I did was hurt us both. Look, I don’t know what the future holds, I really don’t. But seeing you today has reminded me that I don’t want that future alone. I want to be the type of man who makes you proud, who you know will be by your side and not fail you when you need me the most.”