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“A waiter will return to take your drink orders.” She nods politely, giving A a sheepish glance before she scurries away.
“I think she liked you,” I say as he pulls out a chair for me and allows me to sit.
His face is stoic as he takes his own seat across from me, grabbing my hand and holding it in his large one. “I don’t care who likes me, because I only like you.”
His smirk appears as he winks, just as our waitress arrives. She eyes him too, her cheeks flushing. Great, another one who has obvious eyes for my…
The rest of the words are trapped in my head. Because I don’t know what he is. We never even talked about titles. Is he my boyfriend? What else would he be?
She takes our orders before she goes, and my mind is still on what to call him. I can’t decide whether I should ask him. I don’t want him to think I’m childish. But at the same time, I’ve never had a boyfriend. I kinda want one.
“What is it?” Concern fits his features.
“It’s nothing.” I force a tight smile and try to pry my hand away from his, but he holds it tighter.
“Kayla.” His brow bends.
With a roll of my eyes, I huff out, “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
“Can you maybe not look at me as I say it?”
“Absolutely not.” A half-grin dons his face.
“You’re an ass.” I shake my head with a laugh. “Fine. I was just wondering what we were exactly. Are you my boyfriend? Am I your girlfriend? I don’t know, I?—”
“Kayla.” His face hardens.
“See, told you it was stupid.”
He gets to his feet, towering closer as he drags my chair right beside him before he settles down again.
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” He tucks my chin into his palm. “But just know there is not a word in the dictionary that is adequate to describe what you are to me, Kayla Jenkins. So if you prefer it, you can be my girlfriend. Hell, you can be my wife. An extension of my fucking heart. Use any words you deem necessary. I want to make you happy.”
My heartbeats quake in my chest, emotions warring within me.
“I clearly can’t be your wife,” I scoff. “Uh, girlfriend is fine.”
Wife.
That one word made my gut sink with something foreign and exciting. Would he want to marry me? Or is that him just telling me I mean a lot to him?
The answer may scare me. Because as soon as that word left his mouth, I knew I wanted that. I want to be his wife, and I want this man to be my husband.
Once we return home, my mind is still on his words and the earth-shattering way he confessed his feelings to me. I know how much that meant to him. For someone who has never had this, saying all of that took a lot of courage.
I wonder where we will be years from now. Will we have the kind of life we both deserve? Will I be an oncologist? Will we be married? Kids?
No… I don’t want them.
“Can I ask you something?” I raise my head and look over at him, while his fingers lazily trace up and down my back.
“Anything.” His eyes fill with warmth, and I burrow closer, seeking more of it.
“Do you want kids?”
His eyes widen. “Wow, we’re going there, aren’t we?”
