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When she spoke, her voice was low. “I didn’t think you’d do that—what you did at dinner.”
“I’m sorry.” Again he quashed the urge to explain. Really, what was there to explain? She knew why he’d done it. She could probably figure out why he’d done it the way he had. Trying to explain something she already knew would just be him putting words into the air for their own sake.
“No. I mean I trusted you not to do something like that. I don’t trust easily.”
Fuck. “I really am sorry.”
Her head canted slightly to the side, and Duncan almost thought he caught a glimpse of a smile. “How many times are you going to say that?”
“As many times as you need to hear it.”
A sharp gust of frosty wind kicked up right then, sending ancient leaves swirling up from the porch floor and blowing the loose strands of Phoebe’s hair back. She shivered and closed the door a little, so its opening wasn’t much wider than her shoulders.
Cold and anxious, beginning to feel impatient, Duncan almost stepped up onto the threshold, ready to suggest they continue this inside, but, again, he throttled the urge.
“I don’t know if I can explain how bad that felt, Duncan,” Phoebe said. “You betrayed my trust, and you made me feel small and weak. And you did it while I was meeting your family for the first time. That’s their first impression of me.”
“If it helps, they were all really impressed by you, and every one of them is Team Phoebe right now.” Rather than step in uninvited, Duncan offered his hand, palm up. “I am very sorry, and I will try never to do anything like it again.”
She’d focused on his hand, but now her eyes snapped up to his. “You’ll try?”
He smiled a little. “Well, obviously I’m deeply flawed. Feels fake and cheap to swear I won’t ever fuck up again.”
Phoebe turned her attention again to his outstretched hand. She set hers on it.
When he closed his fingers around her hand, she stepped back and pushed the door open. “You can come in.”
Relief flooding his veins and making his limbs tingle, Duncan went into Phoebe’s home.
Though it wasn’t that late, not even eleven o’clock, the house was dim and quiet. The living room was dark, and only the glow of the light over the sink illuminated the kitchen. He caught the soft sounds of a television coming from the back of the house, where Vin’s room was.
He turned back as she closed the door. “I know we need to talk, and I want to, but right now, I really just want to hold you for a minute.”
She leaned back on the door and shook her head. “We don’t need to talk about it anymore. I forgive you, and I don’t want to dissect it over and over again. It seems like you get it.”
“I do, and I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She took his hand again. “You can stop apologizing now. I don’t need more.”
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said—and then could have torn his stupid mouth clean off his face.
Holy shit, what was he doing?! It was like he’d been sitting on so many words trying to apologize properly that the second he relaxed a bunch came rushing up to the top—and not the words he’d been wrestling with all this time. Not any attempted explanations for his fuckup. Instead, something much, much worse.
It wasn’t a lie, but fuck, he wasn’t ready to put that out in the world—and she couldn’t possibly be ready for it to be out. He’d just fucked up, and now he was dropping love bombs? She’d think he was trying to manipulate her again.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she said.
Not words a guy who’d just dropped the L-word for the first time in his life wanted to hear, but certainly words that fit the situation.
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why those words came out. I promise I don’t mean some kind of ... I don’t know, emotional blackmail. I just ... my head’s so loud tonight. It’s like a demonic rave in here.”
“Are you saying they’re not true?”
Duncan frowned. Did she want him to fall in love with her? Or had she discovered something that could humiliate him and get some revenge for what he’d done?
No. Phoebe wasn’t a game-player. And neither was he.
“They’re true. But they were too early.”
