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“Yes, sorry. I was worried, and I wanted you to have it.” He looks at the ground like he’s contemplating telling me more and then does. “I know you wanted me to leave, but I stayed anyway. I opened your windows and slept on your couch. I wanted to be there in case you needed me.”
My jaw drops. I had no idea he was in my house, but now that I do, I somehow feel better about last night. My heart squeezes at this beautiful man sitting next to me. I should tell him thank you; I should say a lot. Instead, I ask him the question that’s been haunting me for days.
“Why do you only want to be my friend?”
“Why don’t you want to marry me?” he asks.
And then we both laugh.
“I feel like . . . this argument is . . . ridiculous. I don’t even know another way to put it. I never said I didn’t want to marry you. I said I would never marry someone Winston picked out for me. You made that up over a situation that hasn’t even occurred yet. There I was, still reeling by how great I thought we were together, and I came over that night wanting to tell you and hoping you might feel something for me too, but that’s not what happened. And now this.” I hold up my arm.
“You felt something for me?” he asks, almost timidly, which feels so out of character for him. Briggs is the type of guy who is confident and sure about everything. It feels weird to know that I can make him feel insecure like this.
“Of course I did. You know I did. I never would have gone there with you if I didn’t.” And I wouldn’t have. He isn’t a one-nighter, a nobody. He’s my neighbor, my friend, and someone I wanted to love. “I felt so much for you that I even mentioned that I was worried you would break my heart, and you did just that. This past week has been awful for me, and all I’ve done is replay everything to try to figure out what I did wrong.”
“Cora.” He reaches for my hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is all on me. I’m sorry. I got overwhelmed. I didn’t just feel something for you. I felt everything.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” He looks up toward the sky, takes a deep breath, and his eyes find mine again. “I am in love with you. And not the sweet first love kind of love. This love I have for you is consuming and raw. I feel exposed and vulnerable, and I don’t like it. I know we aren’t anywhere near the place of marriage, but the moment he said it, I could see it, and when I heard your reaction, I thought you couldn’t or wouldn’t love me back. It hurt.”
“But I do love you back. So much,” I tell him as more tears free themselves in relief and drip down my face.
With this confession, Briggs’s expression shifts to one of elation and devastation. He scoots next to me and cups my cheek. His thumb is gentle as it wipes away the wetness.
“Please don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it.”
“These tears rip my fucking heart out, and I can’t take it. I want you happy all the time.”
I lean my head into his hand. “I want you to be happy, too.”
“I am, but with you . . . I want to stand outside in every storm and kiss you in the rain. I want boxes of Cheez-Its all over my house and in my truck. I want us to play pranks on each other for years to come. I want to watch you perform on a stage. I want to help you with your projects. I want to build your dream garden and fill our home with unnecessary plants. I want you laughing and smiling and teasing me incessantly. I want to bring you joy, and I want to be yours as much as I want you to be mine.”
“I am yours.”
He exhales. “It’s about fucking time.”
“Your mouth.” I shake my head at him, but I’m grinning so big my face aches.
He scowls. “I can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”
“Ha! I doubt that.”
“Can I kiss you now?” he asks like he needs this kiss more than he needs air.
“Most definitely.”
Leaning over, Briggs gently places his lips on mine. They’re warm and familiar, and I feel a sense of peace trickle through my veins. I know he’s afraid of hurting me, but I need to be closer, so I slide onto his lap and thread my fingers through his hair.
“I missed you,” he whispers as he sucks my bottom lip between his. “I couldn’t stay away from you even when you asked.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I really did want to be with you. I just didn’t know how.”
“No more,” he says.
“No more,” I agree.
