Page 61 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

I nodded, because it was all I could do.

Then Gram stood, bustling to clear plates. “Now that we’ve had our group therapy, who wants more coffee?”

I did. I wanted a gallon of it, injected straight into the vein.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur; small talk, apologies, plans to call every week, maybe see a counselor together. Mom got a cute little pom-husky dog and showed me pics of a blue-eyed pup I wanted to spoil with endless walks. Dad fixed up Dolan’s car so much that it felt like a blast from the past to watch the video he’d taken of him walking around it and detailing what he’d done. It was so surreal I half expected a camera crew to burst in and shout, “You’ve been punked!”

I almost laughed at the thought. Instead, I kept my head down and tried to memorize the way the sunlight hit the kitchen wall, the smell of coffee cake, the sound of my parents’ voices when they weren’t fighting.

But then there was another knock at the door. Two quick, one slow.

My blood went cold. There was only one person in the world who knocked like that.

Gareth.

My heart stopped. Started again, double-time.

Gram looked at me, eyes wide. “I’ll get it,” she said, but I was already up, already halfway to the door.

He stood on the front step, hands fisted in the pockets of a charcoal suit that looked slept-in. His eyes were red, but dry, and for the first time ever, he looked…human. Vulnerable, even.

“Hi,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hi,” I echoed. My lungs forgot how to work.

He took a step forward, then stopped, as if the threshold was a force field.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and it was so simple, so raw, that it almost undid me. “I was wrong. About everything.”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

He tried again. “You were right. I was afraid. Not of you, or this-” he gestured at the house, the family, the future, “but of losing control. Of letting myself care that much.”

I bit my lip, the words thick in my throat.

“I love you,” he said, and the words were a shockwave through my system. “I love you, Eden. And I don’t want to spend another day pretending I don’t.”

He stepped closer, leaving my skin buzzing. “But I understand if you never want to see me again. I’ll leave. I promise.”

I thought I would burst.

I thought I would break.

But then Gram’s voice came from behind me, loud and clear: “Are you going to invite him in, or make him propose on the stoop like a vacuum salesman?”

I blushed, but stepped aside.

He entered, cautious, every movement a question. My parents lingered in the kitchen, trying to look busy but obviously eavesdropping.

I looked up at him, every muscle trembling. “Why are you here?”

He swallowed, hard. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because I want to be with you. Because I want this-” he gestured at the whole messy tableau of family and coffee cake and morning light, “more than I want to win.”

I laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

He smiled, and it was real. “I know.”

We stood there, inches apart, the world spinning. I wanted to throw myself at him, but I also wanted to slap him for making it so hard.