I grin. “Or chocolate chip. I’m an equal opportunity cookie consumer.”
A roll of her eyes.
But she’s smiling.
Beautiful and happy and mine.
Yeah, life is pretty fucking perfect.
Which means that it’s also the prime moment for it to all come tumbling down.
I take her hand as we pull onto my street, loving that I can touch her, tease her, kiss her, make love to her any time I want.
Well, obviously, she’s part of that decision-making process too.
I just…
I love that she’s here beside me.
Even if she has to go back to her kitchen this evening so she can pick up the food she prepped.
She has a full schedule for the next couple of weeks and point-blank told me that she’s taking every job she can for as long as she can.
I hate that.
Hate that it’s because of the bills. Hate that I can’t shoulder that burden for her.
I have the means. The desire to help her.
So why don’t you just talk to her and ask if she needs help, dumbass?
Because she’s worried about paying twenty bucks for breakfast when she had a stack of bills on her counter and is taking so many jobs she’s working every day for the next two weeks.
Which brings me back to: Just talk to her, dumbfuck.
I bite back a sigh.
Because I know my inner asshole is telling me the truth.
I need to talk to her, need to tell her I know about the bills, and?—
“Leo? Are you okay?”
I blink, realize I’ve pulled into the driveway.
“Yeah. Sorry, I’m good.” I shift the transmission into park. “I was just thinking you were right earlier. We should discuss?—”
A flicker in the corner of my eye has my mouth dropping open.
“What the fuck?”
Her hand takes mine. “What’s wrong?”
I groan, turn back to Harper.
“It’s my parents.”
Thirty-Nine
