“That’s right,” he says. Why isn’t he saying more? What is he waiting for?
“How did you get my address?”
Miles’s face lights up with a smirk at this. “Your buddy Walter. He was at the resort for another week after you left and we got to chatting, and he had no problem passing on your address for the sake of true love, as he said.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “His words, not mine.”
“That old dog,” I say.
Walter and I haven’t started our pen-pal exchange yet. I have his address and a half-written letter to him that I had every intention of finishing this weekend—and now I definitely will,as I’ll need to include some words about him giving out my address without asking. No doubt Walter will have himself a little chuckle as he reads it, pleased as punch with himself.
I toe the hardwood floor, dragging the tip of my slipper across the ground in front of me. “Why didn’t you call, Miles? Or text?”
“I wanted to. Within days of you leaving, I wanted to reach out. I wanted to apologize. You deserve an apology from me, but I wanted to give it to you in person.”
“Okay…” I say, determined not to ask any more questions, to just let him speak.
“First and foremost, I want to apologize. When we had that conversation, I could not hear you the way you deserved to be heard. I was…selfish and single-minded and I was so afraid of losing you that I didn’t think holding you tighter might mean I’d lose you anyway.
“And while this is not an excuse for my actions, I got diagnosed with anxiety shortly after you left. And I think I was close to having a panic attack during our conversation, so I only heard what the anxiety was letting me hear.”
As soon as he says the wordanxiety, so many things click into place for me. The restlessness, the sometimes-unreasonable need for control over things, the way he sometimes seems super on edge. Even now, thinking back on his body language during our fight on the boat, anxiety certainly makes sense.
“And again, I’m not trying to make an excuse?—”
“No, I don’t think you are. I believe you,” I say and reach out to place a comforting hand on his arm. His shoulders lower as he visibly relaxes under my touch. It makes me want to hug him so bad, but I sense he has more to say, so I resist and fold my arms across my chest again.
“Once I was able to clear my head, it became really obvious really fast that what you asked for isn’t unreasonable. That I wasthe unreasonable one to think it made sense for us to commit to each other again after such a short amount of time.”
The relief that sweeps through me at his words is enough to bring me to my knees. I dig my fingers into my arm just to stay grounded.
“Of course you didn’t trust me after nine days—a few of which you spent avoiding me. Of course you wanted to wait to commit to anything, and I am actually very grateful that you are being so mindful about a decision. I am, as always, impulsive and rash and it’s gotten me in so much trouble.”
His description of himself elicits a laugh from me. I feel lighter, like all the heavy feelings of missing him have been lifted. He isn’t just here. He’s here and apologizing and telling me that I was right.
I’m itching for him to pull me into his arms. For him to kiss me. But he continues.
“But I’m working on myself. As soon as I’m done in Mexico, I’m connecting with a therapist in Pittsburgh to figure out how to live with anxiety but also to address the stuff about my dad.”
My breath catches in my throat at this. What the hell happened in the last two weeks?
“You were so patient with me when we dated in college—when I was so emotionally stunted—and if I were you, I’m not sure I’d want to get emotionally involved again with me either.”
This is more than I ever expected from him. I thought maybe I’d get an apology and a “you were right,” but this man is monologuing and I might need him to hold me so I don’t actually fall over. I grip the sink behind me, hoping it will keep me steady. Inside, I’m a goner. My heart is a puddle, melted by all his words, and tears are just a blink away.
“So I’m here to ask you to go on a date with me, but with the caveat that you should take all the time in the world you need to decide if I’m worthy of you. And I plan to prove that I am.
“I stand by what I said when I said I don’t want to wait, but I am more than willing to. I want to earn your yes. I want to take you on dates and spend as much time with you as I can. I want to get to know you and I want to show you all of me. I want to make you laugh and hold you when you cry and I want—god, I want so much for you. I want so much for us, but I am willing to wait as long as it takes for you to trust me, because Abby?—”
His voice breaks as he says my name, and finally, he steps toward me, running his hands down my arms. Instinctively, I reach for him, resting my hands on his sides. He swallows and blinks a few times, craning his neck back as if to keep tears from spilling. I have no such sense of self-preservation. I let the tears fall, and I think this is too much for him because his chin wobbles as he looks me in the eye. He looks like he’s going to say something, but stops himself. He slides his hands down the length of my arms to my hands, which he takes in his.
“Abby, you are so precious to me; I would be a fool for treating you with anything but the utmost care.” He brings my hands up to his mouth, pressing soft kisses along my knuckles. “You put the ball in my court and I’m putting it back in yours. And I’ll hold out until you’re begging me to be yours,” he says.
I let out an involuntary laugh-sob. The corners of his lips pull into a grin.
“You would.”
“I just mean that it’s going to be up to you. I’m going to keep showing up. I’m not going anywhere. And Abby…”
He slides his thumb over my cheek, wiping away the fresh tears and cradling my face in one hand. I lean into it, closing my eyes to savor his touch.
