My view of him shifts ever so slightly.
“I’ve been going to counseling.” He sits up a little straighter.
“So have I,” I whisper.
He smiles. “I know it’ll take some time. As you can see, I’m still trying to figure this out. But I’d like to… start over, if we can.”
I pull my lips between my teeth, thinking for a moment. Then, I nod. “I think I’d like that.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Agust of wind sweeps into the room the moment I open the door for Aunt Joan. She’s got her hands full, as always, so I take a few bags from her.
“I’m picking the next book,” I say before she’s even inside, letting her know what I thought of her choice for romance book club.
“Not how this works, sweet cheeks.” She uses the Tupperware of cookies to push me out of the way and edge into the house.
“I see what you’re trying to do, and you’re wrong.” I close the front door.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Joan sets the cookies on the counter, then digs around in her purse and pulls out a box of brownies from my favorite bakery. She’s been supplying me with a steady stream of sweets for weeks now.
“Grab some plates so we can get started, willyou?” In addition to the food, she empties a bag of romance books, stacking each haphazardly.
The bag I took from her looks like it’s got two casseroles in it, so I stash them in the freezer. Kiara joins us in the kitchen, pulling up a stool and swiping a brownie before Aunt Joan can plate them.
I pick up this week’s romance book from the counter and wave it at Joan. “I know what you’re doing.”
“And what exactly is that?” She carries the food to the coffee table before spinning to face me, pinning her hands to her hips.
“With the books!” I sigh in exasperation, dropping onto the couch. “Every single one of them involves a heroine pushing the love interest away and preemptively breaking up with him because she’s afraid. I’m not afraid.”
“Someone thinks they’re the heroine now?” Aunt Joan narrows her eyes.
Kiara brings over the pitcher of sangria she made up earlier and three glasses. There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I told her she was reading into things.”
“I’m not reading into things. I know you two.” The book lands with a thud on the coffee table. “I didn’t break up with Cosmos because I was afraid.”
“Then why in Santa’s boxers did you break up with the poor boy?”
I let out a huff, barely reacting to yet another of Aunt Joan’s stranger curses. “I’m not like those romance novel women.”
“I think she doth protest too much.” Aunt Joan sits down in the armchair across from me.
Kiara pours me a glass and hands it over. “Maybe it’s time you told us what happened, so we can understand.”
How can I explain it? There’s no way they’d believe me about stopping time.
“Spit it out, Clam Shell. I don’t have all night. I’ve got to drive kids to soccer early tomorrow morning. Get on with it.” Aunt Joan’s gruff directness always bothered me when I was growing up, but over the past few months I’ve come to appreciate it. Most people walk on eggshells around me since Mom’s death. But not Aunt Joan. It’s nice having one person who doesn’t treat me like glass. It makes me feel almost normal.
She may have her rough edges, but she’s been here for me when I need her. So has Kiara.
I look between the two women and decide to be brave.
I tell them everything. How out of my league he is. How I felt I’d never deserve him. How we stopped time. His magical family history. His history with falling hard and fast. How he made me feel. How much I miss him.
Occasionally they ask clarifying questions, but there’s no doubt in their eyes and no accusations that I’m making it all up. They don’t laugh, or make fun of me, or tell me I’m crazy. They believe me.
As I lay out the story for them, I suddenly see it more clearly. Like the plot of a book outlined on indexcards. They’re right. I did push Cosmos away preemptively.
