“Ahh yes, the eternal question. WhyamI such a pushover?”
“You, a pushover?” he asks. “Are we discussing an alternate dimension?”
“It’s just the way I am with my family,” I admit, brushing a damp lock of his hair from his forehead. “And pretty much everyone else who means something to me.”
Except for you, I think. For better or for worse, I’ve never felt the need to sugarcoat myself with him.
His gaze softens like he can hear my thoughts. “You don’t seem to have a problem standing up to dastardly divorce attorneys.”
I shrug self-consciously. “Standing up for the people I love is easy. Saying no to them, though…” I grimace. “It’s why I said yes to planning this party.”
His eyebrows pull together. “And does your family understand how much time you’re sacrificing to organize it for them?”
I snort. “Definitely not. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t stopped trying to get them to luh”—I cut the word off just in time—“preciate me.”
He gives me a look that says I’m fooling no one. “We all crave some luh-preciation from our families sometimes. Especially when you’re being so neroic.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Some polite, selective amnesia would be great, thanks.”
“Are you kidding? You had me at grelpful, Gracie.”
“Stop, or tonight’s about to turn into a Nora Ephron film festival,” I threaten.
“Better than zombies,” he mutters.
I gasp in outrage, and he kisses my open mouth to stop the coming diatribe. When he releases me, I’m dizzy and disarmed.
“So, you said yes to planning this party, even though you have zero time for it?” he prompts.
“Yes, and in case you’re preparing to lecture me on drawing healthy boundaries, I’ll have you know that Sofia beat you to it about twenty years ago and hasn’t stopped since.”
“What makes you think I know a goddamn thing about healthy boundaries?” he asks, tugging on the drawstring of the sweatshirt.
“You seem pretty good at them to me.”
He looks at me, and the smile that lifts his lips is heartbreaking. “Sometimes. But when it comes to family, I know all about forgetting your best intentions when you think they might finally change.”
My throat tightens. “And you don’t think that could ever happen?”
His features flinch into something bleak. “From my experience, no. But hope doesn’t really give a shit about the facts, does it?”
I brush his hair back from his forehead. “It’s why we have to keep trying,” I say, unsure if I’m talking about our families, my wishes for Larkwood, or this reckless craving for more with him. “They say miracles do happen.”
He squeezes my hand. “When is your mom’s party?”
Wincing, I say, “Same weekend as the wedding.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Of course it is.”
“But I’m so close to finishing everything. I just need to drop off the favors this week and—”
“Will you tell them you won’t be going to the party, or doing any other planning?”
I laugh weakly. “I thought we just went over this. The word ‘no’ vanishes from my vocabulary with them.”
“What if I came with you?” he offers.
I blink. “Come with me?”
