Page 88 of Don't Think

That’s when I see it.

In the corner of the balcony, a small table is set with linens and more rose petals with his acoustic guitar leaning casually against one of the legs.

My eyes widen while I take in everything, my mouth opening and closing, but no words come out.

He gently pulls me toward the table, sliding a chair out with a slightly shaky hand.

“My lady,” he says with a crooked smile, dipping his head in an exaggerated bow.

I sink slowly into the wooden seat, still trying to wrap my head around everything, but just too scared to ask out loud in case I ruin anything.

He quickly rounds the table and lowers himself into the opposite chair, and I just sit there, completely stunned and staring at every single move he makes.

He clears his throat, his eyes flicking from me to the floor and back again.

“I’m not really sure how to do this,” he admits, with an awkward, light laugh. “So I’m just going to show you something first.”

He leans down and gently wraps his fingers around the neck of his Taylor acoustic—almost identical to the one mounted on the wall of my aunt’s house. He rests it against his knee, takes a breath, and strums a chord so beautiful it actually takes my breath away.

My eyes lock onto his hands, completely transfixed as they move up the neck with the kind of ease that only comes from muscle memory. Like he’s played this song a hundred times.

Then he starts singing, and I’m so utterly, completely swoon, I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

“I don’t know why,

I don’t know how,

all I know is when I’m with you,

I don’t think.

My thoughts swirl like a viciouscycle,

but with you,

I don’t think.”

His voice is soft but steady, and the lyrics, god, the lyrics. They feel like they were written straight out of my own head. Like he somehow cracked me open and turned all of my messy, overthinking worries into something truly beautiful.

When he strums the final note, it lingers in the air between us. I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel the tears drip off my chin.

He carefully places the guitar back where it was, then reaches across the table, his fingers wrapping gently around mine.

“I know this was never meant to become something serious between us, Allie,” he begins. “And I tried like hell to ignore every feeling that kept sneaking in, but I just… I can’t anymore.”

My free hand instinctively reaches for my mouth, covering it while I try like hell to steady my breathing.

He squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back to him.

“And I’m sorry,” he says, his head tilting slightly. “I triedreallyhard not to fall in love with you.”

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head like he still can’t believe it himself. “But I did. I love all of you, Al. The good, the bad—andthe fact that you don’t like tea is pretty freakin’ bad.”

I laugh, the sound coming out shaky as the tears keep falling, but there’s no stopping them now.

When I look into his gorgeous blue eyes, all I can see are the unshed tears glimmering like marbles. Before I can even think, my hand flies up to cradle his face, running my thumbs down both cheeks in hopes it’ll somehow soothe him.

“Roses always reminded me of my mum,” he continues shakily. “And with them came so much grief—the grief of losing her, of feeling like I wasn’t the son she deserved.” He pauses, shaking his head. Then he lays his hands gently on top of mine.