Page 88 of One Last Thing Before You Go

I smile into her neck, my chest constricted. “Of course. Of course I came back. I was always gonna come back, Pretty Girl.” She sniffles once and nods, but I just tighten my grip around her, relishing in the feel of her body against mine.

When I can still feel her crying, I try to lighten the mood. “By the sheer amount of wrappers all over the apartment, I figured you were a Dove Dark Chocolate Squares girl, so I got you some more of those.” It works, because she pulls away and looks at me with a wet smile, cheeks flushed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I also got you some cookies, chips, and my personal favorite: Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” I pull the box from the bag and hold it up like a trophy. “Plus, two types of milk for the cookies and cereal—almond and regular—so that I don't have to drink that nut water you love so much.”

She stares back at me, eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling. “You did all this for me? Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Because I’m falling in love with you, I almost say, surprising myself. If I’m being honest—truly, one hundred percent honest with myself—I’ve been falling for this girl since the second I laid my eyes on her that night at the bar. She’s a goddess and I want to worship at her feet every day for the rest of my life. I’m not going to deny it’s how I feel any longer. At least to myself.

To Lottie, however… I can’t tell the most skittish woman in the world that she’s it for me, even if it feels that way. Not when she’s been so adamant about keeping boundaries between the two of us. Not when she continues to put up a new wall, as soon as I knock one down. So instead of telling her how I feel, instead of telling her I’m here to support her because I care for her in ways that would terrify her, I say, “We have a kind of odd relationship, right? But even with that, we are friends. And you’re not feeling well. So we’re gonna hang out, and I’m gonna help take care of you, okay? Just like friends do.”

I want to bang my head against the wall for how many times I brought up the F-word, wishing I were brave enough—that we were both brave enough—to delete it from our vocabulary once and for all.

“Thank you, but I don’t need your help, really. You don’t have to do this.” But she doesn’t say it in the tone she normally would, like she’s trying to push me away in earnest.

“Lottie,” I say, setting down the rest of my loot on her small kitchen table. I walk back and take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in mine. “You’re not okay right now. And I wanna help. So I’m gonna hang out for a while. You can sleep and I can chill on the couch— read a little, maybe. Or we can watch a movie together. Whatever. Let me help you. Please?”

Her eyes travel over my face for a second, searching, before she smiles softly and whispers a hesitant, “Okay.”

My stomach flips at the opportunity to be able to do this for her, to show her I care, to help her while she isn’t feeling well. “Okay, then. Let me prepare us some food and snacks while you set up your favorite comfort movie or show for us.”

She grimaces and shakes her head. “I—I don’t have a comfort movie.”

I laugh once. “Lies.” I make my way to her stove, searching for the box of Mac ’N Cheese so I can get it started. Turning to give her a look, I say “We all have a comfort movie. Bonus points if it’s embarrassing.”

I grin when I watch her sink lower into the bed, cheeks flushing. “Promise not to laugh?”

“Absolutely not.”

Lottie rolls her eyes. “That’s not fair. You need to promise.”

I laugh. “Come on,” I whine, but she stands firm. “Okay, I promise not to laugh at your guilty pleasure comfort movie.”

“It’s, ah, Twilight. My comfort movie is Twilight.”

I press my lips together to suppress a laugh, but I’m honestly not surprised. I’m too young to remember the book frenzy, but I know a lot of women my age are obsessed with the movie franchise—though I have no idea why. The idea of a sparkly vampire and werewolf romance doesn’t particularly appeal to me. But for her, I’ll watch it.

Still, I laugh. “You don’t strike me as a Twilight fan, if I’m being honest.” Though by now I know her hard exterior is a consequence of being hurt bad by life and love, not because she doesn’t have the capacity for it. To be filled to the brim by it, to be able to give it to the right person.

Hopefully me, someday.

She huffs, sitting up in bed. “I’m not exactly a Twihard,” she starts. “But you could say I was a—ahem—fan of the books. I confess I did have an Alice Cullen Fan Club t-shirt at one point.”

This time, I can’t help the laughter as it rolls out of me. “Ooh, I can just see you waiting in line at midnight outside of the bookstore for the last book in the series.”

She shoots me a look, cheeks tinged in an adorable pink.

“So, which one are we watching? I haven’t seen any of them, but I’m sure I’ll catch up quickly.”

She eyes me suspiciously for a moment. “You’re staying?”

“Of course I am. I’m making you food, aren’t I?”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, her hard exterior making a reappearance.

“Okay, but I’m doing a marathon. Watching all five of them,” she threatens. “It’s the only way to do it.”