Page 104 of All Our Nevers

“No really. Let me say this. When I first met you, yes, I had this knee-jerk reaction and it was like… physical. I don’t think I even realized why I was reacting that way until later. But the more I get to know you, you couldn’t be more different from Connor. Even physically, his stupid red hair, and—” I can tell he doesn’t believe me, is maybe even tuning me out, so I say, “Hey. Pull over again.”

“What?”

“Pull over. Right now.”

Owen signals right, pulling off on the nearest side street. The moment he shifts into park I’m on him, crawling into his lap and taking his face in my hands.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I say, “You are extremely hot. Okay?”

Owen laughs as best he can with his face smushed between my palms. “Okay.”

“And you are nothing like Connor, and you are nothing like your dad.”

“Lia—”

“Shh.” I stop him with a finger over his lips. “Do you really think I would date you if you were the slightest bit like either of them? Really, ask yourself that. Based on what you know about me as a person, do you think I would agree to date you if I thought you resembled either of them in the slightest bit, either physically or personally?”

He reaches up to take one of my hands in his, turning it to kiss my palm. “No, I don’t.”

“Good.” I run my fingers over his neatly trimmed beard, then up into his hair. “And now that I know you, I love your eyes. You know why?”

“Why?” he asks, humoring me.

“Because they tell me everything you’re feeling that you won’t say. They make everything so obvious. I can read you like a book. And I like that. Because you know what I see in that book?”

“What?”

“I see you thinking lots of hateful things about people I also hate, and thinking lots of very flattering things about me.”

He laughs even louder now, filling the car, drowning out the rain with his relief.

“Am I right?”

He reaches one hand up to cup the base of my skull, fingers twining into my long curls as he says, “You’re absolutely right.”

Then he kisses me, softer and slower than he ever has before, and I feel his appreciation in every motion of his lips, and every stroke of his thumb over my cheek. I run my hand up his arm—over the scar from the week of Andy’s graduation—then into his hair, the scar from his father’s abuse. Over his chest; the past that fractured his heart, now repaired like kintsugi with pure gold.

Again, he says, “I’m sorry I made this about me.”

“You didn’t.” I kiss him once more, then say, “But damn, tonight has been depressing.”

“I do have one piece of news I’m hoping you’ll like. I was gonna tell you when we got back to my place, make it more of a grand gesture, but…”

“Tell me now,” I say, wiggling slightly in his lap. “I love good news.”

“Okay, well, your birthday is in a few weeks…”

“Yes…”

“And I looked at your calendar while we were at your place, and you have five days in a row without events scheduled.”

“I always take my birthday week off.”

“Do you have plans for it?”

“Not yet, but I’m gonna make some.”