Page 73 of Last Slice of Pie

He raises his voice back. “Yes, I am. I understand you, Lexi. I always have. I know this is your house and you feel the need to do it on your own. I know you think you have to be fully independent to be successful, but that’s not how you and I are going to work. I have the money, and you’re going to let me use it.”

“That’s right, it’s your money, to spend on yourself, for your things, not mine. I never asked for this, nor do I have expectations of this. I get it, you have a lot of money, but we aren’t about the money. You do you, and I’ll do me. Done. Period.” I pinch my lips together and square my shoulders to let him know this is a closed subject.

“No, not done, and as for things that are mine—well, you are mine, and I take care of what is mine. Don’t you get it? A huge part of me doing everything I’ve done for the past ten years is so I could one day be good enough for you, to support and take care of you.”

I start aggressively shaking my head.

“Yes, again, I know how independent you are, know you don’t need anyone, blah blah blah.” He waves his hand in the air. “But if you’re in this with me”—he points to himself—“like you say you are, you’re going to have to let me do things for you, like this.” He points to the back of the barn.

“Ugggh!” I let out a loud groan and stomp around in the dirt.

It’s not that I feel the need to have everything picture-perfect for him or for the world; I just wanted to do it all myself. I do want to be with him, but this is my house, my business. I’m not a charity case. I don’t want a handout, not from him, not from anyone, even if I need it. Why does this have to be so hard? I know these problems happen to everyone, but I swear it feels like they just happen to me.

“It’s not fair, Lex.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I stop to look at him. “If the roles were reversed, would you not offer to help me?” He asks like I’ve somehow wounded him.

Moving to stand in front of him, I raise my chin and defiantly say, “That’s different.”

“How? Why? It’s not different.” His gaze bores into mine as he leans down in my direction.

“I don’t know. It just is.”

“Well, get over it,” he says in a low tone. “Besides, if I’m going to live here half the time, as far as I see it, the house is mine too,” he challenges, staying eerily calm.

Stunned, I take a step away and stare at him. Even though I know we’re together again, I hadn’t really thought about the logistics yet. I don’t know if that was for self-preservation, just in case, or what, but now that he’s said this, I’m not sure I’ll be able to think of anything else. My anger quickly dissipates and excitement flutters in.

“You want to live here with me?” I tilt my head to the side a little.

“I don’t want to live in the tree house.” He smirks.

“You used to love it there,” I sass back.

“No, I loved you there. It was where I got to be with you.” He takes a step closer, and I have to tip my head back to look at him.

I purse my lips, and we slip into an intense staring contest as I think about what he’s just said. In my mind, it was always I had my house and he had his, but if we’re going to be together, which I’m praying will be the case indefinitely, maybe he’s right. This house would be his, too, and his house would be mine as well.

“Do I get to decorate your house?”

His lips twitch. “You get full cart blanche to decorate our houses.”

Our houses.

That’s when all the remaining fight leaves me and I surrender.

His handsome face. His sweet words. His unselfish heart.

How could I not?

“Fine, I’ll let you help with the repairs.” I concede, and a pleased smile spreads across his face, flashing the dimple that makes me weak.

“Good. I’m glad you see things my way.” He reaches for my hand, and our fingers tangle together.

“What I see is you standing here in front of me without your shirt on, and it’s making me stupid.” My eyes drift down to the broadness of his shoulders and the muscles of his arms.

He laughs.

“But seriously, that’s it. I don’t want your money, so don’t expect me to be sitting around waiting for handouts.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He grins, wrapping his other hand around my face.