Page 33 of Pretend it’s Forever

“There’s always a first.”

I paused, swallowing hard. “Who are you, Carson?”

He tilted his head, then reached forward, brushing my hair from my face. “I’m no one.”

“That’s a lie,” I said, a smile playing on my face.

“I’m just a man. I own a business. I’m a brother. And I want you. Even though I know it’s not good for either one of us.”

“I know it’s not good for either one of us at all. I don’t want anyone, Carson. I played at forever, and I broke.”

“I can never promise forever,” he whispered.

The truth of the blow ached, and yet it was a relief. Because I couldn’t promise forever either.

“Who are you, Sophia Cage?”

“I wish I knew the answer to that,” I said with a laugh that held no humor.

“Should I tell you who I see?”

“Who?” I asked.

“I see a mother, a woman, a dancer, and someone who strives for goodness. Someone who should not be standing in front of me.”

“And yet you’re the one who came here,” I said honestly. He studied me for a moment, and then I took a step away and looked at the bags. “Is any of that perishable?”

“Most likely.”

“I suppose I should show you the kitchen then.”

“I suppose you should.”

I had no idea what the hell I was doing, and I knew it was a mistake, but I led him deeper into my home, wondering when I would wake up from this impossible dream.

“I like your house.”

“Aston helped me find it,” I said after a moment, feeling awkward that a man was in my home. A man who wasn’t related to me.

“He’s good at real estate, it’s one reason that I’m working with him.”

My lips twitched. “And I suppose the fact that my brother can make money out of nothing doesn’t hurt.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Harper really told you my favorite foods?”

“Some of them. And then I saw what you ate at your brother’s house, and what you picked up at the cafe. If I’m wrong, then I can eat it. Not a big deal. But, well…” He sighed, running his hands over his hair. I had never seen him look so out of sorts. It made me like him all the more.

“Carson?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I wanted to be here, so I came up with an excuse. I should go, but I’m not going to unless you tell me to leave.”

I looked at him, the utter openness in that sentence breaking down a small wall.

“I don’t want you to go either.”

“Good.” We stood there, staring at one another for a few more moments, before he began to pull out cheese, my favorite crackers, a chocolate bar, fruit, and turkey jerky that was my craving recently.