Page 147 of Love Felt Like This

Like we’ve been kissing forever.

I feel it all the way down to my toes, curling into my fluffy socks and gripping the den carpet beneath. I exhale into him as he cups the back of my neck in his large palm.

He pulls away far too soon, whispering another “Hey.”

“Hi.”

I close the door, shutting out the chill, and walk up the stairs behind him. He’s wearing denim pants, as usual, but did they always fit this well? I sip my coffee. He put in just the right amount of sugar.

Ava has been crawling her way up the steps and is nearly at the top, so we patiently wait until she is standing again. She toddles her way back to Nana’s bedroom. When she turns the corner, Nana lets out a dramatic, cooing “Well, hello there, sweet cheeks.”

Griffin takes a seat on the bed. I gingerly sit next to him, accidentally sliding into the depressed section, where his body sinks into the mattress. My arm presses against his, his waffled long-sleeve sending goose bumps over my skin.

He stares at me, quirking up a curious eyebrow. I feel my face flush again.

“Wow,” Nana coos. “Is this a little valentine?”

Ava nods, extending her folded piece of pink paper toward Nana, followed by the single flower.

Nana places a palm to her chest. “And it’s for me?”

Ava nods so much her bangs swing loose from their pins, which I’m sure Griffin took great care securing.

“Well, thank you,” Nana says. “This is very sweet of you.”

Something brushes my knee. I look down to see the outside of Griffin’s pinkie tracing over my pajamas. I swear I feel a bead of sweat roll down my back.

I stand and bend to Ava’s level.

“Want me to put that in a pretty vase for Nana?” I ask.

Ava nods, and I take the flower, trailing out of the hot room and down the hall toward the kitchen.

Thumping footsteps—perfect, leather boots—fall over hardwood behind me. My heart catapults into my throat. I’m lightheaded again.

“I didn’t exactly need an escort,” I tease, turning to see my stalker.

There’s a satisfied twitch in the corner of Griffin’s mouth. “I can’t help myself.”

I’m definitely going to pass out. I don’t think my heart can take another blow to the chest. I reach for the skinniest vase in the cabinet and pull it down.

“What are your plans for Valentine’s Day?” he asks.

The vase slips, and I fumble it through both hands, catching it before it hits the ground. I finally rest it on the counter, then twist around on the spot.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I hadn’t really planned on celebrating.” Then sheepishly I admit, “I’ll probably be working.”

He slowly nods. “Hmm.”

“I never really celebrate Valentine’s Day,” I say. At least, Beau and I never did. We said we didn’t need holidays to prove our love to each other. That it was cheesy and performative. But ever since our breakup, I’ve found I kinda like the pink and red and cutout hearts. I like the cheese.

“Hmm,” Griffin repeats, more to himself than to me.

“What’s with all the caveman grunts?”

“I’d like to spend Valentine’s Day with you.”

He says it so matter-of-factly. I clutch the edge of the kitchen counter.