Page 146 of Seale the Deal

She nods. I don’t know what to do.

And neither do I.

There’s a selfish, primal part of me that wants to tell her to say no. To delete the email, forget Los Angeles exists, and stay right here with me. I want to tell her that working at Fabric Delights in the day and spending her evenings on the couch beside me would be enough.

But what good would that do?

I told her I only wanted her to choose me if it was what she truly wanted. If staying here would make her happy. If Alaska was the life she would pick even if I wasn’t here.

If I love her, then that has to remain true now.

So instead, I say, Come here.

I pull her chair closer, and she lets me, her shoulder settling against mine. I hold her hand and stare at the wedding cake samples, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the woman I love is being handed this big opportunity.

Where do we go from here? she whispers.

I let out a slow breath. I don’t think I can answer that question.

Our eyes meet. We have the tour of the Cultural Center tomorrow.

I nod.

The thought of touring the place feels different than it did before. It used to just be another thing on the wedding checklist, and now it feels like we’re standing in the middle of a road that forks in two directions, pretending we know which way we’re going.

We don’t need to worry about that right now, I say quietly.

What do we worry about? I ask.

I think for a second before answering, Just enjoying this for what it is right now.

Something in her expression softens. Like she’s finally able to relax a little because everything she’s been holding inside has finally been released. And I’m glad she no longer feels like she’s carrying it alone.

Okay, she whispers.

I brush some of her curls from her face. Okay.

She snuggles closer to me, and I lazily run my fingers along her arm while the silence stretches between us. Even though a part of me wants to solve everything right now, a bigger part wants to enjoy that for a few precious minutes, the uncertainty of our future can feel far away.

Ruger?

Hm?

She lifts her head to look at me. Make love to me.

My breath catches. What?

There’s no uncertainty in her eyes when she repeats, Make love to me. Don’t just fuck me. Make it mean something.

I want to ask what she means by that. There isn’t one moment we’ve shared that hasn’t meant something to me.

Wrenley…

Whatever question I was about to ask disappears as she leans forward and kisses me. I kiss her back, cupping her cheek, and feel some of the tension that has been wrapped around both of us begin to loosen.

Without breaking apart for long, I unclip my CO belt and set it on the table before slipping an arm beneath her knees and another behind her back. She lets out a surprised laugh as I lift her from the chair.

Show-off, she murmurs.