Page 90 of Bound To Be Mine

The house felt too quiet without her in it. I checked my phone. Nearly ten. The wedding had been scheduled to end at nine, but these things always ran late.

I poured myself a glass of water and stood at the kitchen window. When had this happened? When had I gone from viewing this as a temporary arrangement to something I actively dreaded ending?

My phone buzzed. A text from her.

Mandy: Finally wrapping up. I’m exhausted and starving. Be home in 20.

Me: I’ll order food. What do you want?

Mandy: Surprise me. Just nothing healthy. I need comfort food.

I ordered from the Chinese place she loved, making sure to get extra of her favorite orange chicken.

She came through the door looking absolutely wrecked. Her hair had escaped whatever style she’d put it in that morning. Her makeup was smudged. There was what looked like frosting on her sleeve.

She was beautiful.

“Hi,” she said, dropping her bag by the door and toeing off her heels with a groan of relief.

“Hi.” I held up the takeout bags. “Orange chicken, spring rolls, and that fried rice you like.”

Her face lit up. “You’re perfect. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not recently.”

She walked over and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest. I held her, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the faint smell of wedding flowers.

“Long day?” I asked.

“The longest.” Her voice was muffled against my shirt. “But it was beautiful. Everything went perfectly. The bride was so happy she couldn’t stop crying, which made her mother cry, which almost made me cry. There was a lot of crying.”

“Sounds traumatic.”

“It was wonderful.” She pulled back to look up at me. “But I’m so tired I could sleep for a week.”

“Let’s get you fed first.”

We settled on the couch with our food. She told me about the wedding while we ate. I watched her talk. I couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to look away.

This feeling in my chest was something I’d never experienced before. It was terrifying and exhilarating and I had no idea what to do with it.

“You’re staring,” she said, a smile playing at her lips.

“Sorry. You’re just—you get really animated when you talk about your work.”

“It’s my favorite thing.” She set down her mostly empty container. “It never gets old.”

“You’re good at it.”

“I am.” She said it without arrogance, just stating a fact. “I love what I do.”

I should have brought it up then. The conversation we needed to have about what happened when my time in LA ran out. About how this couldn’t last forever, no matter how much we might want it to.

But I looked at her tired smile and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin the perfect moment with reality.

Tomorrow. I would bring it up tomorrow.

“Come on,” I said, standing and offering her my hand. “Bath time.”