Page 100 of The Tartan Thesis

This feels like the right moment to take Maeve’s advice.

“Torin, I need to tell you something,” I say, looking him in those beautiful green eyes. He braces himself, so I dive right in. “I’ve been attracted to you since the day we met. That’s why I behaved like an asshat that first day. If I’m into someone, I have no clue what to do with myself. Even when you were a jerk to me in class, I still thought you were smart and hot. It was maddening. Then we started spending more time together, and as I’ve gotten to know you, it’s only made me want you more.”

His eyes go wide before he blinks in rapid succession, his parted lips confirming I haven’t done a good job of showing him how I feel. Friends with benefits? God, I’m the worst.

“Torin, why would I spend Christmas and Hogmanay with your family and make out with you multiple times if I weren’t interested?”

“I thought you just liked the holidays!” he shouts in a whisper, and my eyes go wide. “I thought I was a convenient way for you to have one of your Hallmark movie moments!”

“And Burns Night?” I ask.

“Again, I assumed it was just physical.”

I sit back in my seat, reeling. I’m generally aware of my romantic shortcomings, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.

“Torin, let me be clear here,” I say, leaning toward him again. “I am incredibly into you. I kissed you over the holidays because I wanted to, not to try to live in a fantasy. And this goes well beyond the physical for me. I want to take you on dates, I want to kiss you a million times, I want to take you to my bedroom and show you even more of what you were missing before you knew me.”

He chokes on his drink. “Easy there,” I murmur, pushing his water glass toward him. After a few sips, he nods, a little breathless, gesturing for me to keep going.

I take a breath. Slow it down.

“Torin, I want to be the first person you tell when something exciting happens, the person who holds you when you cry. I want to date you and do it so damn well that you realize what a shit job your ex did and just how much your devotion is worth. I want to do it properly. No guessing. No gray areas.”

I grab his other hand, squeezing them both and locking my gaze with his.

“I realize this is our first official date,” I say, “and that this is probably far more serious than you were anticipating. But I want you to understand how I feel about you. How I’ve felt about you for a long time.”

“Beau…”

“No, I don’t need you to say anything in return. I don’t need any declarations, and I’m not asking how you feel about me. Take whatever time you need to figure it out. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“A chance?” Torin asks, his voice husky.

“A chance to show you that you mean so much more to me than some brief holiday romance or a”—I hesitate—“fuck buddy.” The words taste bitter in my mouth, especially in reference to me and Torin, so I rush on. “Give me a chance to prove to you that I’m serious about this. About us.”

Goosebumps race across my skin at that word, and I see the echo of it on him. I rub my thumbs over the back of his hands and go on.

“Given what you just told me about your shitty ex, I get why you’d hesitate,” I say, kicking myself for not asking before, “but I’m too deep into this not to ask you to give us a go.”

He pulls his hands from mine, and the pang at the loss of contact is immediate. It was too much. I came on too strong. I never should’ve asked him out. I’m ruining this. Like always. I stare at the table, at a smear of olive oil, at the edge of my glass, anywhere but him.

This is it. This is where he tells me no. Where he pulls back.

The silence stretches. One second that feels like an hour. Long enough that I’m sure something inside me breaks. I risk a glance up. He’s watching me. With what? Amusement?

I need to backpedal, reduce the damage—

“I’d like that,” Torin says.

Simple. Easy. Like he didn’t just rearrange my entire nervous system.

The breath I let out is almost a laugh, almost a collapse, something loosening all at once as warmth surges through me, quick, electric, impossible to contain, zinging to every corner of my body.

“Yeah?” I ask, a tremble in my voice.

“Yeah,” he says, trying out my accent again.

He grabs my hands again, and this time it doesn’t feel tentative or careful. It feels settled. Like a decision’s been made, and I can’t stop the ridiculous grin that stretches across my face. I don’t even try.