Page 75 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

“You wouldn’t. I’m just extra-sensitive about it right now.”

“No part of you is extra-sensitive. And don’t you dare make a dick joke.”

The dick jokes are plentiful, but I don’t cling to my usual method of deflection. Or the grin I usually sport around Maggie. I inhale a lungful of cold air, hold it a beat, then let it seep out. “I haven’t mentioned it, but Mrs. Jackson is planning on selling the property, and I asked if she’d consider selling it to me.”

“Oh wow.” She stops walking, her usual wildfire expression more tender. “I had no idea you were thinking of buying it.”

“I love the house. It’s old but has great bones, and I’d work on it slowly over time. Renovate the smaller, outdated rooms, fix the falling-down barn, cut more trails through the trees. She’s keen. Sounds like it’ll actually work out, but…” I heave out a sigh.

“Why is there a but? Buying this place would be amazing. A house of your own.”

“It would be amazing. I’m thrilled it’s happening. I just don’t love that my father’s book money would be helping with the purchase.”

“Oh.” She studies her tall boots, then moves to stand in front of me. “I know I’ve said this before, but if you actually told that asshole off for being a supreme asshole, you might feel better about accepting his money.”

“Ugh.” I drop my head back, upping my dramatics. “Why do you keep harping on that?”

“Because he deserves to hear what you really think, and you deserve the closure that comes with getting it off your chest.”

I still don’t feel like I have closure, but she’s wrong. Telling him off would only up my anxiety. Which is why I haven’t told Maggie about his last text—the mysterious “thing” he still needs to tell me. Awareness of that message is a sliver burrowing under my skin, a sharp pinch I’ve studiously ignored. If I tell Maggie, she’ll just push harder, when what I need is to forget that man.

“While we’re on the subject of parents, have you mentioned to yours that they put too much pressure on you to be perfect?” Deflection for the win.

It’s her turn to sigh and slump. “They don’t put the pressure on me. I put it on myself.”

“Sure, but it’s all linked. You won’t be able to change your inner dialogue until you change the dialogue with them.”

“Maybe,” she says, but I can tell she’s brushing me off.

I’ll push her more another day, the same way she’ll keep urging me to confront my father. Nudging each other because we care.

I take her hand and twirl her away from me, drawing her back in an impromptu dance, finishing with a filthy kiss.

She hums against my lips. “What was that for?”

“For being you.” And getting us to happier topics. “Have I mentioned I have a surprise for you?”

Her eyes reflect the twinkling sky above. “Have I mentioned I love surprises?”

“If you quit making out with me, we’ll get there faster.”

“Me? You’re the one who—”

I steal another kiss, shutting her up in my favorite way. Soft, pliable lips. Seductive moans. A sensual swirl of our tongues, as the evening blankets us with privacy.

Slightly freaked about how hard I’ve fallen for her, I pull back and tug her through the property’s winding trail. I can’t help picturing the two of us living here together one day, strolling through the tall grasses at night, building a tree house in the forest, lying in the broad field, searching the sky for falling stars, painting the walls in our new home while also painting each other. A Maybe One Day fantasy.

When we crest the last rolling hill, Maggie gasps. “Lennon.”

The large maple near the tree line is dripping with fairy lights, sparkling in the darkness—a reminder of our early days, swimming under a twinkle of lights.

“It’s not a pond,” I say, “but it’s the closest I’ve got.”

“I love it,” she breathes.

Thank goodness for that. “Race you?”

“It’s dark out. Do you want me to trip on a rock and maim myself?”