Page 102 of Never Your Valentine

“Hi neighbor,” I say, because I’m stupid like that.

She brings her hands to her mouth. “You are,” she says through her fingers. “I thought Grant Neverly doesn’t chase.”

“I can explain,” I say.

“Please do.”

She’s standing on the door’s threshold, a step above me, so we’re almost the same height, and she’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her.

“I’m really broken.” My throat is pinched and it’s hard to get the words out. “But I’ve finally broken…open.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Grant I know.” She touches a finger to my chest. “You’ve got things locked up pretty tight in there.”

“In my defense, I was deeply repressed.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’ve been closed off for a long time. So long that it felt normal to me. I told myself that love was bullshit because if it wasn’t real, then I couldn’t fail at it.”

Annabelle’s eyes are patient. She’s giving me space and daring me to fill it. I scrub a hand over my face and pace the small rectangle of porch. I practiced my speech all the way to Ann Arbor. I had six hours to rehearse it. But now that I’m here, I can’t remember a single word.

I stop in front of Annabelle. I don’t need a prepared speech. I only need to tell her what’s in my heart.

“You came to town,” I say. “And moved right in. To my building. To my life. To my heart. You didn’t even try. You were just yourself. And suddenly I felt…feelings. A lot of them. It scared the hell out of me.”

Annabelle shifts her feet. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I take a step closer to her. “After you left, I took a turn in the rage room. For two hours. Which is apparently a medical emergency.”

She huffs out a breath. “I can imagine.”

“It was worse than you can imagine. Everyone showed up. Half the town was there. I thought they were there to make fun of me.”

“They would never,” Annabelle says quietly.

I swallow. “They were there because they love me.”

She swats my shoulder. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

I catch her hand. Hold it. She lets me. My heart soars. “I figured out more than that,” I say. “If people love me, then I deserve love. And if I’m lovable, then I can give love too. I can give it to you.”

Silence settles between us, thick and warm, like a blanket. At this moment, standing on this cracked porch in Ann Arbor, we’re the only two people in the world.

“I chased you across the state because I want to be with you. With feelings. And discussions. I want to make plans for our future.” I show her the paper bag I brought. “I have something for you.”

Her eyes dart to it. “If you’re about to hold speakers over your head while a love song plays, I swear to⁠—”

“It’s not a love song.” I reach into the bag and lift out the tiered tray. The cracks are still there if you know where to look, but I like that. The once-broken parts aren’t erased. They’re honored.

Annabelle’s breath stalls. She starts to speak. Stops. Covers her mouth then lowers her hands. “You fixed my tray? But I smashed it.”

“I know.”

“I smashed it so hard. It was in pieces.”

“It was.”

“That must have taken forever,” she says.