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“Sorry.” I bit into my bagel. “It was a joke.”
“Twenty-seven,” she answered, but she looked like she was thinking about something.
I nodded, chewing on my food. “Twenty-seven years young. Promise me right now”—I pointed my bagel her way—“that from this day forward, you’ll be doing things not out of obligation or because others expect things from you, but because you want to. You’re no longer going to get bagels for the ad agency. The first thing you will do in the morning is go out and get yourself a damn good cup of coffee because that’s what you want to do.”
“Well, you kinda forced me to take care of you. Does that count in this situation too?”
Well, shit. “I’m giving you something in return though, and don’t deny it—you like taking care of me. And I’m talking about your family here, not me. I’ve asked you for a few favors. I have a feeling they have an expectation of you that you feel like you have to fulfill.”
The corner of her mouth tipped up, and she chewed on her bagel.
I stilled her with a pointed stare. She wasn’t going to give me an answer, was she?
The hardest roadblock in recovery was denial. We were past that step. Now, she had to take action.
I didn’t know why it was so important to me, but it was. Maybe because she was the most selfless person I knew.
In my industry, everyone was a taker. My agent, the team, my endorsements. Even my family were takers, though with them, I didn’t mind giving.
If I could impart anything onto Sydney during this time with me, I hoped it was this.
“I’m serious, Sydney.”
“Fine,” she said begrudgingly.
I leaned into her, getting so close that I could smell the mint on her lips from her toothpaste.
Our eyes locked, and my breath caught.
God, she was beautiful.
Women didn’t make me nervous. I made them nervous. But with Sydney, this felt different.
She made my heart beat faster, like an adrenaline rush after sliding to home plate, which was odd because I was sitting here on the kitchen barstool, utterly still.
Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t fawn over me, which wasn’t the typical reaction of women around me. I couldn’t pinpoint why she made me so nervous.
“Okay. All right. I will.” Her voice was shaky, almost breathless.
And I knew I was affecting her, which only drew me toward her.
I inched closer because I wanted to, because there was a magnetism with this woman that drew me in. My eyes flashed toward her lips, toward the sliver of cream cheese on the side of her mouth.
She stopped breathing altogether, and we were fixed in some sort of trance.
The urge to kiss her was so strong that it took all my willpower to stay rooted in my spot, to not move a few inches forward, to not close the gap between us.
“How are you going to do this exactly?” I asked.
She laughed. “What?”
I grinned. “You just made me a promise. I don’t take these things lightly. How are you, Sydney Loverly, going to put yourself first above everyone else in your family?”
Her chin dipped a little, and she set her bagel down. With all the honesty this woman could exude, she said, “I don’t know.” Her voice was whisper soft, so soft that I strained to hear her. What I did hear was the vulnerability in her tone, as though she were lost in the dark and without a flashlight in sight.
“Well … let’s start off with the basics. What did you want to do, growing up? What are your life goals?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “I feel like I’ve lost my identity in a way. Ever since yesterday, I’ve been thinking of what you said, and you’re right. Serena was right. I do sacrifice a lot for my family, but the thing is”—her eyes locked with mine—“I’m not unhappy about it. I want to do it. My family is my life.”
