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Trust him, Ziggy. Believe in him. Like you always have.
Sebastian faces me, brow furrowed, head tipped as he walks closer, sliding his hand up my arm until his grip wraps around my elbow. “C’mere, Sigrid.”
I bite my lip harder, trying to breathe steadily. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” He smiles softly, drifting his other hand across my back as he peers at me, gaze holding mine. “I’m pretty scared, too.”
“You—” My voice catches. I suck in a deep breath, then breathe out. “You are?”
He nods. “I’ve been ‘pretty scared’ since the day I saw you.”
“Since the day you saw me?”
“Oh, yeah. First time Ren had me over, you were there, at his place—well, you were out on the beach right beyond the house—throwing the ball with that demon dog—”
“My puppy niece is not a demon dog. You watch your mouth.”
He grins. “You were throwing Pazza the ball. The wind was whipping your hair around. And the way you smiled as you crouched to the sand with her, then laughed when she knocked you over, it just…” He blows out a breath, patting his hand over his heart. “Hit me. Right here. So, naturally, from that point, I avoided you at all costs.”
I stare at him. “You…did that on purpose?”
He steps closer, his knuckles brushing my cheek. “Very on purpose. And I held off pretty well for a couple years, avoiding you. But to no avail. Little did I know what an acrimonious relationship you and underwear have or how damn good you are at breaking and entering. Before I knew it, you’d infested my dreams so badly I went on a wild nighttime drive just to escape you and crashed my damn car. Then, when I was sulking about the miserable life I’d made for myself, you scaled my house, pushed your way into my life, and, Jesus, Ziggy, it was the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me—every moment I’ve known you.
“That month, when all we did was spend time together. The past six months that have taught me what it is to make a promise and keep it, to want and yet deny myself, to ache and still wait, so I could stand here in good faith and tell you, I’m still fucking afraid that I’m not enough for you, that I never will be, but I’ve got this ruthless shrink who gives me these disturbingly healthy, hopeful reassurances like, that’s my past talking, not the present I share with you, or the future that I want to.
“I’ve learned, working on myself, to believe what the shrink says, that I could either let my fear of inadequacy keep me frozen, where I’ve been, where I’ve kept us, or I could live with you in all my imperfection, trusting you with that fear. Once I wrapped my head around that, it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made because only one of those options lets me love you the way I want to, and all I want to do is love you. So…I’m here to tell you that all those fears I’ve already shared with you before, that I’m sharing with you now, they’re here, but they don’t get to come between us anymore. I’ll face those fears every day so I can love you, so I can work to be worthy of your love.
“Because I do love you, Ziggy, more than I ever believed I could love anything or anyone. Because if only you loved me for the rest of my existence, that would be more than enough—beyond my wildest dreams and hopes. I’m not fixed. I’m not perfect. But I do love you with all of my heart, Ziggy, with every broken part of it that I’m piecing back together. I hope…if you don’t now, one day, you can love me the way I love you, but if you don’t, if you can’t—”
“Sebastian.” Tears stream down my face. Slowly, I cup his face, my thumbs stroking right down those lines where no dimples show themselves, but they will, if I have anything to say about it.
“I love you. I’ve loved you so many different ways since you said yes to my harebrained scheme and showed me in so many tiny, beautiful ways, that you saw the brave person inside me that I was just learning to see and love and listen to, since you bravely opened up and let me in and took my hand in yours. I loved you, and I won’t stop loving you. I want to love you as my friend, as my partner, as someone I’ll discover life’s possibilities with—within ourselves and out in this wild, wide world.
“I know I’m goofy and kinda weepy and extremely attached to fictional characters, and I haven’t always thought there’d be someone who could want and cherish those oddball, sensitive corners of myself, but you do. You’ve shown me that, because that’s how you love—in showing—and if I get to spend however long I have, experiencing that love, showing you my love too, I’ll be the luckiest woman there is.”
Sebastian stares at me, blinking away wetness in his eyes, before that smile I’ve been waiting for shows itself—bright, wide smile, long, deep dimples. I trace my thumbs down his cheeks. “I love you, my sweet friend. My Sebastian.”
He presses his forehead to mine and sucks in a breath, his hands drifting up my back as he tucks me close. The wind kicks up, swirling my hair around us, making him laugh. Snowy blossoms rain down on us, making me laugh, too.
Under that tree, my tree, my wishing, hoping, too-lovely-for-my-heart tree, I set my hand over his heart—the one I never in a million years could have dreamed for myself.
His mouth brushes mine, tender, slow. I breathe him in as he pulls me close, as I wrap my arms around his neck, swaying us side to side.
“So.” Sebastian smiles into our kiss.
I smile back. “So.”
“What do you say you show me that A-frame of yours after all?”
My family is a bunch of high-handed meddlers. But this time, I’m not mad about it. Because this time, it means I have Sebastian and the A-frame, all to myself. For the rest of the day and tonight, at least. That’s what I need. Just us, here. Finally.
Sebastian sits across from me in front of the fireplace, which I lit because he asked me to, I think mostly so he could look at my butt as I worked, while chowing down on a sandwich. His second one. Thick, soft, gluten-free bread that actually tastes good, crunchy bibb lettuce, Dijon, mayo, and chicken salad made with spring’s first herbs that Rooney has coaxed to life over the years along the planters on the back deck.
I sigh and push away my almost empty plate, too full for another bite. Sebastian glances at my plate, chews, then swallows. “You gonna finish that?”
I smile, nudging the plate his way. “Go right ahead, älskade.”
He pauses, sandwich halfway to his mouth, then lowers it. “What’s that mean? Ren calls Frankie that.”
