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“Grace, look at me.” His stern tone demands to be acknowledged. He draws in a sharp breath when our eyes clash. “You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. Period.”
For whatever reason, in this delicate moment, that compliment doesn’t sound like a cliché line to pacify me. I sniff and force a smile to hide the wobble in my lips. “Thank you.”
He scrutinizes my acceptance through narrowed eyes. “You don’t believe me?”
I pause to collect my thoughts and contemplate an honest reply. History screams for itself in a relentless loop. This is a weak side of myself I prefer to ignore. But she’s a part of me whether acceptance and confidence have overruled her or not.
As a heavier gal, the number on the scale is a sensitive subject. If given the power, it can cripple my self-esteem on a daily basis. I’ve fought hard to not let the pounds consume me. But it’s a battle not everyone understands.
My pulse calms as I allow his presence to soothe me. “It’s a constant struggle. I’m comfortable in my body. I have a healthy relationship with food. Don’t get me wrong about that. But there’s only so much I can control.”
Garrett rests his arms on the counter to bring us closer. “Such as…?”
I focus on the earnest curiosity in his blue stare. “How people look at me. I try not to let my weight define me, but others do. It’s an automatic reaction.”
He scoffs. “That’s bullshit.”
“And that’s your opinion, which I appreciate.” My hopeless romantic heart is especially grateful.
“For the record, any man worth the oxygen in his lungs would gladly take his final breath from between your thighs.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” But not really. Even my imagination doesn’t run that wild.
“You still don’t believe me,” he notes with a frown.
“It’s fine,” I laugh. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so picky.”
He fixes me with a fierce stare. “Knock it off, sweetheart. You can be as picky as you damn well please.”
“Please don’t call me that.” My voice is brittle under the pressure of this topic.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be lumped in with your other ladies. I’m not one of them.” I shouldn’t care, but I do.
“No, you’re certainly not.” Garrett shifts until our noses are inches apart. “You’re much more. If you’re willing, I’ll prove just how sexy I think your body is. I’ll worship every delectable curve until you beg me for mercy.”
I gulp to trap a whimper. “Does that mean you’re willing to consider a serious relationship?”
“No, but I’ll give your twat tassel something to quiver about.”
And that comment douses the flames in my core. I huff at the abrupt change in his demeanor. “Are you ever serious for longer than five minutes?”
“Believe it or not, soulmate”—he gathers my hands in his for a reassuring squeeze—“I’m realizing our friendship is getting very serious for me.”
Wishful thinking attempts to skew my logic in a rosy hue. “You’re just saying that.”
“I better improve my strategy.” Garrett straightens to stretch for this so-called game-changer.
My gaze makes a meal of devouring his flexing muscles. “And how might you do that?”
He twists from left to right in comical preparation. “Tell me about your list.”
“It’s not really a list.”
His mouth firms into a terse line. “You told me it was a list.”
“Call it whatever you want, but there isn’t a physical copy to reference.” I groan and cover my blush with a flat palm. “It’s not that complicated. I just want to meet someone who shares an appreciation for commitment. They should be kind, loyal, and considerate. Chemistry and compatibility are important too. Similar interests would be nice. It shouldn’t feel like a chore to be with them. Is that too much to ask? I don’t know at this point.”
