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I laugh. “She’s right.”
“She usually is,” he admits with a smile that says he’s not mad about that. “But I didn’t want to interfere . . . no, that’s not true.” He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face, searching the ceiling like the answers are written there. “I wanted you to do it on your own, wanted you to know you could handle anything because apparently, I’m shitty at making connections and tend to run away from scary things like emotions. Or so I’ve been told by someone who’d know.”
He rolls his eyes, but I can see that whoever said that hurt him. I’m guessing Kayla since it sounds like she’s the one who called him out on everything.
It’s a lot to think about, so I grab a second slice of pizza and chew thoughtfully as I work my way through everything he’s said and done.
“You were really sweet at the cabin and definitely didn’t have to step up for the whole wedding thing, especially to the extent you did, so those are points in your favor,” I mutter. Cole tries to say something, and I hold a hand up. “Not talking to you. Let me think.”
He clacks his mouth shut but then smiles at my not-at-all-silent methods.
“You definitely have the ‘if he wanted to, he would’ camp in your favor. I don’t think you have a back burner,” I say, remembering what everyone said about Henry that I finally realized was absolutely true. “You’re like a grill, all flames, all the time, with a side of ‘get it your way’ because you pay attention to stuff like that and go above and beyond.” I point to the pizza box as proof. “I thought you’d dumped me, but you didn’t. You didn’t leave when times got tough. You were supporting at a distance, which is different. But good-different, I think.”
“What do you think?” he asks, reaching his limit for patience.
I smile and teasingly ask, “You promise not to stalk me again? Maybe just ask what I’m thinking or feeling instead?” It seems like a reasonable suggestion, but Cole shakes his head.
“How about both? A little stalking—for good reasons only—and I’ll do my best to communicate like a human instead of a grunting Neanderthal.”
I consider his counter and nod. “Deal. Have you figured out my favorite ice cream place yet?”
“Trick question,” Cole responds with a smirk. “You like sangria popsicles from the cart at the park.”
He’s right, those are the best. “They’re so good! Like grown-up Otter Pops,” I tell him.
Cole
We finish the pizza, and I would take her for popsicles, but the park closes at sunset and the cart guy is long-gone home. But I’m happy—hell, fucking overjoyed—to sit on the couch with Janey and listen to her tell me everything.
She starts with how everyone at work breathed a sigh of relief when she told them about her and Henry, rallying around her to proclaim his assholery. They practically swooned for her when she told them about her wedding date, even teasing her about her fake fiancé after she told them about the Bouquet Battle and ensuing mid-reception proposal. Without even pausing, Janey tells me how her boss, Gabriella, tracked me down. That segues into how Amanda saw her pacing back and forth outside my building, and she was mortified. Dropping that line, Janey moves on to how worried she is for poor Mrs. Michaelson, who’s definitely not long for this world. Then I hear all about the book she’s reading and about how the vampiric hero is somewhat like me at times. But before explaining that, she’s off and gushing about the adorable kitten she saw on a shelter page.
I listen, cataloging it all. I’ve missed listening to her talk, her enthusiasm for everything working its way into my blood, making me appreciate all the little things she notices in every day.
“It’s getting late,” she says hours later. I know she has to be up early. Her alarm goes off at five thirty every morning so she can make it to her seven a.m. shift, so I don’t push it. I don’t want her driving and working tired. Her safety and her patients’ safety are too important.
“I have a question,” I blurt out as she walks me to the door.
I should probably think this through, but I don’t want or need to. I’m following my gut—or is my heart? I’m not good at differentiating, apparently.
Janey looks at me with bright, trusting eyes, completely unworried about whatever I’m going to say, which is a relief after everything it’s taken to get here. Tonight’s deep dive into my emotions and thoughts was difficult and unnerving, but I did it. For her.
“Will you go to dinner with me . . . at my parents’ house?” I lift my brows doubtfully, knowing it’s a big ask. “They’re not as bad as yours, no offense, but it’s fair to say it won’t be a good time. Other than the fact that you’ll be with me, of course,” I tease, but I’m serious about the warning. “There’s one of those mandatory deals happening and I thought—”
