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I’m a good human. I try to be.
Why is love so hard for some people? People like me.
Mom and Dad fit together like etched-out, personalized puzzle pieces. Kayla and Tim, while they disagree on many things, they also adore each other.
Of course women like Owen. Who wouldn’t? But he doesn’t try very hard.
So, what about me? I deserve someone, don’t I? Surely, someone in the world might think they could love me.
Stupid Maddox Powell.
And Owen made that man a pie.
Maybe it’s not that I’m unlovable. Maybe I just like being alone.
I swallow. I stare. I think.
Yeah… that’s not it.
But James Buttman wasn’t right. Telling myself anything else would be a lie.
I blink down at my bow and arrow.
I tell Owen he’s worth it every day. He is good and true and, oh so endearing. Why is it so easy to believe about him? But not about myself?
A relationship like Mom’s, like Kayla’s, is hard. But it’s worth it too. Isn’t it? Is it worth the risk of obliterating rejection?
There’s a tap on the door, then Owen lets himself in. “Hey,” he says.
“No warning, huh? You just walk right in. What if I’d been naked?” I plant one hand on my hip and give him a teasing glare.
“Naked? Why in the world would you be naked?”
“I don’t know. But I could be.”
He steps closer, standing in front of the mirror with me. Helooks good in his dark jeans and gray button-up shirt. He drapes one arm around my shoulders. “What are you really doing?”
My mouth opens and—it’s Owen—honesty just tumbles out. “I’m staring at myself in the mirror wondering if anyone could ever find me lovable.”
He turns his entire body so that he’s facing me while I still face myself in the glass. “Are you serious?”
I pinch my lips and blot my red gloss together. “Well. Yeah. We both know I’m not the greatest at keeping a boyfriend and—”
“And why should you be—when all of those guys were wrong for you?”
I hate how much hope his words give me. I’m supposed to be the one full of advice. I’ve never told Owen about Maddox and how one conversation destroyed my relationship confidence. He was the one guy I dated that Owen became friends with—so I kept my mouth shut. On Maddox’s twentieth birthday, all he wanted was this chocolate pie his mom used to make. So, my sweet Owen made him one.
“You think?” I say, and my throat tightens, but I need to hear him say it again.
Owen moves in front of me, one hand coming up to cup my cheek and ear. “Iknow.”
I close my eyes in a long, drawn-out blink.
“I do,” he says, hearing the doubts I haven’t voiced. “You’re smart and funny. You’re generous and loving.”
His breath warms my cheek with each word he speaks.
“You’re drop-dead gorgeous,” he whispers—as if this were a secret.
