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Her expression shutters. “James.”
“I know it’s going to be hard,” I continue. “I know I need to prioritize things better. I know that when I’m on the field, I need to focus on it completely—but when I’m off the field? When I’m with you? I’m choosing you, no matter what.”
She looks up at me, her cheeks ruddy, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“I love you, Bex. I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you’re concentrating. I love your laughter. Your talent with a camera. I love your passion and your loyalty and how fucking smart you are. You’re everything to me. If you asked me to stop playing football, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
She sniffles, shaking her head. “Don’t do that.”
“Good. Because I thought about becoming a math teacher, and I don’t know if I’m capable of that.”
She laughs wetly. “Probably not, babe.”
“If you need to stay here for the diner and we have to be long-distance, I’ll hustle every single day to make it work. I promise. It doesn’t scare me anymore, because I know that everything will be worthwhile if I get to call you mine.”
She looks away, rocking in place as she shivers. Quiet so long I start to get a little worried. “What if I’m not... enough?”
“What?”
She meets my eyes. Her lip is wobbling. “What if it’s two years in and I’m here and you’re wherever and you realize it’s not worth it? That I’m not worth it?”
I take a step forward, pulling her into my arms. I don’t care that I’m supposed to be giving her space to think, she’s cold and upset and I can’t stand that. “You really think that?” I say. “You’re my princess, you’re worth the whole world.”
She presses her lips together. “I’m nobody special.”
“And I’m just some guy who’s good at throwing a ball.” I laugh softly, the sound caught in the cold wind. “Maybe neither of us are special, but that’s not the point. The point is you’re the best person I’ve ever met, and I wish more than anything that that’s how you saw yourself too.”
I reach into my jacket, pulling out the photograph. “I took this a couple of weeks ago. I know it’s shit, but I love how happy you look.”
She takes the photograph, looking down at it. It’s a simple picture I took with my phone, and I liked it so much I printed it out. Put it in my wallet. It’s of Bex taking a photograph in McNamara’s. She’s wearing a fuzzy pink sweater and those pie-slice earrings, her eyes lit up adorably as she fiddles with the camera.
“I remember this,” she says softly.
“That’s how I see you. When I close my eyes before I go to sleep, when I daydream—I imagine you just like that, making beautiful art. Being you.” I reach out, tweaking her earring; she’s wearing the hoops I got her for Christmas. “You’re worth everything, and you can do whatever you want to do, but don’t sell yourself short, either. This is what you deserve to be doing.”
She leans up and kisses me.
I accept the kiss gladly; some of the tension literally leeches away from my body at the feeling of her lips on mine, her hands clutching the front of my jacket. This is what I needed to feel right again, my girl in my arms.
When she breaks away, she cups my jaw with her cold hand. I just crowd closer. “I need to think,” she says. “Not about us, but about me. About the diner. I made my mom a promise that I would take care of it, and I can’t just... does that make sense?”
I nod. “I’ll be ready when you are.”
She presses her forehead to mine. “Thank you.”
I kiss her again, hungry for more of her kisses after nearly two weeks of missing them. “Whatever you need to do, we can handle it. Together.”
Chapter 47
Bex
I hang the last photograph on the wall, then take a step back, looking nervously at the whole set. When I arrived, the gallery owner, a woman named Janet who is quite possibly the most glamorous woman I’ve ever met, gave me an entire wall to work with.
Laura, who came early to help me set up everything, looks at me. “What do you think?”
“I think it looks okay.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress. I’m wearing a little black dress with sheer tights, despite the bitter February weather outside, but I’ve been so anxious the whole time that I’m not even feeling chilly. “I mean, I guess?”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she says, pulling me into a sideways hug. “This looks amazing.”
