I stay quiet as her lips twist into a wry smile, her words resonating deep within me, as much as I hate it.
“But, Stella,” she says, “none of that matters. The people who want you in their lives will take you as you are. They’ll cherish you the way you deserve. Anyone who doesn’t was never meant to be in or stay in your life.”
I blink a few times as I look back at her, clearing away the tears. “And you think Thomas wants me in his life like that?”
She snorts, breaking some of the tension. “Of course he does. The man’s obsessed with you.”
I suppose I can trust her opinion on the situation since she and Thomas are close. Then again, that only raises my suspicions about this meeting. “Did he ask you to come talk to me?”
This time, Amara throws her head back and cackles for so long that I almost start to worry. Finally, she wipes under her eyes and shoots me agirl, you’ve got to be kiddinglook. “If he knew I was here, he would kill me. And by kill me, I mean he’d write a very strongly worded letter and forgive me after a day, but to him, that’s aggressive.”
I wince a little because, yep, that’s exactly the man I’ve fallen for. But I don’t think I’d want him any other way.
“If he’s so obsessed with me, then why hasn’t he tried to fight me on this?” I press. “If he didn’t like me insisting we go back to following the rules—whichhesuggested, by the way—he could have made it known.”
Amara stares at me like I’m oblivious. “It’s because herespectsyou. That’s the kind of man he is. When you say no, he takes it as a final answer because he understands it’s a complete sentence. But if you give him a single reason to fight, he will.”
“And you don’t think I have?”
She considers her reply. “I think you’ve been so firm in your stance that he believes he doesn’t have a way to change your mind. That even if he told you how he felt, you wouldn’t factor it into your decision.”
My shoulders lift to my ears. “Okay,ouch. I’m notthatbad.”
But…maybe I am. There’s a chance I’ve made him feel unheard and unappreciated. I mean, the rules were all my doing, after all, with little input from him. And maybe I’ve been bad at returning the moments of kindness and tenderness he’s always shown me. If you add it up, I come off as the bad guy here—all because I was trying to protect myself from more heartbreak.
Lot of good that did ya, considering how shitty you feel now!
“Never said you were,” Amara says breezily. “But you need to tell him how you feel so you can at least be on the same page.”
It only takes a few seconds of reflection for me to groan and scrub at my forehead. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” She lifts her chin, smiling smugly. “I’ve known him since he was an annoying little shit in short trousers. And if you’re honest with him, I can guarantee your life will get so much easier.”
I’m sure she’s right about that too. “Okay.” I exhale, steeling myself for what needs to be done. “I’ll talk to him soon.”
She arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Tonight, maybe?”
I slap her leg with the back of my hand before standing. “Don’t rush me. Besides, he’s busy with all the preseason stuff and I don’t want to distract him. I’ve got to find the right moment, make it special.” More importantly, makehimfeel special.
“God, you’re even more of a romantic than he is,” she groans. “You’re a match made in soppy heaven.”
Despite the dig, I smile to myself, turning away to hide it from her.
It’s time for me to follow rule number one. It’s time to stop keeping secrets.
Another week passes before my chickenshit self feels even slightly prepared to speak to Thomas.
Between my cowardice and Thomas’s suddenly hectic schedule, squeezing in an organic moment with each other has been impossible. He spends more time at McMorris HQ than he does at home, preparing for the start of the season at the end of the month. My work schedule isn’t much better either. Add in dress fittings and a thousand other wedding details that Iris springs on me, and it’s amazing I have a chance to sleep.
Tonight, though, Thomas will finally be home. And we’re going to talk.
In the kitchen, I catch myself glancing at the clock nearly every minute, willing it to move along. Dinner’s in the oven and Thomas’s favorite dessert is steaming on the stove, because yes, I was also finally brave enough to try making spotted dick. I even spent an hour in Waitrose finding all the right ingredients. Honestly, who cooks with suet and currants in this day and age?
I’m about to start on the vanilla custard when my phonebuzzes in the pocket of my apron. Or really, Thomas’s apron. I know I threatened several times to toss the Union Jack–emblazoned thing in the bin, but it’s grown on me. Just like he has.
My heart skips a giddy beat at the idea that it might be him texting me. In another bold move, I messaged him this morning to say I’d be cooking tonight and that I wanted to chat over dinner if he was free. I got a reply less than thirty seconds later declaring he’d be home by eight.
It’s seven now, so maybe this is a heads-up message that he’s on his way. If it is, I appreciate the consideration so that I can time all of this perfectly. I want everything to be just right.
