“Missableis absolutely a word. It’s fuckable’s cousin.”
I cover my mouth to muffle my laugh.
His smile wanes. “Maren spotted my tattoo. And I’m guessing from her reaction, she found yours first because I watched her put two and two together in real time.”
I nod, lips corkscrewed. I’ve talked to her nearly every week since I’ve been here, and she never mentioned seeing his tattoo. “Are you homeless?”
“No. But she said I needed to be your friend.”
My heart leaves my throat, swan diving into the pit of my stomach. “So you’re here because of Maren?” I grunt a laugh, running my hands through my hair and turning away from him. “That sounds like a more logical explanation.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
I can’t look at him yet. My feelings are pinned to my shirt like a gaudy nineties corsage.
“None of this makes sense,” he says. “Not taking four days instead of the required two. Not booking a flight to San Bernardino while my fellow jumpers are managing fires. Not introducing you to my grandmother. Not this need to kiss you when I have nothing to offer but someone else’s version of friendship.Noneof it makes sense.” He blows out a long breath. “Yet here I am. Fumbling my words and wallowing around outside my comfort zone because I made you my person, and you don’t fit in my life, but my life no longer fits me without you.”
Oh, my heart . . .
I turn. Fitz has never looked this tortured. The tension in his face. The resignation in his eyes.
“Are you here for me or you?”
The lines along his brow dig deeper.
“It’s not a trick question.” I shake my head. “I don’t even know how I want you to answer. Just honestly.”
His gaze drops to the floor between us. “When I purchased the plane ticket, I was coming here for you.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “When you entered the restaurant, I knew I was here for me.”
I lied.
I wanted him to saythat, but I didn’t know it until two seconds ago. That’s the thing with love; it’s untimely, unannounced, and underestimated. It’s not a choice. It’s a state of being.
How do I tell Fitz that he loves me?
I don’t.
He’ll work it out on his own.
By then, I might be married to another man and pregnant with twins, but nonetheless, I’m overjoyed about Fitz and his wallowing heart. Better late than never.
I lift my shoulders and drop them into an exaggerated shrug. “We could kiss. And it could be our version of friendship. I don’t want anyone else’s version. Do you?”
His hand slides along my neck until his fingertips brush my tattoo. “No. I don’t,” he whispers before kissing me.
I close my eyes while he drags his lips from mine to my neck. “Come back to my place,” I murmur.
“Yeah?”
I grin. “Yeah.” I dig into my pocket and fish out my key fob. “You drive. I’m a little too intoxicated.”
He takes it from me, eyes narrowed. “We didn’t have alcohol at dinner.”
“You.” I turn and open the door. “I’m drunk on you, Fitz.”
It’s a ten-minute drive to my apartment. I still can’t believe he never mentioned his grandma when I told him about my job here. She’sa ten-minutedrive from my apartment.
It’s not a coincidence. It’s fate. Right?
