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“Where are you from?” he asks. The depths of hell. Sent to destroy men who lie on the internet and are mean to those in the service industry.
Why can’t I find a single human being that I connect with? My standards are not impossible. I want someone who makes me laugh. Who cares about what I do and what I say and what I think. I want to sit on the couch with someone in blissful, perfect, comfortable silence—pizza on the coffee table and my feet tucked under their thigh. I want someone to hand me the recipe section of the local paper while they read the headlines. I want to share all of my small, silly, silent moments. I want someone to give me butterflies.
His forearms flex, and I resist the urge to drag both of my palms down the sides of my face. What is it about forearms? Je-sus.
Why are you settling for crumbs when you deserve the whole damn cake?”
“I think I’m—I think I might be too much. For some people.”
“This is weird,” Luka mutters somewhere above my head. Beckett makes an aggravated noise, and there’s a scuffle. Luka grunts and his arm jostles my shoulders. “But also nice! Beckett, Christ, why do you have to kick me? I was going to say it’s nice.” “No, you weren’t.” “I was. I was going to say we should group-hug every day.”
“Not here. We haven’t had characters in the room since Gus punched the last one in the face.”
The kids think it’s hysterical when I wear khakis, for whatever reason.
You keep showing me pieces of yourself that I want to collect like seashells. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, and I have no idea how you’d feel about blurring those lines. I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to get myself in too deep.
“My pleasure, Layla.” Something tells me it’ll be my pleasure too.
“You deserve good things, sweetheart.” He swallows hard, eyes searching mine. “Why can’t you see yourself? Why can’t you see how incredible you are?” “Because,” I say, my voice cracking at the edges. “Because no one else has bothered to.”
I see you, Layla Dupree.” He says it so firmly, so resolute, that I can’t help but believe him. “Clear as day. I always have.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed with a smile before. I’m convinced I can taste it on his lips with the rainwater pouring down over us both—traces of strawberries and cream.
“The point of our arrangement is for us to practice, yeah? We could practice this too. You could tell me what you want.” I swallow. “We could work together to figure out what you need and how you need it.”
“Because I want to watch you come undone,” I tell her, my voice a rough scratch. I look up and make sure I’m holding her eyes. “Because I want to be the one to do it.”
So I tip my head to hers and kiss her, slower than the last time and sweeter too. It feels like something more, this kiss. More of Layla. More of me. More of us together. More of everything.
Opening my eyes feels like a monumental effort. “Will you hold my hand?” My voice slurs around the edges. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll hold your hand.”
“Your mouth,” I pant. His eyes snap to mine and hold. “I want your mouth on me. Please.” “Ah, Layla.” He practically collapses on top of me and drags his teeth over my tiny tattoo, brushes his lips from hip to hip and uses his shoulders to edge my legs farther apart. My body burns liquid, velvet hot. “You never need to say please to me. But fuck, I love it when you do.”
“If I’m going to fuck you, Layla,” the words grind out of him, rough and tight, “it won’t be because of any lessons or arrangements. It’ll be because you want me and I want you.”
Falling in love. Slowly and carefully and then all at once.
“That’s the trouble with falling in love. It’s a messy, ungraceful stumble into a whirlwind of chaos. It doesn’t always feel good. It’s a fall.” She pulls out another shortbread cookie, a smile hooking at the side of her mouth. Her eyes are far away, glassy with remembering. I wonder who she’s thinking about with that look on her face. Who she fell with. Who she fell for. “You just have to trust that the person you’re falling with is smart enough to catch you before you hurt anything important.”
“This whole time—I think I’ve been falling in love with you,” she tells me. “I didn’t recognize it because I’ve never felt it before. And when I did, when I realized, I kind of freaked out. I’m still kind of freaking out about it. It turns out the thing I wanted most is pretty scary when it comes down to it. You’re going to have to be patient with me.” “I can do that,” I grit out, voice thick. “I think I’ve been falling in love with you for a while, Layla. One butter croissant at a time.”
