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The new Beau sits at the bar with the shy neighbor girl, who wears a pair of acid-wash Levi’s better than anyone he’s ever seen.
I’m sick of people talking to me, but it strikes me that listening to Bailey talk might not be so bad.
UGH
Her eyes, that one little word—it . . . makes my blood pump faster. It makes me feel something in a sea of numbness.
Like he’s some sort of knight in shining armor. One who starts pulling up a stool every Sunday through Tuesday to drink chamomile tea until midnight, so I don’t have to close by myself.
“If we’re struggling, we’re still in motion, yeah? Heading somewhere better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.”
I swallow, staring down at this pint-sized powerhouse, wondering how no one else sees the compassion oozing from her pores. She’s not all frilly and sugary. There’s a refreshing get-shit-done kind of practicality about her. She’s faithful.
I don’t know how no one else sees it. Sees her. It’s like we’re all staring at the same painting and every other person in this town is missing the point.
“Why not, future Mrs. Eaton?” I call back, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “You love
that massive rock I put on your finger, don’t you?”
I haven’t kissed her lips yet. I’m still not sure I should. Not sure I’ll recover.
Not sure I’ll be able to walk away after that.
“I know you’re scared of losing control around me.” Her chin tips up as though she’s told me something that will make me back down. Run me off. It doesn’t. “No, I’m scared of you becoming something I can’t live without.”
Not wanting to lose sight of her in the crowd. Not wanting to lose sight of her ever.
“It’s like I’ve been searching for something, something to tie me to this new reality. I wasn’t looking for love; I was looking for a purpose. I just didn’t expect my purpose to be you.” I say the only
