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To the chronic apologizers: let that shit go. Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault. Don’t apologize for things you don’t regret. And definitely don’t apologize for who you are.
It’s me. I’m the chronic apologizer.
The living fossil across the coffee shop takes a bite of that buttery, flaky croissant, and I want to fight him for it.
The living fossil 😂😂😂😂😂
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Anyone with anxiety knows that someone telling you not to worry is about as helpful as a hangnail.
“This isn’t all my fault,” I say, my pulse quickening with irritation. “You’re the one hovering so close that you could’ve given me a back massage while you were there.”
As the memories flood my mind, I have the sudden urge to curse him. He deserves some retaliation for the way he’s made me feel. May his coffee spill all over him today. May his socks get wet the next time it rains. May his window never roll all the way up, so it makes an annoying whistling sound as he drives for all eternity.
She’s glowing all the time, illuminating everything around her, and the blazing light feels like a third-degree sunburn for a man who has been in the dark for too long.
“When you work hard for something, you have more appreciation for the end result.”
Little does Millie know, I’ve memorized every word of that song—not that she would ever catch me singing it. Our kitchen sing-alongs are a secret between me and the girls. “Uncle Finn loves that song,” El announces as she crashes back into her stool. “He always sings it with us.” Well, fuck. That lasted five seconds. Little snitch.
“Don’t feel like you should have to go through life apologizing for things you didn’t do. Sometimes you don’t even need to apologize for things you did do.
I apologize way too much, but sometimes when I say “I’m sorry,” what I actually mean is “I’m sad for you.”
THIS
Fuck it. I take two steps toward her, my hips bumping into her knees. My hand shoots out to grab her wrist, and her eyes dart to mine. Holding her gaze, I pull her cookie-dough-covered thumb to my mouth and wrap my lips around it. Her eyes flare and her jaw falls open. I slide my tongue down her finger, catching the sweet dough and letting it melt in my mouth. “Mmm.” The sound is raspy, scraping out of my chest.
“I’ve been wanting you since I saw you in that elevator the very first time,” he whispers. “Then you came here and lit up our house and our life, and I think I’m addicted to it.” His grip on my knees tightens, like he can’t help it.
“Hell yes, I was. You feel like mine, and the thought of you with someone else was driving me out of my mind.”
“You don’t have to be the loudest in the room to be the strongest.
“Oh, Millie. I don’t want what friends do. I want much more than that with you.”
“I’ve never done this. Never had a relationship like the one I want with you, and I don’t have healthy examples in my life to learn from. But everything in me wants to make you happy. Make you proud. Keep you safe. I may not know all the answers to everything in our relationship, but I know you can trust me to try. You can trust me to be respectful and kind.” He slides a hand through my hair. “You can trust me to work with you to solve anything that makes you uncomfortable.” He brings my fingers to his lips and kisses them softly. “I’m not here to stifle you or control you or shape you into
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Millie: His hands are perfect. Tess: Like, perfect size to cover just your nipple or the whole boob? Mom: Tessa Oaks. That is inappropriate. Millie: Tess, see above message about texting individually. And they are normal six-foot-something man hands. Fabes: Mmm. That’s the size I like. Dad: How do I remove myself from this text
“It’ll be perfect. I want to meet your people so they can be my people too.”
She didn’t trust you with her girls because she thought you would be perfect. She trusted you because she knew you would do your absolute best. That’s all we can offer anyone in our lives—not perfection, but the promise of doing the best we can.”
“I don’t need the sun when you’re here, stella mia. You’re the brightest star in my universe, and I’ve been orbiting around you since you poured coffee all over me. I could spend the rest of my life watching you shine.”
Strength isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a quiet power that isn’t so obvious to the world.”
“Yeah, the views are spectacular,” he says, voice husky and warm. “I love every single thing about them.” My cheeks heat. “You must really like stargazing.” He shakes his head. “Fuck the stars, baby. All I see is you.”
