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I want to stop looking for someone to love me.” When I was finished heaving my sob story into his lap, he met my eyes with a dark, even gaze and said, “You can.” “What?” I turned the water glass, letting the condensation slick my palms. “What do you mean?” “Stop looking. Marry me.”
“Ryan Ralston has a heart,” he said. “I haven’t seen it until now because you left it with her.”
“How do you know her again?” Stella asked. I watched Emme help the karate-kicker tuck a disaster of papers in his desk. When she was finished, she gave me a nod. I felt my lips turning up into a smile. The obvious answer was from back home, from high school, from ninth-grade biology, from listening to music in her car during lunch all of senior year so I didn’t have to talk to anyone. But I heard myself say, “She’s my favorite thing in the world.”
“Am I allowed to touch you?” “Of course,” she said. “Like you’re my wife?”
So, when I found myself staring into the eyes of the only woman I’d ever loved, I knew it wouldn’t feel like work at all.
“You look like the first day of spring after the coldest, most brutal winter,” he said. “No one is going to be able to take their eyes off you.”
“I love you,” I said, the cracking out of me like an accusation.
there's a word missing here. "the words cracking out of me like an accusation"
