Happy Place

by Emily Henry

“I can explain it to you right now,” he says, “or we can have sex in the car.” A plumb line of heat drops through my center, my thighs tightening against him as he kisses me more deeply. “The car? We’re like a mile from the house.” “I don’t have a mile in me right now, Harriet.”

Uhmmm hello 😏

“Everything’s different and nothing’s changed, Harriet,” he says. “I tried so fucking hard to let you go, to let you be happy, and when I see you, I still feel like—like you’re mine. Like I’m yours. I got rid of every single piece of you, like that would make a difference, like I could cut you out of me, and instead, I just see everywhere you’re supposed to be.”

😩🦋

“It’s okay to walk away,” he says. “Everyone says Don’t go to bed angry, but sometimes a person needs time to think. And if you need that, it’s okay, but you should tell me, because otherwise …” His jaw flexes on a swallow. “Otherwise, the person might assume you’re leaving for good.”

“Love means constantly saying you’re sorry, and then doing better.”

And I know this place, even if I can’t name it. I know that I’m safe, that I belong.

“You were in pain, and I didn’t even notice, Harriet. Or I did, but I thought it was about me. I fucked up, and I lost you for it.” I shake my head ferociously. “You had bigger things going on.” “There was nothing bigger than you,” he says raggedly. “Not to me. Not ever.”

🥹

Your job doesn’t have to be your identity. It can just be a place you go, that doesn’t define you or make you miserable.

True words