And he’s right. The only way to know if I can trust him is to trust. There’s no other way around it. More tears spill over as I blink, and he brushes them from my cheek.
He whispers, inching closer. “What can I do to make you believe?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“I have an idea.”
The hope beats like the wings of a bird against my ribs. “I’m listening.”
He wraps his big hand around the nape of my neck. “Every day, starting tomorrow, I’m going to ask you to marry me. I expect to work for it, but I hope one day you’ll say yes.”
I blink, shocked at the words. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I need you in my life. And one day I trust you’ll let me know I’m worthy of walking by your side.”
“We haven’t known each other that long. You don’t want to marry me.”
“But I do.”
“How?” I need to know, need to understand so I can put faith in it.
“Because I miss talking to you.” He leans in. “Miss the way you try to bait me into an argument.” Closer. “Miss the scent of your shampoo on my pillow.” Close enough to feel the heat of his body. “Talking through the trials of the week over a pitcher of beer on Friday night.”
My head tilts.
Our mouths brush together.
“I miss the way you make me think.” He licks my lower lip. “And how you don’t care if your hair gets in the mud.” A scrape of teeth over my soft flesh. “You make me a better man.” His fingers tangle in my hair. “And despite my flaws, I think I make you a better woman.”
I turn, shifting toward him, nodding slightly. I don’t know if it’s right or wrong to give in. But I love him, and I want to.
His arm twines around my waist, and then I’m moving, climbing into his lap and straddling him. My dress pools around us.
I meet his eyes. “I’m not ready to forgive you.”
His hands slide up my thighs. “I miss the way you feel in my arms and the weight of your head against my chest as we go to sleep.”
I shiver under his touch and his palms settle over my hips. “Go on.”
“I miss the way you put too much syrup on your pancakes. And the way you close your eyes when you eat something delicious, like it will help you taste it better.”
“I put the perfect amount of syrup on my pancakes.”
His lips lift in a smile. “I miss the way you are afraid of Mrs. Potts and the way you look at your niece and how you love your family. I want to be worthy of your devotion.”
I want that too, even though I can’t say it out loud.
“I miss the way you told me you loved me.” His fingers tighten. “But do you know what I miss most of all?”
I shake my head. “What?”
He meets my gaze, and what I read in his eyes stalls my breath in my chest. “I miss feeling home. In my entire thirty-six miserable years, you are the only thing that has ever felt like home. When I’m with you, life might not always be easy, but you make it better. With you, life makes sense.”
And with that, I tumble into him, weaving my hand through his hair, pulling him toward me and capturing his mouth.
The second our lips meet in earnest, it’s an explosion of passion.
We’re instantly on fire.