The Nice Guy Next Door (When In Waverly 1)

Okay, that was a horrible question to ask myself. But I already know he has feelings for me. He has shown me in the hundreds of little things he has done for me over the past few months. He’s not going to laugh in my face.

I straighten my back and hold my head high as I turn the corner. My eyes land on Jameson on the couch. His head is lolled back, and his mouth is hanging open. The man is out cold.

I grab the remote and turn off the TV before situating myself beside him. I lay my head on his lap and get comfortable. I’m not leaving before I get my chance to talk to him.

A rough hand is caressing my cheek and brushing hair off my face. It’s a nice, comforting feeling. It stops for a moment, and I burrow into the toned abs in front of me. The sound of a soft chuckle finally draws me out of my slumber, and I crack my eyes open an inch. The afternoon sun is bright as I squint up at Jameson’s smiling face.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says in a gruff voice.

I go to lift my head off his lap and sit up, but he stops me and says, “I have to tell you something.” My breath catches in my throat. He’s about to tell me that he’s no longer interested in me. I hesitated too long, and I lost my chance. I brace myself for my impending doom, but it never comes.

He runs his hands through my hair and says, “I love you, Millie. I don’t even know your actual name—that bothers me, by the way—but I love you. I wasn’t going to tell you until you were ready to hear it. I didn’t want to scare you away, but I can’t keep it in any longer. When I got shot, I realized how suddenly this life could be over, and I don’t want to leave this earth without telling you that you’re wonderful and perfect and I love you.”

Tears are pooling in my eyes, threatening to drip down my cheeks. I wipe them away, smearing mascara all over my hands and under my eyes. It doesn’t matter, though, because he loves me, and I love him. I have to tell him! I sit up so I can look him straight in the eyes.

“It’s not too soon, and you’re not scaring me away…because I realized the same thing when you were shot. I love you too, Jameson.”

He wraps his good arm around my waist and asks, “Do you really?”

“I do,” I answer with a laugh. “I realized that I didn’t want you taken from me without knowing what it would be like to love you and take care of you, without knowing what it’s like to be loved by you. I could have lost you, and I never would have gotten the chance to have been yours or for you to be mine.”

“Millie, I am most definitely yours. I have been for months.”

He brings his face close to mine, and I close my eyes, waiting for his lips to land on mine. I can feel him a fraction of an inch away. His nose brushes mine, and his breath tickles my cheeks when he asks, “What is Millie short for?”

“I thought you were going to kiss me!”

“I am…just as soon as you tell me your name, woman.”

“Jameson.”

“Millie.”

I stare at him for a moment. If I really want to, all I have to do is lean forward an inch, and I’d get my kiss. I doubt he’d fight me. He wants to kiss me as much as I want to be kissed. But I’m feeling stubborn.

“I’m sure you’ve done some Googling. If I’m remembering correctly, there should be only one name left on the list. I think you know what my name is…”

“No, I don’t. I want you to trust me enough to tell me,” he says. His voice is deep and coaxing. I never do this. I’m fully aware that it’s silly, but when you spend all of your formative years being made fun of, it can be difficult to move past.

I take a deep breath and shout, “It’s Mildred. My name is Mildred!” I cover my eyes with my hand because I can’t bear to see his mocking face. He pulls my hand down, and I’m met with a smile.

“Mildred,” he says.

“Yes, and don’t make a habit of saying it around people,” I warn him.

“And why not?” he asks with a tickle to my ribs. I squirm to get away from him, but he pulls me even closer and splays his hand on my back.

“It’s an awful name!”

“It is not. I love it, and I love you,” he says, and he finally kisses me.