Date Me Like You Mean It

“Aiden.”

That one word is a warning, and I don’t ignore it.

I know by her tone, by the slightly unsettled shake of her voice, that what she has to say might not make me all that happy, so I don’t let her continue.

If she’s going to pick up fighting right where we left off, we can do it in the morning.

I need this night more than she realizes, brushing her teeth beside me, slipping into her pajamas and attempting to sneak off to her own room before I yank her back toward me and walk us back to my bed. I don’t have any nefarious plans for her. I just need her body next to mine underneath the blankets, her knee bumping my thigh, my hand on the dip of her waist as I tug her closer to me.

I kiss her hair and I tell her to close her eyes. I know her mind is whirling. I know she has a million questions she wants to ask, but it’s been a long day and I’ve got everything I want in this bed with me. I don’t want it ruined.Chapter TwentyMaddie“Merry Christmas.”

Those are the first words I hear when I wake up the next morning, blinking my eyes open and turning my head to see Aiden sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s wearing black pajama bottoms and no shirt. His hair is ruffled and messy, and I can’t keep my mouth from dropping open just a little. It’s the early morning sun filtering in through the window, catching on half of his face. Golden light bathes him and my heart loses the battle it’s been waging for what feels like a thousand years.

I think I could live this life and the next life and another after that and I’d always love Aiden. Running from it is futile. Attempting to push him away has only landed me in ridiculous, embarrassing situations.

He hitches up one side of his mouth, waiting for me to make a move or say something or at least blink twice if I still have brain function. I gather the sheet around my chest and push to sit up against the headrest.

I smell coffee—blissful, blissful coffee—and then I spot the spare mug on his nightstand. Right beside a pile of gifts.

At first, I’m confused.

Then I remember what he said when he woke me up.

My eyes widen and meet his. “Are those for me?”

He glances down at them and shrugs. “Yeah. I know it’s too many, but they weren’t all supposed to be Christmas gifts.” He retrieves the one that’s on top. “This one I got in Paris on my first assignment. I was planning on giving it to you the next time I saw you, but…”

But then everything happened.

I take the present from him and aim a teasing smile his way. “Well technically you did give it to me the next time you saw me.”

He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head.

I focus down on the wrapping paper. It’s dark navy and wrinkled as hell. A corner is already torn so I start there, tugging back the paper to reveal a small watercolor painting. I recognize the aerial view of Paris right away even though the brushstrokes are loose and impressionistic.

“I saw an artist on the street, creating these,” Aiden tells me as I continue to look at the painting.

“It was only my third day there and I was so homesick I couldn’t stand it. I was eating lunch outside, trying to find a bench available along the Seine, and I found one eventually, right behind this artist and his easel. He worked the whole time I ate and it made me feel…I guess it made me feel less alone.”

“So you bought a painting from him.”

“For you. After all, you were the reason I was so sad.”

I glance up at him in surprise.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Of course, you, Maddie. I left for Paris after that phone call we had while I was at the airport and it felt like the world’s hardest breakup, like you and I were done before we even got started.”

I remember feeling the same way. Even now, I don’t have to dig deep to reach the well of emotions. They’re still right there, under the surface.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him, feeling slightly embarrassed at how choked up I sound.

“Maddie.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you look at me for a second?”

Do I really have to?

I glance up and nearly have to squint to keep myself from toppling off the bed. It never gets easier—looking right at him, trying to shield the love in my eyes. It probably pours out of me in other ways, cloying the air around us. He knows. He has to know.

“I leave to go back to New York tomorrow.”

Those have to be the most painful words in the English language. There is no truth to the childhood rhyme about sticks and stones breaking bones and words never hurting. Words hurt the most. I would take a good stoning over the declaration that Aiden is leaving me again. Again. Again. Here we are again.