My heart was going to stop any second. I didn’t even realize tears were streaking down my cheeks until one dripped off my chin and landed on my hands.
“And…I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
I closed my eyes and felt the silent tears fall.
“I love you.”
I opened my eyes, hearing the words I’d dreamed about for months.
“I still love you now like I did when I first said it. And I’ll always love you.”
My hands went to my cheeks and steepled over my nose, overwhelmed by his confession, shaken with joy. I thought the distance would make him question whether he ever loved me, make him doubt it was ever real. But it was real.
“But…”
I fucking hated that word. It was only three goddamn letters, but it had the power of the universe.
“I need to take it slow.”
I released such a breath of relief that it sounded like a gasp. I dropped my hands. “That’s fine… Whatever you want…of course.” I was an emotional wreck. If he weren’t there, I would literally sink to the floor and lie on his rug and cry for an hour. But he was there, so I stood still, probably looking just as pathetic as if I were on the floor. “Thank you.” What I wanted more than anything was to move into his arms and feel him hold me, but I had no idea what slow meant to him, so I just kept my distance. I closed my eyes and wiped away my tears with my fingertips, so ashamed by my appearance that I didn’t want to see him look at me, knowing I was so ugly right now.
When I opened my eyes again, he was there, right in front of me.
I hadn’t even heard him.
His hands cupped my cheeks and tilted my chin up.
It was the first time he’d touched me in months, the first time his fingertips felt my skin, the first time he’d been this close. He smelled the same; he felt the same.
His thumbs wiped away a new wave of tears.
My hands went to his wrists, and I took a deep breath when I felt his warmth, felt the cords under the skin, the muscles of his forearm. He was exactly as I remembered, felt exactly as I remembered. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop crying.” I took a deep breath and tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought…”
“You could never lose me.” His thumbs wiped away my tears again. “Because when I told you I loved you, I meant it. I just… It took me a long time to cool off.” He rested his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”
I pulled his hands off my face and moved into his chest, letting my wet face soak his cotton shirt, let my makeup stain it even though it probably cost four hundred dollars. My arms circled his waist, and I squeezed him hard, unable to believe this was real, it wasn’t a dream that made me jerk awake in the middle of the night.
His arms circled my waist, and he held me close, his head in the crook of my neck. He breathed hard as he touched me, his hard body softening, like he needed this as much as I did. “I missed you…”
I breathed into his shirt, crying, my eyes shut tight. “I missed you…so much.”
I took my assistant position back from Matt without asking Deacon’s permission, because I assumed his answer was obvious. One of my favorite things about my job was taking care of him, my favorite client, and I really went out of my way to make every single day special for him.
I knocked on his door but didn’t let myself inside like I used to. He said he wanted to take things slow, and I really didn’t understand what that meant, so I behaved like we were friends, like we were in the beginning of our old relationship. I didn’t try to kiss him. I didn’t ask him out. I just…let him steer the ship.
As long as we were together, I didn’t care about the specifics.
“Come in.”
I let myself inside, carrying a stack of mail and a package. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He was at the dining table, and he rose to his feet like he used to and walked to me.
I looked at him, transfixed by his handsome appearance, so happy to see his eyes turn soft once more. “I’ve got a few things for you. I paid all your bills…I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”
“No.”
I handed him the package. “This looked important, so I thought I would bring it up right away.”
He examined the sender’s address before he carried it back to the table and set it down, like it wasn’t important enough for him to open it.