Not in love

“And something else. Something I didn’t have the language for. It was growing between us, and I didn’t know how to name it. Even when I could finally imagine life as something shared. Even when I trusted you. Even when my mind was always full of you. There had never been anyone like you, and for a long time I didn’t have the word.”

“What word?”

“Love.”

The world stopped. Tipped over. Returned to its original state—but brighter. Sharper. Sweeter.

Perfect.

“If you still want me to love you, I really think I can love you back. Because I already do.” Two tears streaked her cheekbones. “And if you don’t, I guess I’ll be loving you anyway. But if you were to give me another chance—”

“Jesus.” He wanted to laugh. He wanted to spin her around. He wanted to ask her to marry him right now, before she could change her mind.

Her jaw worked. “Is that a no on that second chance?”

“God, you’re so fucking . . .” He shook his head, and then caged hers between his hands, leaning closer. Breathing in her scent. “I love you, Rue. You are the only chance there is.”

Her eyes shone bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He felt a bone-deep, chest-warming amount of joy—like she’d taken a knife from his heart and placed it back in her drawer. She still had the power to destroy him. Always would, he suspected, hold him in the palm of her hand.

He hoped she’d be merciful.

“Does this mean that we’re going to be dating?” she asked solemnly. Her mouth struggled to shape that last word. He couldn’t help pressing his thumb against her full lower lip.

“It means that . . .” That you’re mine, the uncivilized part of him screamed. That I’m going to take you and hoard you. “I’m going to be open with you, because I wasn’t always, and that was a mistake. Okay?”

She nodded.

“It means that I’m not going into this thinking that there will be an ending. Do you get my meaning?”

She nodded again.

“And I’m going to—I’m going to want to see you every day. I’m going to learn more dishes and pack your lunch and write cute little notes on it. I’m going to ask you if you want to sleep at your place or mine and always assume that we’re spending the night together. I’m going to think about you all the damn time. I’m going to assume I’m watering your plants when you’re out of town. I’m going to hold your hand in public. I’m going to kiss you in public. I’m going to organize surprise parties for you with your friend. I’m going to send a hundred texts per day with stupid online shit I think you should see. Clingy as fuck, Rue. Can you do it? Can you live with me as your boyfriend?” The word seemed as reductive as dating. For now, he told himself. For a short while.

“I am really bad at replying to texts.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t love surprise parties.”

“I know.”

“But the rest . . .” She smiled against his thumb. “Yes, please.”

He leaned into her ear. “I’m going to do the filthiest things to you.”

Her breath hitched. “You do have a ridiculous sex drive.”

“So do you.”

“So do I.”

He pulled back, and it was her turn to press a soft kiss against his thumb, even if her eyes were serious as she warned, “I’ll never be easy to be around, Eli.”

He knew that. He loved that. He wanted nothing more than to learn every inch of her, his complicated, mercurial dream girl.

He leaned in for a kiss. But before, he said, “I can imagine worse fates.”