Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(59)

I swallowed, watching her eyes widen, her lips soften until they parted slightly.

“I see an intelligent woman, who had to grow up faster than she should have, but who handled it with grace. I see strength, and thoughtfulness, and care. I see someone who doesn’t stand for being walked on, who refuses to follow the stream just because someone tells her it’s what she’s expected to do. I see a voyageur, someone who makes her own path, her own journey, and who gives off a light that draws everyone around her in like moths to a flame.”

“Logan…”

“And I see someone who fights for justice, and who learns before she judges.” I stopped swaying, sliding my hands up her back, over her arms, eliciting a wave of chills in my wake before my hands framed her face. I swept her hair back, looking into those almost-violet pools of her eyes as I spoke my next words. “I see the first woman to steal my heart, and the only woman I ever want to keep it.”

Mallory’s bottoms lip quivered, eyes glossing as they flicked between mine. For a long moment, we watched each other, those last words hanging between us, the air so thick I felt it pressing in on every side of me. Then, she took a breath, stepped back, away, my hands dropping from where they held her as she pressed a hand to her head.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” she said, swallowing and offering half a smile as she shook her head. “I’m feeling a little dizzy, I think. I should probably go lie down and get some rest.” She was already walking toward the door, swiping her scarf off the coat rack and wrapping it around her neck. “We both have to work tomorrow, and the grand opening, it’s going to be a long day.” She laughed. “Need to be sharp, you know?”

“Mallory…” I tried, reaching for her and pulling her into me again. “I…”

She watched me, waiting, but I found I didn’t have anything else to say. I didn’t want to apologize, though by the way she was reacting, I felt like maybe I should have.

But I wasn’t sorry. I’d said what I’d meant, and I’d said it because I wanted her to know.

What she did with it now was up to her.

I swallowed. “I can drive you home,” I finished. “If you’re feeling dizzy.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m okay. It’s not too far.” Her eyes glanced at the table, where our dessert plates and half-empty glasses of wine still sat. “Thank you,” she said, looking up at me again. The gloss in her eyes was gone, but her voice trembled slightly. “For the dinner, and the wine.” She smiled. “And the dance.”

I nodded, swallowing, unsure of if I was allowed to kiss her, to pull her into me even more than I already had.

“With the grand opening tomorrow, will you…” She reached for the back of her neck. “I mean, I know everyone will be there, and with our families… I just… I understand, if you can’t come. If you don’t want to.”

I shook my head, sliding my hands back into her hair and bending to look straight into her eyes. “Mallory, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

She nodded, but her eyes slipped to my chest. She couldn’t hold eye contact, and she avoided it even more when she pulled away, grabbed her purse, and opened the front door.

Mallory zipped out, leaving me inside with the warmth of our embrace battling against the cool wind whipping in now. But she paused on my porch, turning to face me.

“Goodnight, Logan,” she spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Mallory.”

Her eyes flicked between mine one last time, then she was gone.

And I was there, on the wrong side of the line she’d drawn between us, wondering if I’d ruined everything, wondering if she’d call it all off tomorrow, wondering if I’d have to live without her — all because I couldn’t live within the terms she’d set for us.

Knowing I wouldn’t be able to move on — not now that I’d known what it was like to have her.

With nothing left to do, and the ball firmly in her court, I swallowed, closed the door, and started cleaning.





Mallory


Twenty minutes before the grand opening of my very own, very first art studio, I stood upstairs in my loft apartment, staring at myself in the mirror, and hating everything I saw.

I hated that my hair was pinned up instead of straightened and framing my face. I hated that it was blonde instead of the bright violet I’d loved so much. I hated that I was wearing a white dress that was cut under my knees in the front but fell down to the floor in the back, like a goddamn bride, instead of my raggedy old jeans and a t-shirt and Chucks. I hated that I was a picture-perfect vision of what my parents wanted me to be that night, instead of who I really was.

“It’s just for tonight,” Chris reminded me gently from where he stood behind me. He fixed the strap of my dress, touching up a piece of my hair that had fallen before he handed me a tube of nude lipstick.

Nude, instead of the red or rose or burgundy I preferred.

“I look ridiculous.”

“You actually look quite beautiful,” he argued, but it was hard for me to believe him, considering he was wearing a fitted, fuchsia tuxedo. He did somehow manage to pull it off, though, and he looked — as he would have called it — gay boy chic. “And I know you hate hearing that, since this is the last thing you’d ever pick for yourself to wear. But, you do. And, regardless of what you’re wearing, this is a night of celebration.” He framed my arms, turning me to face him instead of the mirror. Then, he unscrewed the liquid lipstick tube, tapping my bottom lip until I parted my lips enough to let him paint them. “Tonight is the opening of your business, Mallory. Your art studio. And no one can take that away from you.”