The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(112)

Pat’s smile goes crooked and his espresso eyes soften, even though he doesn’t move. We’re just staring across the room that smells like baby powder and faintly like the disinfecting solution they use to clean everything. As far as romantic moments go, this one smells the worst.

Mama interrupts our staring. “Oh, wonderful! Patrick, come meet my daughter. Lindy, this is Patrick. He’s the one who’s been brightening up my life with the flowers and the birds.”

It takes my groggy, overworked brain a moment to catch up. The man Mama called her gardener is my Pat. He’s the one who’s been bringing Mama flowers and adding bird feeders. Not someone on staff here at the facility.

This is exactly the kind of man he is—the man I love. Always thinking of others—giving, giving, giving. Even when it’s in secret.

The sweetness makes me tear up yet again, and I am so sick of tears, I’d like to close down my ducts for the rest of the year. They can reopen after January first, or maybe next summer sometime.

Pat may have just said he doesn’t need a grand gesture, but I vow right then and there to keep finding ways to show him I love him. Large, small, medium. All the gestures in all the shapes and sizes will be coming his way. It will be a lifetime of Gesturepalooza.

That is, if he wants me.

Shut up, Lindy. He wants you.

I’m going to listen to the bossy voice in my head which sounds a lot like Winnie right now. I stand, and Pat meets me halfway between Mama and the door. With zero hesitation, he wraps me in his arms, crushing the flowers between us.

“You’re here,” I say, my mouth against his neck. “You’ve been coming here, doing all this for Mama?”

“You love me.” He says the words like they’re a precious treasure he’s holding. There’s awe in his voice and happiness too. “I heard you say it, didn’t I?”

“You did, and I do. I love you, Pat.”

“I think I might need you to pinch me.”

I do, right at one of his ticklish spots, and when he giggles, a tear drips right into the corner of my smile. “I’m sorry for pushing you away, and for not telling you sooner. I don’t know why you're still here.”

“I’ll always be here for you. Always, Lindybird. And I’m sorry for putting everything on you yesterday. It was terrible timing. I should have waited.”

“It was the worst timing. The absolute worst.”

Pat pulls back enough to look at me. “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

He presses a kiss to my cheek then another, tracing a seemingly random path over my skin with his lips. It takes me a moment to realize he’s kissing away my tears.

“Just like before, we both made some missteps. Do you think we can forget about the mistakes and move on toward the good part?”

His lips curve, and his eyes gleam. “And what, pray tell, is the good part?”

I capture his lips in mine, showing him exactly what the good part will entail. Mouths, lips, hands—all the closeness, all the connection. The kiss is flame and sugar, hot and sweet. I’m starving, and Pat is delicious.

And finally, finally I feel the wall of my resolve for distance come crumbling down. It more than crumbles. Pat’s love is like a wave of water, slamming into that wall and obliterating any resistance.

Letting go feels like love. Giving in feels like freedom.

I want Pat. In all the ways I can have him. My husband. My friend. My lover. My family, my forever.

The spark of desire returns, burning brighter and hotter than two nights ago when I begged Pat to take me to bed. Now, the desperate need for closeness, to feel his skin on mine, is pure, and it’s about cementing the commitment we made to each other, in that courtroom and again, today. I’d happily make vows to Pat every morning and renew them again at night.

Because this? This is everything.

We’ll probably make a lot of mistakes together. But together, we’re better than we are apart. We’re more.

A throat clearing has us jerking apart, both breathing heavy. The flowers Pat held in his hand, probably meant for Mama’s vase, are crushed between us. This is … totally awkward.

Mama raises one white brow, her expression both mischievous and disapproving. “As happy as I am for you two, I’d prefer a little distance from the full show.”

Pat and I mutter apologies, exchanging sheepish glances as we pull apart.

“Do we need to have the talk again?” Mama continues, and I remind myself she thinks I’m years younger than I am.

“Nope. No talk necessary,” I tell her, my cheeks flaming. Pat chuckles, and I shove him.

“I might need the talk,” Pat says to Mama. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever had it.”

I go to shove him again, and he darts out of the way, giggling. Mama eyes him like she’s totally got his number.

“Boy, with the way you kiss, it looks like you’re well versed.”

“Mama!” I hide my face behind my hands, because I don’t want to have any more of this conversation.

Pat does his best to revive the flowers, which is pretty much a lost cause. Petals litter the floor and I kneel to pick them up, counting each one as I try to cool down the raging heat flooding my bloodstream. We set what’s left of the daisies in a vase, wave goodbye to Mama, and practically sprint down the hallway. We don’t stop until we reach his truck, which is parked beside my car.