Weather Girl(96)

“Did it work?”

“No. It was the most fucking painful breakup I’ve had in my life.” I want to leave zero doubt that it was the wrong thing to do. “You know I’m not used to being so open. So vulnerable. I just . . . didn’t know how to handle it when Torrance and Seth told us what they’d done,” I say. “But that wasn’t the issue, really. I do believe we’d have gotten together one way or another. They didn’t do anything that manipulated our emotions. I was starting to have feelings for you long before they intervened.” God, it seems like so long ago. “When we were swing dancing? That was torture. And before that, back at the bar after the holiday party . . . I kept thinking you were cute.”

And even though we’ve slept together, even though he knows I find him adorable and hot and fucking fantastic, he blushes at this. It absolutely ruins me. “It must have been the jackets.”

“Entirely.”

He shifts, propping one shoulder against the wall so he can face me. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while—really talk to you, not like what happened in the kitchen. But I didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready,” he says. “I’m so sorry. Everything that happened on the snow day—I could have handled it better, too. I wish I hadn’t told you that. That you weren’t acting like yourself. I’ve replayed it over and over in my head and come up with a hundred better things to say. I can’t believe I said something so wrong.”

“I understand. And I forgive you, ” I say. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I broke down when they found out.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” he says, inching closer. “I was serious when I told you I wanted to figure this out together. I still do. And that might mean stumbling through it for a while, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.”

“I can see that now.” If I weren’t already in love with him, his sincerity might send me over the edge. “Thank you. For giving me that time. And—and for letting me come back.”

His eyes on me are warmth and sweetness and a thousand other good things. It’s ridiculous that I ever wondered whether I was in love with him when I know now that I fell a long, long time ago.

“If I can’t hug you right now,” he says, voice shaky, “I might lose it.”

That’s all it takes for every stashed-away emotion to break the surface, and suddenly I’m fighting back tears. “Oh my god, please. Please hug me.” And before he can, I throw my arms around his neck, inhaling his woodsy-citrus-Russell scent, standing on my toes to press a kiss to his ear.

He holds me tightly, steadily, because Russell is always sure of himself. Sure of us.

“The truth is,” I say against his chest, his arms at my waist, “I love that I don’t have to put on a show when I’m with you. I’m still a little closed down with other people, though I’m trying to get better at that, too. But when I’m with you, it’s always been natural. You’ve seen all of me, and that’s terrifying. But taking the risk—it’s so fucking worth it.”

He kisses my forehead, thumb coming up to swipe away a tear before it falls.

“For the longest time . . . I’ve thought I was unlovable.” The word comes out in a whisper, because I’m not sure I knew I felt that way until I said it out loud. But Russ doesn’t flinch. “I didn’t think you would want me if I wasn’t always the best version of Ari Abrams. I didn’t think you’d want the person with issues. The person who wasn’t always happy.”

“Ari,” he says, his voice a rumble against my throat, “I’m still trying to understand how you wanted me.”

“Because you’re the best,” I say simply, and I love the way it makes his gaze burn brighter.

“I meant it when I told you before: I want every version of you.” A fingertip lands in the center of my lower lip. “I love every version of you.”

Then his mouth is on mine and my hands are in his hair and it’s impossible to get as close as I want. With every touch and stroke and breath, I tell him how I feel about him until my words come back to me.

“I love you, too,” I say when we move apart and he hugs me to his chest again. “God. It’s annoying how much I’ve missed you.”

“Thank you.”

“For . . . missing you? Because you’re welcome.”

A laugh, a gentle nudge of my arm before he drops a kiss to my forehead. “For trusting me.”





Epilogue




FORECAST:

A quintessential summer day, not a cloud in the sky

“HOW DO I look?” Torrance asks as she opens the door of the dressing room. “And don’t lie to me.”

I sat beside her while a makeup artist worked on her face, and I was with her when she bought her dress, but nothing could have prepared me for the full effect of Torrance Hale on her (second) wedding day.

She’s radiant.

“Like a powerful, exquisite sun goddess,” I say.

Her floor-length cream dress is accented with gold lace at the neckline and along the skirt, and instead of a veil, she had sunflowers woven into her hair. She swapped her usual red for a shimmery nude lipstick, the rest of her makeup soft and understated. When she turns, her necklace catches the light—a jeweled sun medallion I made for her last month.