Page 93 of Blame it on the Bet
“I’m moving to Boston,” I blurt. “In like two hours.”
“Please?”
I step back and hold the door open so he can pass me. I notice he’s got a plastic shopping bag in his other hand.
“Janet,” he says, following my gaze. “She sent me with a pie. I’ve got a thermos of coffee in here from Jameson, too.”
For the first time, I realize I’m dressed in only a terrycloth robe with my hair swept up in a towel turban. No clothes. No makeup. Not even a pair of slippers.
“Uh…that sounds great. Let me go put something on—” “No,” he says sharply. The surprise must register on my face because he’s quick to jump in again. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight. Not for a second. I can’t.”
“Bryan…”
He sets the bag and his phone down on the breakfast bar and wraps his big, strong hands around my forearms.
“No, Hennessy. I let you go once, and I won’t do it again. Not ever.”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper, looking up into his dark eyes. There’s something there that I haven’t seen before. They’re not amused or determined or angry. What I see in Bryan Truitt’s gaze, and on his face, is sheer emotion—ragged and raw. It’s so powerful that I couldn’t look away from him even if I wanted to. And I don’t.
“I love you,” he says on an exhalation, as if it’s a living, breathing thing that’s been inside of him all this time. “I loved you the moment I got stuck in that stupid pile of snow. I went there expecting to get the contract signed and get back on that plane home. But then I saw you…and I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t ever leave that town again without you.”
“That’s—that’s insane,” my brain replies, even as my heart flutters ecstatically.
And still, Peter Gabriel sings. He must have the song set to repeat.
Bryan shakes his head. “I should’ve made you listen to me. I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt—trusted that you’d understand what happened after you heard the whole story. But I was afraid you wouldn’t…that you couldn’t love me after that. So I ran away.”
“But you can only outrun your past for so long,” I say, echoing the words that Janet spoke to him when she handed him the sweet potato pie.
“Exactly,” he nods.
I sigh and give him a bittersweet smile.
“Bryan, I’m leaving for Boston. I’ve taken a job there.”
“Then I’m moving to Boston,” he says firmly.
I pull my arms out of his grasp and gape at him incredulously.
“What? Are you insane? Your home is in Los Angeles.”
“No.” The single word comes out as a sharp staccato. “No. Hennessy, my home is wherever you are. I will follow you wherever you go because I don’t want to live without you for a single second longer.”
I simply cannot process what I’m hearing—this declaration of undying love from a man who’s known me for less than three months. Nor can I process what I’m feeling— the swell of joy that’s radiating up from my toes, through my body, and practically shooting out of the top of my head.
He loves me! He wants to be with me! He’s as certifiably nuts as I am!
“You went to Mayhem before you came here?” I ask, wrenching my thoughts back onto firmer ground.
He looks confused for a second.
“The thermos and the pie,” I explain, gesturing to the bag.
“Yeah. I went there last night looking for you. Your sisters told me what was going on.”
“My sisters?” I sputter. “But they hate you!” A sheepish smile spreads across his face.
“Not so much… Walker loaned me her jeep, Bailey made me a mix tape for the road, and Jameson packed me snacks. They told me to bring you home. But…”
