Page 87 of What We Break
She doesn't answer right away, and my heart actually stops. Then she shakes her head slowly.
"No. That's what's weird about it." She looks up at me, and there's wonder in her eyes. "For the first time in my life, I don't want to run when things get real. I want to stay and see what happens."
The relief that floods through would have made my knees buckle if I were standing. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"What do you think happens?" I ask, because I'm curious. Because I want to know if she's picturing the same things I am.
"I don't know. That's the scary part." She settles back against me, her hand warm over my heart. "But also the exciting part."
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, just holding each other.
"Reid?" she says eventually.
"Mmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For making me want to stay somewhere. For making me want to try."
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in. "Thank you for staying."
She lifts her head to look at me, and there's something different in her expression now. Less vulnerable, more sure. Like she's made a decision.
"So what do we do now?" she asks.
"Now we see what happens when two people who are falling in love decide to fall together instead of running away."
Where the hell did that come from? Must be from one of those relationship podcasts Tony's always playing in the rig. Doesn't matter. It's true.
"That sounds terrifying," she says.
"Yeah, it does."
"And amazing."
"That too."
18
LAINE
"You're going to burn your tongue," Reid says, watching me blow on my coffee. His hand is on my ankle, thumb tracing absent circles on my skin. I don't think he knows he's doing it. It's making me feel all kinds of tingly things.
"I'm willing to risk it. I need caffeine more than I need taste buds."
We're sitting on my couch, feet tangled together, sharing the Sunday paper—like an actual made-from-paper newspaper— like an old married couple. Reid's got the sports section, I've got the local news, and his other hand keeps finding excuses to touch me — adjusting the blanket over my legs, brushing my hair back, resting on my knee while he reads.
Sunday morning. Couch. Boyfriend. Newspaper. I'm one golden retriever away from a stock photo. And the scary part is how much I like it.
"Listen to this," I say, scanning an article about the new community center downtown. "They're looking for volunteer nurses for health screenings. That sounds right up my alley."
"More volunteering?" Reid grins, setting down his section of the paper to stretch his arms over his head. His shirt rides up, and I get a glimpse of his stomach.
I'm not staring. Much.
