Page 86 of What We Break
We lay for a while, just breathing together. My fingers have found her hair—I can't help it, I have to be doing something—and I'm playing with the ends, twisting them around my knuckles.
"Tell me something," she says quietly.
"Something like what?"
"Something I don't know about you. Something real."
I think about deflecting. Making a joke about my irrational fear of geese or my secret talent for karaoke. But she asked for something real, and she deserves real.
"I used to be afraid I'd never find this," I say finally. The words feel heavier out loud than they did in my head.
"This?"
"Someone who makes me want to stay home. Someone I look forward to seeing at the end of a bad day." I run my fingers through her hair, slow and steady. "After Jared died, I kind of shut down for a while. Didn't date much, didn't let people get close. I was all about casual. Easier that way."
"What changed?"
"You." The word comes out simple and true. "Meeting you made me realize I wasn't actually protecting myself from getting hurt. I was just... existing. Going through the motions. Waiting for something without knowing what I was waiting for."
Laine tilts her head up to look at me. "I know that feeling."
"Yeah?"
"All those years traveling, I told myself I was doing what I was supposed to do. Following my parents' example, you know? Keep moving, help people, make a difference wherever you land." Herfingers trace lazy patterns on my chest. I don't think she knows she's doing it, but it's driving me crazy in the best way. "I never really let myself think about what else might be possible."
"And now?"
"Now I'm lying in bed with someone who makes me want to build something instead of just passing through." She pauses, and I can hear the wonder in her voice. "Someone who makes me realize there's more than one way to help people, more than one way to matter."
The words settle between us, heavy with meaning. This is it—the moment where we both acknowledge that whatever this is, it's not casual. It's not temporary. It's the kind of thing that changes your life.
"Your turn," I say, nudging her gently. "Tell me something I don't know."
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything. Everything. Your middle name. Your worst fear. Whether you were a Backstreet Boys or NSYNC girl."
She laughs. "NSYNC, obviously. I had a poster of Justin Timberlake on my wall for approximately three weeks before we moved."
"See? This is vital information. I'm learning so much."
She hums, thinking. "I've never had a favorite coffee shop before."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, everywhere I lived, I'd find a place that made decent coffee and I'd go there until I left. But I never had a place where the barista knew my name, knew my order, asked how my day was." She smiles against my chest. "Now I have this little place near my apartment where Maria always has my drink ready before I even order it. She asks about my shifts. Remembers that I hate it when it rains."
"That's nice."
"It is. But it's also weird, you know? Having routines, having people who expect to see you. Sometimes I still wake up and think about packing my bags." She says it casually, but I feel her tense slightly against me.
"Do you want to? Pack your bags?"
The thought of her actually doing it, just up and leaving makes me want to puke.
I'd probably follow her. Trail behind her like some lost dog,showing up wherever she landed next with my own bag and that stupid hopeful look on my face.Hey, remember me? Your disaster of a boyfriend who can't sit still and talks too much?
Christ. I'd be that guy. The one who can't take a hint.
