Page 106 of The Exit Strategy

“You said mine,” I snap, then clamp my mouth shut and suck in both lips to bite on them. Hard. My mouth has always run on its own agenda. “At the drafting table. You said, I want you there as mine. It’s a lot to process after years of being pushed away.”

Jesus, Junie. Get control of your mouth!

“I did.” His smile says a million things while his gaze is dangerously close to incinerating my thin pajamas if he steps even an inch closer.

My heart rate increases in steady beats that get more aggressive with each second that passes.

Slowly, he uncrosses his arms, then he’s gripping the counter on either side of his hips so tightly that his knuckles instantly turn white.

“Well, okay then. This isn’t frustrating at all.”

He can’t just drop a bomb and then decide he doesn’t want to talk about it. And he’s been doing it all evening—answering in the minimum number of words that technically constitute an answer while I do all the work of constructing the actual conversation.

“Cole.” His name flies from my lips with all the snark and sass he knows me for.

“Junie.” My name flies from his lips like a lash from a whip.

Shit. He’s not holding on to his control any better than I am.

But I’m done letting him steer this ship. I’m done waiting for him to make a decision where I’m concerned. He either wants me or he doesn’t, and since I’ve spent years under the impression that he most certainly does not want me, I now have nothing to lose.

“I’m going to say something.” My voice is clear and smooth. “And you’ll have the opportunity to either respond or stand there doing what you’ve always done, which, by the way, has gotten us nowhere, so I’m really going to need you to choose the first one.”

I’m actively choosing vulnerability for the first time in my life, and a flicker of recognition moves behind his eyes. The faintest hint of a dimple. “Go ahead.”

I set my mug on the counter. I need both hands for this. Or at least, I need to not spill the tea when my nerves inevitably take over.

“I showed up here with an exit strategy, but I’ve…stopped running,” I say. “I told you I couldn’t do the in-between anymore, and I meant it, but somewhere between the ring…” My thumb instinctively moves to it. “Our meetings on the porch and you going to fix Frank’s gutters because you couldn’t sit still—I’m learning to…stay in the moment, not run from it. I don’t know exactly when it started. I just know that I’m here, now, in whatever this is, with you.”

I run my knuckles over my chest. My heart is being fucking annoying with its mismatched beats anduncomfortable throbbing. He clocks the movement, the way he always does—intensely.

“And.” I slide an inch away from him, and my thoughts clear. “I just think you should know that because you keep warning me away, telling me I don’t have the full story yet. Every time you do, I say okay. And I mean that, Cole. But I’m not a patient woman, and I’m not waiting until our story is perfect before I decide. Life has taught me that it will never be perfect, so I made a decision based on the knowledge I have. And, Cole?”

His stare lifts from my lips to my eyes.

“My decision is clear. I know what I want.”

The truth behind my declaration is like drawing a line in the sand. I laid down the gauntlet, but I won’t cross the line until he does.

“That might be the bravest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he says.

“It’s going to be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever said to you if you don’t?—”

He crosses to me in three steps.

His hands come up to my face the way they did in my apartment—cupped, deliberate, like I’m something he’s been coveting for a long time and has finally decided to take.

“I’ve already decided too.” His thumb drags along my jaw. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

My pulse has lost its rhythm.

I scoff, grasping hold of my snark with both hands—just in case. “Your communication style leaves a lot of room for interpretation.”

He chuckles, and his warm, minty breath hits my face like a kiss and a warning.

“Noted.” His mouth finds the corner of mine—just theborder of a kiss—the pressure of almost. “Is this interpretation clear enough?”

“Getting there,” I rasp. “I might need further clarification though.”