Page 75 of From Square One

“It’s humiliating how quickly it happened. A handful of hours showed me how kind you are. That your humor is as dry as your stare. That you worry more about others than you should—even people you hate. Or rather dislike, since your heart won’t hold something as petty as hatred.”

He scoops up my other hand to massage away the frost glazing my joints. I allow it because I’m tired of being cold.

“I had a yearslong friendship with someone I discovered was using me. So being around you…someone who didn’t have the capacity to intentionally hurt me…was new. I didn’t understand it.” He raises my hands to pepper slow, lingering kisses between my knuckles. “The more time I spent with you, the less I thought about Logan. At one point, I realized my feelings expanded beyond liking you. I wanted you. I craved you. When we weren’t together, I was daydreaming about you. I didn’t know what it was to be happy until I became yours.”

Warmth blossoms behind my ears and into my cheeks. I must be flustered, though it struggles to break through the ice seal around my heart.

“The revenge plot lasted a couple of dates,” he says softly. He’s moved on to kiss my shivering fingertips. “That’s the thing about you. For as reserved as you are, your existence is explosive to those around you. After a few days, I suddenly wanted to be better. Not just for you, but for my dads, and for myself. Being with you made me think long-term, and that’s not something I ever used to do.”

The heat is expanding downward through my neck. If he keeps talking, the ice will crack.

“I didn’t tell you because for so long, you believed I was scum.” Aaron leans his forehead against my knee with a frustrated huff. “You weren’t wrong. But I was changing, and you started warming up to me. I was scared that if I told you it started as a lie, it would validate all your old concerns and you’d end up heartbroken anyway. I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you. Of losing you.”

I feel the brush of his mouth as it curls up into an annoyed smile against my skin.

“I changed, but I’ve still been acting selfish,” he breathes. “I’m sorry for lying by omission. I’m sorry for ever intending to hurt you. For actually hurting you. I promise never to hide anything from you again. But please understand that my love isn’t a lie.”

He cranes his neck to look up again, his expression resolute. I’m starting to feel bad about how long he’s been kneeling on the floor.

“You’re everything I want to be,” he says. “You deserve someone who treats you with the same consideration you offer everyone else. I promise to continue trying to be that person for you. If you’ll let me. Someone who takes care of you and helps you look after your health. Someone who keeps you from huddling up in your room. Someone who doesn’t give up on you. Someone who puts you first.”

He rises on his knees, bringing my palms together, his own folded around them. He smiles, a mixture of sweet and mischievous, gray eyes crinkling, and I realize I don’t stand a chance.

“I love you, Riley Wilson,” he whispers. “Thank you for being the center of my everything. My sunshine.”

I continue watching him, my body’s aches and pains loud enough to disrupt my thoughts. I wonder how long he practiced this. It’s thoughtful. Sweet. Charming, like I knew it would be.

All I can manage to mumble is “Not pity?”

Thankfully, he understands. “I just listed several reasons I fell for you,” he says, dragging his thumb beneath my dry, tired eye. “Pity isn’t one of them.”

Okay. My biggest question has been answered. Now what?

“I’m going to make you food,” Aaron says, rising to his feet so he can go back to towering. “I won’t stick around after that. I won’t text or come to your window. The next step is yours. Take as much time as you need to think about what I’ve said. If you’re not willing to see me again…”

He winces, like the thought is difficult to bear.

“I’ll respect your wishes and hope for a day you can forgive me. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

Then he leaves. I sit on the edge of the bed, exhaustion rippling through me, the frost steadily webbing through my body without his warmth to keep it at bay. I don’t have the strength to know what I should be thinking. All I know is that I don’t feel worse.

Aaron returns five minutes later with a sandwich and potato chips, then places the plate beside me. He leans over and kisses my forehead—a parting memento. Then he heads for the window.

“Wait,” I say.

He pauses. I stare at the food, blinking slow, my vision blurred at the edges.

“I’m cold,” I breathe.

Aaron turns to me, his expression horribly soft.

“I’m cold,” I repeat. “And tired. And dizzy. And sore. I’m cold.”

I don’t know how to ask without sounding pathetic. He understands. I don’t think anyone else would. “I won’t talk,” he assures me, and he returns to my side, sliding onto my mattress and pressing his back against the headboard. He gathers me between his legs and leans me against his chest. His skin radiates heat, like it’s convinced it’s still outside soaking up the sun.

He holds the plate under my chin with one hand, then brings the sandwich to my mouth. When I bite into it, I can taste the salt of meat and tang of mustard and cheese. Aaron keeps to his word, and I’m too numb to feel awkward about the silence.

Within minutes, the throbbing in my stomach lessens. I’m still shivering, though, and exhausted beyond relief. When I finish, I stay slumped against him, fumbling for the blankets. Aaron hikes them over us, then shifts onto his back with me, making me comfortable on the pillow. He curls around me, pouring his warmth into my body.