Page 53 of The Dating Proposal
She pulls me in for a hug, pets my hair, then speaks softly. “I love you, and I’m only saying this because I love you, but if you let him get away, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.”
I jerk my head up. “I am?”
She exhales heavily. “Don’t let him get away. Love is scary and terrifying and wonderful and enchanting all at the same damn time.”
Worry tugs at me, threatening to lure me down into the blanket cave again. Fear of heartbreak is so damn powerful and paralyzing. “But what if . . .”
“What if he’s your sailboat in the moonlight?”
Those words—they hook into me, playing notes and chords inside me, hitting all my hopes and dreams. The ones I keep locked up, but the ones that are so real.
She shakes her head, squeezes my hand. “Love is one giant what-if. You might get hurt again, but you might also love more, feel more, give more. You might find your capacity to love expands and deepens. There’s never a guarantee you won’t get hurt. There’s never a guarantee about anything. But that’s what makes it so worthwhile. You get up and give it your all because of that chance for joy and happiness and that feeling that only comes from falling in love with someone who loves you back as wildly, as wondrously, and as deeply as you love him.”
My heart army-crawls up my throat, and tears rim my eyes. “Stop it,” I choke out.
“Stop what?”
“Stop being so right all the time.”
She pulls me in for another hug. “It comes with age. I’m like a good wine.”
I stay in her embrace for a few minutes, savoring the comfort of friendship. Her friendship, and Erin’s and Julia’s too, as well as Andy’s and even Lena’s—and certainly Ms. Pac-Man’s—got me through a dark, terrible heartbreak.
I’m on the other side. I’ve been on it for a while now.
I’m better.
I’m happier.
I can either fall back into the familiar and keep my heart on lockdown, wrapped up, insulated, and safe from the world.
Or I can unlock it and let it free.
Andy was right when he said I have the key.
I do.
All I have to do now is turn it.
32
Chris
Cooper kicks ass crooning Foreigner. Even I have to admit that. I say as much to our friend Violet, who’s cheering him on during the chorus of the rock anthem.
“The man can sing,” I say.
“He sure can,” she says, and when she watches him, I swear she has stars in her eyes. Someday those two are going to realize they have it bad for each other.
When he’s done, I glance at my phone, hopeful that McKenna will have reached out.
But the screen is empty. No text messages, and no missed calls.
I sigh heavily and rake a hand through my hair as Cooper makes his way off the stage, joining the crew at the table. He takes a bow, hamming it up, then flops down in a chair. He chats with Violet for a minute, and I check my phone once more.
He jerks his head toward me. “Just call her. Or better yet, go see her.”
I shoot him a look. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re checking your phone every five minutes. Your woman isn’t here. Something went wrong. Go find her, and sort it out.”
“It’s not that easy,” I say.
He moves his chair, pulling it away from the table and staring at me with serious brown eyes. “Isn’t it?”
I shrug. “It’s . . . complicated. She’s . . .” I don’t want to say more. I feel like I’m violating her trust.
Cooper waves a hand like he’s a magician and is vanishing all these problems. “She’s worried. She’s freaking out. She’s afraid. Something like that. The point is—do what you two always talk about on your show. Communicate. Be direct. Figure out if she’s going to move forward with you or not. And if you don’t want to do that, I’m going to have to take away your phone so you can’t look at it anymore.”
I stuff it in my back pocket and hold up my hands. “Fine. I’m done.”
“Good. Now get your ass out of here, find your woman, and sort out whatever went down.”
I don’t need to cogitate on his advice. I know he’s right. Hell, if I walked into the lioness den at The Tiki Bar, I can go to McKenna’s goddamn house and find out where she stands. Is she in or out? That’s a simple question. You’re either willing to be in love or you’re not. I need to make sure she’s crystal clear on where I stand and what I want. Telling her I’m over my trust issues wasn’t enough. I need to tell her I’m in love with her, and I want our thing to be the real thing. The one and only thing.
