wasn’t missing. She wasn’t gone. She was cooking him breakfast. Like she belonged here. Like she belonged in his life. In his house. In his bed.
For one second it made him feel like he belonged. Like she’d been the missing piece to making this his, to making it more than McCormack.
He felt like he was standing in the middle of a dream. Standing there looking at somebody else’s life. At some wild, potential scenario that in reality he would never get to have.
Right in front of him was everything. And in the same moment he saw that, he imagined the hole that would be left behind if it was ever taken away. If he ever believed in this, fully, completely. If he reached out and embraced her now, there would be no words for how empty his arms would feel if he ever lost her.
“Don’t you have work?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
She turned around and smiled, the kind of smile that lit him up inside, from his head, down his toes. He did his very best not to return the gesture. Did his best not to encourage it in any way.
And he cursed himself when the glow leached out of her face. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.
“You didn’t need to make breakfast.”
“Au contraire. I was hungry. So breakfast was needed.”
“You could’ve gone home.”
“Yes, Grumpy-Pants, I could have. But I decided to stay here and make you food. Which seemed like an adequate thank-you for the multiple orgasms I received yesterday.”
“Bacon? You’re trying to pay for your orgasms with bacon?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and revealed that she did not, in fact, have anything on beneath the shirt. “Bacon is a borderline orgasmic experience.”
“I have work. I don’t have time to eat breakfast.”
“Maybe if you had gotten up at a decent hour.”
“I don’t need you to lecture me on my sleeping habits,” he bit out. “Is there coffee?”
“It’s like you don’t know me at all.” She crossed the room and lifted a thermos off the counter. “I didn’t want to leave it sitting on the burner. That makes it taste gross.”
“I don’t really care how it tastes. That’s not the point.”
She rested her hand on the counter, then rapped her knuckles against the surface. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop it, Chase. Maybe you can BS the other bimbos that you sleep with, but you can’t do it to me. I know you too well. This has nothing to do with waking up late.”
“This is a bad idea,” he said.
“What’s a bad idea? Eating bacon and drinking coffee with one of your oldest friends?”
“Sleeping with one of my oldest friends. It was stupid. We never should’ve done it.”
She just stood there, her expression growing waxen, and as the color drained from her face, he felt something even more critical being scraped from his chest, like he was being hollowed out.
“It’s a little late for that,” she pointed out.
“Well, it isn’t too late to start over.”
“Chase...”
“It was fun. But, honestly, we accomplished everything we needed to. There’s no reason to get dramatic about it. We agreed that we weren’t going to let it affect our friendship. And it...it just isn’t working for me.”
“It was working fine for you last night.”
“Well, that was last night, Anna. Don’t be so needy.”
She drew back as though she had been slapped and he wanted to punch his own face for saying such a thing. For hitting her where he knew it would hurt. And he waited. Waited for her to grow prickly. For her to retreat behind the walls. For her to get angry and start insulting him. For her to end all of this in fire and brimstone as she scorched the earth in an attempt to disguise the naked pain that was radiating from her right now.
He knew she would. Because that was how it went. If he pushed far enough, then she would retreat.
She closed the distance between them, cupping his face, meeting his eyes directly. And he waited for the blow. “But I feel needy. So what am I going to do about that?”
He couldn’t have been more shocked than if she had reached up and slapped him. “What?”
“I’m needy. Or maybe...wanty? I’m both.” She took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m both. I want more. Not less. And this is... This is the moment where we make decisions, right? Well, I’ve decided that I want to move forward with this. I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back.”
“Anna,” he said, her name scraping his throat raw.
“Chase,” she said, her own voice a whisper in response.
“We can’t do this,” he said.
He needed the Anna he knew to come to his rescue now. To laugh it all off. To break this tension. To say that it didn’t matter. To wave her hand and say it was all whatever and they could forget it. But she wasn’t doing that. She was looking at him, her green eyes completely earnest, vulnerability radiating from her face. “We need to do this. Because I love you.”
* * *
Anna could tell that her words had completely stunned Chase. Fair enough, they had shocked her just as much. She didn’t know where all of this was coming from. This strength. This bravery.
Except that last night’s conversation kept echoing in her mind. When she had told him about her mother. When she had told him about how she always regretted not closing the distance between them. Always regretted not taking the chance.
That was the story of her entire life. She had, from the time she was a child, refused to make herself vulnerable. Refused to open herself up to injury. To pain. So she pretended she didn’t care. She pretended nothing mattered. She did that every time her father ignored her, every time he forgot an important milestone in her life. She had done it the first time she’d ever had sex with a guy and it had made her feel something. Rather than copping to that, rather than dealing with it, she had mocked him.
All of her inner workings were a series of walls and shields, carefully designed to keep the world from hitting the terrible, needy things inside of her. Designed to keep herself from realizing they were there. But she couldn’t do it anymore. She didn’t want to do it anymore. Not with Chase. She didn’t want to look back and wonder what could have been.
She wanted more. She needed more. Pride be damned.
“I do,” she said, nodding. “I love you.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m
