of myself and gave myself a shake. You know, inwardly. What the hell was wrong with me?
And then it dawned, slow and dramatic. The problem, I realized, was that I had, at some point during his recovery, become ready for more of a commitment in this relationship. Or maybe not during his recovery. Maybe it had been during those moments when he’d been inside that burning house and I’d been sure I would never see him alive again. I got it. I got why he’d finally blurted that he loved me after seeing me nearly get shot, thinking I had been shot for a horrifying moment. He’d been feeling then the way I was feeling now. And he’d told me so, said he loved me. But I hadn’t reciprocated. And now that I was ready to, he might have already moved on.
I mean, he’d bought his own damn dog. Wasn’t that a pretty big message?
The front door opened, and the boys surged inside carrying pizza boxes and containers of hot wings and bottles of soda in bags.
Josh dropped his burdens on the table, smiling ear to ear. “Hey, Rache! Did you bring Myrtle?”
Before I could answer, Myrt came trotting into the kitchen, right to her favorite human. Josh dropped onto all fours, and the two of them rolled around on the floor together.
Jeremy, watching them, smiled. “Hey, Rache,” he said. Then he blinked. “Wow, you look so much younger.”
I lifted my brows, though my bangs probably hid it. “You bucking for a really huge graduation present or what?”
He grinned. “Yes, but it’s still true.” Then he frowned. “What the heck...?”
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