“One week. In the realworld. You and me. We can try it out.” Was I foolishly delaying theinevitable? Yes. I wouldn’t have to do anything to prove myselfright in this. But it would be one more week with him.
“You’re giving me a weekto, what? Convince you that I love you?” he clarifieddoubtfully.
“No. You have to do theimpossible. You have to convince me that I can be loved. In thereal world,” I added. “You can’t whisk me off to Paris orRome.”
“Right, because a city fullof priests screams romance,” he said. “How does a week work? Youlive in California. I live in New York.”
I shrugged. “I have afeeling my boss is going to be fine with me missing work foranother week for this.”
“So, what? You’re moving inwith me for a week?” he asked, and though I would have liked tohear some panic in him at the idea, hesounded…enthusiastic.
Oh, Matt. You bigoptimistic dope.
I nodded. “A normal week.You see what it’s like to live with me, under somewhat normalcircumstances, for one week. I guarantee, you won’t love meanymore.”
“I guarantee my love foryou isn’t going to go away,” he argued. “What happens at the end ofthe week? If you’re still unconvinced.”
“We’ll figure that out inseven days, I guess,” I said with a shrug.
“I’m going to ask you foranother week,” he warned.
“You’re free to doso.”
“And I’ll ask for anotherweek after that.” His hand slid down my back, pressing me to himharder. “And another after that.”
“You can ask,” I said,before his mouth covered mine again.
He could ask.
And I would say yes.