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I stare at her for too long, and she shifts back and forth under my stare. I love the way she’s dressed today—flat shoes, a pink tank top, and a skirt covered in flowers. Fucking beautiful, that’s what she is.
“Lunch instead?” I ask, not wanting to be away from her at all today.
“Kimberly made breakfast?” she whispers to me.
“So? It’s probably shitty anyway.” I wave at the food covering the counter. It doesn’t look bad, I guess. But she’s no Karen.
“Don’t say that.” Tessa smiles, and I almost repeat the sentence to earn another smile.
“Fine. We will take a plate to go and then can toss it when we get outside?” I suggest.
She ignores me, but I hear her telling Kimberly to save some leftovers for us to eat later.
Hardin, 1.
Kimberly and her shitty food and annoying questions, 0.
THE DRIVE through downtown Seattle isn’t as bad as usual. Tessa is quiet, like I knew she would be. I feel her eyes on me every few minutes, but every time I look at her, she quickly turns away.
For lunch, I choose a small, modern-style restaurant, and when we pull into a nearly empty lot, I know this means one of two things: either they just opened minutes ago and the crowd hasn’t started yet, or the food is shit so no one eats here. Hoping for the first, we go through the glass doors and Tessa’s eyes study the place. The decor is nice, whimsical, and she seems to like it, which reminds me just how much I love her reaction to the simplest things.
Hardin, 2.
Not that I’m keeping score or anything . . .
But if I were . . . I’d be winning.
We sit in silence while we wait to place our orders. The waiter is a young college kid who’s nervous and has some sort of eye-contact issue. He doesn’t seem to want to look into my eyes, the asshole.
Tessa orders something that I’ve never heard of, and I order the first thing I see on the menu that I have. A pregnant woman is seated at the table next to us, and I watch Tessa stare at the woman for just a beat too long.
“Hey.” I clear my throat to get her attention. “I don’t know if you even remember what I said last night, but if you do, I’m sorry. When I said I didn’t want a baby with you, I just meant I don’t want kids at all. But who knows”—my heart begins to pound against my ribs—“maybe one day or something.”
I can’t believe I just said that, and by Tessa’s expression, she can’t either. Her mouth is wide-open and her hand is in the air, holding her glass of water.
“What?” She blinks. “What did you just say?”
Why did I say that? I mean, I meant it. I think. I could maybe think about it. I don’t like kids or babies or teenagers, but then again, I don’t like adults either. I pretty much only like Tessa, so maybe a little version of her wouldn’t be so bad?
“I’m just saying, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?” I shrug, hiding the panic inside me.
Her mouth is still open. I’m beginning to think that I should lean across and hold her jaw for her.
“Obviously not anytime soon. I’m no idiot. I know you have to finish college and all that shit.”
“But you . . .” I’ve shocked her out of words apparently.
“I know what I said before, but I also never dated anyone, never loved anyone, never gave a shit about anyone, so I think this could be like that. I think after some time, I could change my mind. If you’ll give me the chance?”
I allow her a few seconds to collect herself, but she just sits there, mouth open, eyes wide.
“I still have work to do; you still don’t trust me, I know that. We have college to finish, and I still have to convince you to marry me first.” I’m rambling, searching for something that will catch her and make her mine in this moment. “Not that we have to be married first; I’m no gentleman.” A nervous laugh leaves my mouth, which finally seems to snap Tessa back into reality.
“We couldn’t,” she says, all color drained from her face.
“We could.”
“No—”
I hold my hand up to keep her quiet. “We could, though. I love you and I want a life with you. I don’t give a shit if you’re young and I’m young, and if I’m too wrong for you and you’re too right for me—I fucking love you. I know I’ve made mistakes . . .” I run my hand over my hair.
I glance around the small restaurant, and I’m fully aware that the pregnant lady is staring at me. Doesn’t she have a baby thing to do? Eat for two? Pump some milk? I don’t have a clue, but she’s making me nervous for some reason, like she’s judging me and she’s pregnant and it’s just plain fucking weird. Why did I choose a public place to spill this shit?
“And I also know that I’ve said this same speech probably . . . thirty times, but you have to know I’m not fucking around anymore. I want you, always. Fights, makeups, hell, you can even break up with me and move out of our place once a week; just promise me you’ll come back, and I won’t even complain about it.” I take a few breaths and look across the table at her. “Well, I won’t complain much.”
“Hardin, I can’t believe you’re saying all of this.” She leans in, her voice a whisper. “I . . . it’s everything I wanted.” Her eyes fill with tears. Happy tears, I hope. “But we can’t have children together. We aren’t even—”
“I know.” I can’t help but interrupt her. “I know you haven’t forgiven me yet, and I’ll be patient. I swear it—I won’t be too pushy. I just want you to know that I can be who you need, I can give you what you want, and not only because you want it, but because I want it, too.”