Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Is everything okay?” He searches my gaze. “Are you hurting? Do you want to go home?”
“You said… you said you love me.”
“Is everything okay?” he asks, his brow creased in concern.
“You. Said. You. Love. Me.”
“Stella, I’m not seeing the—oh…” He shakes his head, a sad smile turning down his lips. “I think I get it.”
“Get what?”
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“Samson,” I plead with him. “What don’t I remember?”
“You said you loved me in the ER. I thought… fuck.”
My heart rattles in my chest. I told him I loved him?
“Listen.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “It’s fine. You were pretty out of it. I get it if it’s too soon. But what I said stands—I love you, Luna. You’re my heart. My fucking soul. You’re my past, my present, and my future. You’re the person I want to grow old with.”
He squeezes my hand before interlacing our fingers. “I love you, and I know you love me too, but if you need some time, that’s fine. I’ll give it to you.” He smiles, and this time, it reaches his eyes. “What’s a little bit longer when we have the rest of our lives together?”
“I…” I trail off, blinking rapidly to keep my tears at bay while I attempt to arrange my spiraling thoughts into words.
“Stay put and I’ll come help you down,” he says, killing the engine. “We’re already ten minutes late.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, but he’s already out of the truck.
My heart is still beating erratically when he opens the back door to retrieve my crutches. I want to scream and shout how I feel for him, but he’s right—we’re already late for dinner.
But tonight, once we’re home, he and I are going to sit down and have a serious talk. Because the thought of him thinking I’m not ready for his love… it’s unacceptable.
He opens my door and offers me his hand. “Careful getting down, the ground’s a little uneven.”
I place my hand in his, trying to ignore the butterflies flapping around in my belly. It’s like, now that I know he loves me, I’m looking at every interaction under a new lens.
Even the simplest of gestures, like helping me down from his truck, are done in love, and holy crap, if that knowledge doesn’t set me on fire.
“Thanks, Samson.” My voice sounds breathy even to my own ears, but if Samson notices, he doesn’t call me on it.
“Anything for you, Luna.”
We walk—okay, he walks, I hobble—down the sidewalk that leads around the backside of the building, cutting through the patio toward the entrance.
Samson holds the door, allowing me to approach the hostess stand first. “Hi, welcome to 1885. How many?”
“We’re meeting my family.” I scan the dining room, my eyes instantly settling on my dad, who is staring at Samson and me with a laser-like focus. “I see them, thanks.”
“Enjoy!” she says before directing her focus to the next patron.
Samson reaches out and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “After you, Luna.”
Nerves swim through me as we near the table, between Samson’s declaration, the way my dad was staring us down, my injury, and Mom’s award, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope.
I’ve never been the kind of girl that lies to her parents, and knowing I’m keeping something so momentous from them leaves me feeling slimy, but I know—and respect—that Samson wants to talk to Orion first.
My brother would feel blindsided if he wasn’t clued in beforehand. So, as much as I’d love to spill the beans tonight, I won’t.
Plus, it’s Mom’s big night, and it would be selfish of me to take the focus away from the reason we’re here—to celebrate her.
God only knows, my sprained ankle will be enough of a distraction as it is.
“Stella!” My mom’s smile drops as soon as she notices my crutches. “What on earth happened?”
I laugh lightly, trying to calm her. “Just sprained it. No big deal.”
“No big deal? Stella!” Mom shoots out of her seat and rushes toward me. “When did this happen?”
“Friday night.”
“Friday! It’s Sunday. Who’s been taking care of you?” I glance back over my shoulder toward Samson, who’s looking everywhere except at me and my mother.
“It’s under control. Promise.”
“Lizzie, if Stelli Bear says it’s handled, it’s handled.” Dad shoots me an indecipherable look. “Now, everyone take a seat.”
Samson places a steadying hand on the small of my back, helping me to the table before pulling out my chair. Once I’m seated, he grabs my crutches and stows them out of the way.
“Such a gentleman,” Mom coos, staring at the man I love with hearts in her eyes. “One day you’ll make some woman very happy.”
“Sooner than you think,” Dad mumbles, coughing into his hand.
I whip my head around to face him. “What?”
“I said I don’t know what I want to eat.”