“Yep,” Joyce says, flipping off the kitchen light and sliding her half-full mug on the counter. “And I’m not even finishing the dishes.”
Good for you, Joyce.
Houston watches her climb the steps, then turns his focus back to me, the look on his face confused. “Why are you hanging out with my mother?” he asks, reaching forward with his hand, hesitantly. “And why is there a chunk of…Pepto?”
“It’s paint,” I correct.
“Right…paint. Why is there a bunch of pink paint in your hair?” he asks, touching it carefully, so cautious and afraid of pushing me too far. He’s already pushed me over the edge, though.
I step into him, his breath catching when I do, and I hold his eyes while I move under his gaze, my fingers reaching forward to grasp the badge on his shirt. I smirk when I look at it, his name—Houston. God, I love his name. I might even love all of Texas now for giving it to him.
I pull his badge away, then run my finger over the dent it left on his shirt, an excuse to let my hand touch the hardness of his chest underneath. I peer up to see his hooded eyes staring down at me.
“Don’t kid with me, Paige,” he says, his voice barely a breath as he shakes his head, his eyes shutting as his head falls forward to rest on mine. I bite my lip and relish the nearness of my mouth to his, the heaviness of standing here in his arms, his height above and around me.
Tipping up my chin, I let my lips find his, brushing against him softly, both of our lips parting the instant they touch, our tongues taking cautious tastes of one another’s mouths and skin. He sucks in my top lip, holding it between his teeth for a second before slowly letting it slide loose, his head still against mine.
“Follow me,” I say against his lips, each minor touch feeling like the weight of castles and mountains and kingdoms.
Hope and fairytales.
I tug on his shirt, leading him up the stairs, and we get to his daughter’s room. I hold my finger to my lips, not wanting to disturb Leah, who I can hear humming and talking to her animals inside. I push the door open just enough for him to see, and I wait while he takes it all in. I know he recognizes the material when he swallows hard, and his eyes reflect the same expression as his mother’s.
I’m not jealous over it. I envy it, maybe. But only because it’s so special. I’m still glad that he has those memories, and that I’m someone who he and Joyce and Leah think is worthy of sharing them with.
“You did all this?” he asks, backing away and quietly closing her door.
I nod, then look to his mom’s room. “I had a little help,” I say.
“Paige…” he starts, but stops just as quickly. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You said a lot already,” I whisper, letting my eyes fall closed so I can finish everything I came here for. “I love you,” I breathe out, my body shaking with the words. Saying this feels so amazing and terrifying, and when his hands and lips don’t find me right away, I start to cry—like a child in line for the scariest ride of her life.
I look at him expecting to see doubt, or disbelief, but instead, he looks just as happy and scared as I do.
“Say it again,” he says.
“I love you,” I repeat, my heart starting to feel the adrenaline from the words. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I can’t stop, and my smile gets bigger each time I let it out.
Houston steps into me, lifting me in his arms until I slide against him, our mouths finding each other, unable to stop smiling long enough to kiss as hard as I can tell we both want to.
“One more time,” he chuckles, stepping me back one pace at a time toward his room.
“I love you,” I laugh against him. Each time, it gets easier. When I feel his door close behind us, and his lips finally crash into mine, everything from before becomes a blur—everything. Every second, minute, day, month, and year—that was all just before. When I look at him again, his eyes so clear, so green and potent, like a dream, I can see what he sees. I close my eyes again, wanting to hold on to that part of me inside that’s strong enough, the girl who wants to be his world.
The girl who is his world.
The girl who broke out of her own tower.
Epilogue
Paige
I’m not sure how it’s just as hot moving out of Hayden Hall as it was moving in. I suppose that’s what happens when you come full circle; you end where you began.
I came here ten months ago with a very concrete plan—I would be popular, part of the elite, dating the kind of guy that other girls envied me for. I got everything I wanted; yet nothing is quite like I thought it would be.