The only way that could happen was if he left and gave her time to heal her shattered heart. She took a step back and reached for the doorknob behind her. The backs of her eyes stung and if he didn’t hurry and leave, she was afraid he might see her cry again. “Is that all?”
“There’s one more thing I came out here to tell you.”
She lowered her gaze to the third button on his shirt. “What?” She didn’t know what there was possibly left to say. Just goodbye.
He took a deep breath and let it out. “I love you.”
Her gaze rose to his and a single “What?” whispered from her lips.
“I’m thirty-six, and I’m in love for the first time. I don’t know what that says about me. Maybe that I’ve waited for you all my life.”
Her mouth fell open and she sucked in a breath. She was feeling kind of light-headed, like she might pass out. “Vince. Did you just say you love me?”
“Yes, and it scares the hell out of me.” He swallowed hard. “Please don’t say thank you.”
She bit the side of her lip to keep from smiling or trembling or both.
“Did you mean it when you said you love me?”
She nodded. “I love you, Vince. I thought you’d be just a friend with benefits. Then you became a real friend and brought me Chee-tos and Diet Coke. I fell in love with you.”
“Chee-tos?” He frowned. “That’s all it took?”
No, there’d been a lot more. “You rescued me, Vince Haven.” She took a step toward him and tipped her head back to look up into his eyes. Whenever she’d needed him, he’d been there.
“I’ll always rescue you.”
“And I’ll rescue you, too.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “From?”
“From yourself. From turning thirty-seven without me.”
He placed his hands on the side of her face. “I love you, Mercedes Jo Hollowell. I don’t want to live without you for another day.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek and bottom lip. “That son of a bitch Sam Leclaire said something. Something about it not mattering where a person lives. It’s who you live with.” He kissed her and added against her lips, “God, I hate when that guy is right.”
Sadie chuckled and reached for Vince’s hand. Sometimes an anchor wasn’t just a place, it was a person. The JH was her home. Vince was her anchor. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Someplace more private. Someplace where you’ll rescue me from these tight jeans and I’ll rescue you from those non-issue pants.”
“Hooyah.”
