Page 230 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
When I round the corner, I almost think I’m intruding on something. Like a proposal in progress, or…
“Oliver?”
He’s all dressed up. A light-gray peacoat covers a dress shirt and slacks, and his dark hair is combed out of his face.
And he smiles when he sees me.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out.
He motions me closer, offering his hands to me. I take them and squeeze, appreciating the warmth and steadiness he brings.
“Sydney Windsor,” he says softly. “I’ve never felt this way for anyone. You have such power over me… you rip my heart out with a single look. You put me back together with a touch.”
The backs of my eyes burn.
“I’ve been cruel and you’ve been patient,” he continues. “I was judgmental, where you were understanding. I told you a month ago that I wanted to be the only one on your mind when I give you my heart.”
My breath catches.
“So…” He clears his throat. “I hope you forgive me for the delay, mi nena. Every day since then, I’ve forced myself to stay away. But I wasn’t just hurting you, though. I was killing myself to prove a point—and I failed miserably.”
He tilts his head. “Will you come with me?”
I find myself nodding. I take his hand, and he leads me farther down the path. The lights steer us off course at one point, and we cut between trees. Flickering lights catch my eye, and my brows raised. There’s a blanket on the ground surrounded by candles. Pillows. Two more folded blankets and a Thermos nestled amongst them.
“Did you set this all up?”
Besides the candles, the little clearing is surrounded by those string lights that led me to Oliver. They give a warmth to the moodiness of the day, the clouds overhead storm gray and threatening to snow.
He squeezes my hand. “Sit with me?”
A lump forms in my throat, and I nod. I sit, and he arranges blankets on my lap. He sits close enough to scoot under them, too, and picks up the Thermos.
“You liked my hot chocolate, but I rushed you through the last cup.”
“You did. I do.” I laugh, my nerves making me uneasy.
He produces a mug and pours the spiced, Mexican hot chocolate into it. I cup my hands around the mug and lean over it, inhaling. The scents that mix with the chocolate are godly. Steam comes off the liquid, but I take a sip anyway.
I could easily drink it every day for the rest of my life.
I try not to audibly groan, but he nudges my side anyway. Grinning.
“You heard that?” My face is practically in the mug. There’s no way he missed it.
He chuckles, and I lower the drink to my lap. I face him.
“I don’t have any grand proclamation,” I say. “I didn’t plan anything?—”
“You’re not the one who has to,” he says. “This… I just… it’s not enough, is it? To make up for everything I’ve done.”
I take his hands. “It doesn’t matter. I mean—” I sigh. “It does matter. What you did to me in the past. But you’ve done more than enough to make up for it. And I realized along the way that I love you. We overcame it.”
He leans in and kisses me. It’s quick, just a brush of his lips on mine, but my heart skips all the same.
“Love doesn’t cover it,” he says without pulling away. “I want you to crawl under my skin just as surely as I want to be under yours. You live in my thoughts without fail. I truly think I carved out my heart and gave it to you, and you’ve been holding it safe ever since. It’s the only way to explain how I feel with you and without you. That’s to say, complete with you. And achingly empty without.”
He touches my cheek.