“Really?” he says, a note of surprise in his voice.
I nod firmly. “Of course. Why, is that really so shocking?”
“Well, yeah,” he chuckles, seeming more carefree now that he’s been able to get some words down, as though he doesn’t have to live in a prison of his own making anymore. “When I was first starting out, I would’ve used any damn advantage I could. Hell, I did. Do you think Promenade in the Rain would’ve gotten published if the editor didn’t research me and find out that it was based on my life?”
“Yes,” I say, gripping onto his shoulders with a partner’s dedication. “Because it’s an amazing book and you’re an amazing writer. Of course, it would’ve been published.”
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe not. Who knows?”
“I mean it, Tanner,” I say. “This is important to me.”
“Then it will be anonymous,” he says. “I respect the hell out of that, Tess.”
Pride whelms in my chest as we sink into each other, drifting into a natural embrace that feels both like we’ve done it a thousand times before and yet utterly new, the beautiful contradiction that is being with Tanner Telford.
I love you so much.
A rod of stiff tension moves through me at the thought, my head pounding along with my heart, every inch of me buzzing with the revelation.
No, not revelation, realization, because I think I’ve loved this man for a long time … and now more than ever, this moment, our closeness, the tingling in my sex, all of it combining into a shattering bomb of want.
“Tess,” Tanner murmurs, leaning back from the embrace to regard me perceptively. “Are you okay?”
“Great,” I say, a strangled quality to my voice.
No lies, remember …
But what if the L-word is just too much for him?
There’s a difference, isn’t there, between being close and together and him claiming me and being in love.
But that could just be my self-doubts – the ones I promised myself I’d no longer listen to – rearing their ugly head.
And yet even if that’s the case, am I really going to be the first one to say it?
Hell. No.
“We should get going soon,” I murmur, walking over to the balcony, leaning against the railing, and suddenly glad for the fresh bracing air. “I need to get changed for work.”
“Work,” Tanner says, sliding up beside me, standing there in his boxer shorts and not giving a damn. “Writing is your work, Tess. You should be spending as much time as possible on your craft, nothing else.”
“Pfft,” I say, glad for the change of subject.
I love you so freaking much.
Okay, my mind needs to hit mute, pronto.
“Unfortunately I live in the real world, and—”
“Money is no concern for you now,” Tanner cuts in. “I know, I know,” he rushes to add, perhaps sensing my budding protests. “You’ve survived on your own your whole life. You’ve never needed help before. I respect the hell out of that, Tess. Seriously. But you don’t have to now, not if you don’t want to. Let me support you. Let me be there for you. Let me make it so you can dedicate yourself to your talent. Because you really are talented. I’m not just saying that because you’re drop dead gorgeous. Your prose, it has something, something that’s hard to describe until you read it. It’s …”
He pauses and I feel my heart soaring with the heat of his praise.
“It’s you,” he breathes. “Yeah, that’s it. When I read it, I felt like I knew you.”
I blink, staring at the clouds that seem so close I can touch them.
“Can I think about it?” I say. “I guess it’s different from getting published because I’m your …”
His what? What are we?
Oh, God, the L-word insecurity is spawning similar, tangential insecurities, and now they’re all spreading through me like a sticky spider’s web that can’t be contained, the arachnid of my anxiety spinning endlessly.
“Of course,” Tanner says. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to, Tess.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, smiling as he wraps his arm around me and holds me, both of us turning down to look at the city, so small from up here, so insignificant, as though we’re the only people who matter.Chapter TwentyTannerI sit at the desk in the third bedroom of Tess’s apartment.
Tess’s apartment, a voice laughs in my mind, but it’s a laugh of pure delight.
She has so quickly become a fixture in my life and I’d have it no other way.
I turn back to my notepad and continue writing, my breathing coming peacefully, slowly, the way it always does when I’m able to sink into the world of my words.
I only stop when there’s a light knock on my door.
“It’s me,” Tess says, her voice low.
“You don’t have to whisper,” I laugh, spinning in the desk chair.
The bedroom is plain, a simple bed and a few drawers and a bedside table, waiting for me to fill it. She cracks the door open and looks across the almost bare room, freshly showered and changed into her barista gear, the caramel shirt hugging onto her breasts and her hips and her jet black tights under her skirt only serving to make me want to peel them away and reveal the flesh beneath.