Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,108

so thin you can almost see through them. The entire room is bathed in neutral hues, but it’s not boring. It’s soothing.

He’s pale as milk; she’s tan as caramel. Her jet-black hair spills across the pillows like ink. The mess of ebony tangles with his snowy white curls. Golden sunlight streams in from the window, dancing across every surface. The conflicting shades of dark and light come together under the warm glow of orange and yellow. It creates a balance. A harmony.

It’s similar to the glow I feel inside me. The longer I lie in bed, the clearer it becomes, the warmer I feel. I knew it was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for the jolt. For the all-consuming, chest-tightening surge that would overtake every fiber in my skin and bones. Hot blood pulses through my veins, carrying this new sensation to the farthest reaches of my body.

After one blink, one breath, and one pulse, it’s clear: I’m in love with Tate.

I don’t believe it at first. How can I love someone I’ve only just started to get to know? But I do know him. For eleven months, I’ve worked with him. I know his moods and his sounds. I can differentiate the sighs he makes. I know how he’s feeling depending on how deep and heavy his exhale is. I’ve committed to memory the number of lines that crowd his forehead whenever he frowns. I know his favorite lunch. I know the hurried way he drives, how hoodies and T-shirts are his favorite clothes to wear, the rhythm of his speech. He’s got a gold mine on me too. And now I know how he truly feels.

It’s a beautiful mess in my head, and I have to close my eyes to make sense of it all. Nearly a year’s worth of bickering, heated emotions—it’s all formed a unique foundation. That gut punch of negative feelings with every argument, every bout of silent treatment over the last several months was misdirected heat and affection. Like a haywire electrical current that caused damage until it was grounded. Now that it’s contained between us, I’m buzzing with love and joy.

Our imperfect past is filled with challenges, missteps, and complications, but look what it’s led to. The most passionate night of my life and the most eye-opening morning.

When I fix my gaze on his sleeping face, my body trembles with the realization. This new feeling expands. It’s faster than my thoughts or my heartbeat can keep up with. I hold my breath. Before I can inhale, he wakes.

“Good morning,” he says with a sleepy smile.

I nod with dramatic lemur eyes, unable to speak.

“What’s wrong?” His forehead resumes his trademark frown of concern. I bet I look terrified.

“Nothing. Just still processing everything.”

He holds me tighter. “Hopefully not regretting anything?”

I nuzzle my face to his chest. “Not at all,” I mumble into his skin.

“You’re still my girlfriend, right?”

“If you’re still my boyfriend.”

“Good. Because I like this. Waking up, holding you. I want this. For as long as possible.” He cradles my head in his palm. I push up to peer at him.

“As long as possible?” I ask like I’m clarifying a joke. If he can make a statement like that, I wonder if he could love me.

“At the very least.”

“You want to snuggle me in your bed forever?”

He laughs, probably at my stunned tone. “Yes. I swear.”

“I don’t share, you know. If you say that to me, you don’t get to do this with any other woman.”

Gently, he grabs my chin and pulls me into a soft kiss. “I don’t have any interest in anyone else. Not now, not ever.”

“Tate—”

“I mean it, Emmie. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

I pull him into a deep kiss and close my eyes. It’s a heart-pounding comfort to know he feels this way about me. His words are a warm blanket over my body, soothing me.

“You’re all I want,” he says when we finish our minute-long kiss.

“Even when we argue? How we bicker—”

He bumps the tip of my nose with his. “We play and laugh too. Don’t forget that.”

I beam.

“There’s a depth to us that I’ve never felt with anyone else. Don’t you feel it?”

I nod. Our history, our flaws, our imperfect path to this perfect morning, it all works together to intrigue and satisfy.

“I don’t like simple,” he says. “And I don’t think you do either.”

He’s right. I need the layers, the varying degrees of us. That’s what gets me off. That’s how I fall in love.

“I want