40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,67

his total disinclination to police her eating without having to say more on the subject.

He was trying. He was trying so hard, and she wasn’t sure she remembered that sort of effort from Jeremy. Not even in the beginning, and definitely not by the end of their engagement.

With her ex, if something needed remembering, she remembered. If errands needed to be run, she ran them. If someone needed care, she cared for them.

Even when the person who needed caring was herself.

More near-tears, and this time she didn’t turn away.

“Tess, no. Please don’t—” He gently swiped away a renegade tear, one that had survived her most committed blinking attempts.

“I’m not crying about pie and chocolate,” she told him.

He inspected his wet thumb, then looked at her through his lashes with a sweet smile. “That seems, uh, less than accurate, älskling.”

Dammit. “Okay, I’m crying about pie and chocolate.”

He spoke in his most soothing voice. “If they’re upsetting you, there’s a family of raccoons behind one of the cafés, and if I set everything near the trash bins—”

She pointed an authoritative, if slightly shaky, forefinger at him. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Holding up his hands, he nudged her foot with his. “I promise to stop joking if you promise to stop crying.” He paused. “Or if you want to keep crying, go ahead, but please let me hold you. I’d be doing it already, but you said you were sweaty and didn’t want hugs.”

Normally, this degree of overheatedness would make her eschew all physical contact for hours. Maybe days. But even more than a reasonable core temperature, she needed—

Oh, Jesus.

She needed Lucas.

And he was right by her side, waiting for her.

She launched herself into his arms, and he hit the back of the sofa with a distinct ooof.

They waited for him to catch his breath before she spoke again. “Sorry. I probably should have warned you first. And made sure my knee landed in a better spot.”

“I very much appreciate your enthusiasm,” he wheezed. “Just…give me a moment.”

God, she was about to combust with their combined body heat, but it didn’t matter. The way he gathered her to him, cuddling her close even as he recovered from her errant knee, soothed something inside her she hadn’t even known was raw, and that rawness had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with her period.

She needed to tell him. He needed to know.

“I was crying because you’re so thoughtful,” she whispered in his ear. “Because you work so hard, but you still put in time and effort to make me happy and make me feel better. So I was crying about the pie and the chocolate, sure, but I was also crying about the booties, and about our picnic and the tulips, and about how you wanted to see me tonight, no matter what.”

He gave her a fierce squeeze before his hold turned gentle once more. “You deserve effort.”

She wasn’t done. “I was crying because you’re a good man, and I’m so sad you don’t live anywhere near me.”

His palm skimmed along her spine, the steady movement both combatting and eliciting another wave of tears. “That’s nothing that needs to be solved tonight, Tess.”

“And I was crying because I’m hormonal as fuck.” She sniffed, hard. “I can’t wait to be a crone with withered ovaries.”

“Okay,” he said neutrally.

“When I’m cranky, I’ll whack people with my cane, and no one will say anything.”

“I think that’s still assault, älskling. Even if you’re post-menopausal.”

She let out a sigh against his shoulder and slumped into him. “Dammit. I was looking forward to cane-related carnage.”

“I’m certain you can find legal ways to torment your enemies.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I have great faith in your creativity.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, her breathing evened, and the urge to cry diminished.

“You never told me.” His voice surrounded her, vibrating against her chest. “Do you want some pie?”

She shook her head. “Big dinner. I had guava and cream cheese empanadas for dessert. When I tasted that filling, I almost cried then too. It was amazing.” Tipping back her chin, she caught his eye. “I’m sorry I’m too full for the pie.”

“There’s always tomorrow.” He didn’t sound or look concerned. “How are you feeling?”

She lifted a shoulder. “About the same as when I called. Tired. Bloated. Crampy.”

“I could heat up the booties.” Shifting her in his arms, he leaned over to retrieve the packages from where they’d fallen on the floor. “Doctors always say that Alpine-themed booties provide the most effective cramp relief available over