Julia. I’m not angry with you.”
“Who are you angry at?” I hiccupped.
“That stupid cow landlady of yours. She’s been a thorn in my side from the day I first met her. She won’t let me into the house. She won’t let you keep snacks in your room. You can’t use the kitchen, but she refuses to allow you a small fridge in your room. You can’t use her laundry machines. She’s rude on the rare occasion I speak to her and is consistently nasty to you.” He dropped another kiss on my cheek. “You don’t deserve that—you’re far too wonderful. Now, she is kicking you out? Without reason? I swear she’s doing it to piss me off.”
“She doesn’t like you.”
He grimaced. “No kidding. That was obvious the first day I met her. After she saw me in my chef’s attire, it got worse. She looked at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash under her foot.”
“I told you once, her ex-husband ran off with a chef. It would seem she hates anyone who wields a spatula.”
Despite the seriousness of the moment, he snorted. “First off, working at Burger King does not make you a chef. I’m not even sure it qualifies as a cook.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that why she’s doing this? Because of me?”
I sniffed. “I have no idea why she’s doing it. But I was going to tell you, Byron. I swear I was. I wanted your birthday weekend to be perfect.” My eyes filled with fresh tears. “And it’s been anything but. I fucked it all up!”
He widened his eyes at my curse. I rarely ever swore, unless it was at the height of passion, and even then, I was pretty tame. Byron cursed like a trucker at times. He could swear in nine languages, he’d once told me proudly. It was important to be able to swear at the various chefs he hired in their own language, he had informed me in a serious tone.
“It always gets their attention.”
For a minute, I was taken aback, but then he winked.
“You fucked up nothing. I hate to think of you worrying about this all by yourself.” He ran his hands through my hair, gently moving the long length over my shoulder. “I want to be the one to help you with anything that is upsetting you. Always—birthday or not. You should have told me right away.”
“I didn’t want you to think—”
“Think what?”
“We’ve only been together a little while. I didn’t want you to feel pressured or think—”
I shook my head, unable to explain.
His voice was tense. “Is this about money? You’re afraid, if you ask, I’ll think you want my money?”
“Maybe a little.”
His irritation seemed to dissolve away, his shoulders loosening and his face becoming smooth. His gaze was warm and tender as he looked at me. He cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin tenderly.
“Julia, my love, I could buy you a condo, pay off your student loans and any other future tuition you incur and not even make a dent in my savings account. I would give it freely and without another thought. The fact that I know you would refuse any and all offers to do so is one of the many reasons I love you.”
“You love me?”
He huffed a sigh. “Not the way I planned on telling you, but yes. I love you. So very much.”
I looked at him but said nothing.
“I do,” he said, his voice lower now. “I love how stubborn, feisty, and funny you are. I love your independent streak. How loving you are to your friends. I adore the fact that you let me teach you about food. Even after you almost burned down my kitchen, I love the fact that you can’t cook to save your life, but you still tried to. And I adore, absolutely adore, that if I make you something to eat, even if you’re not the least bit hungry, you eat it, because you know how much I want to take care of you.” He picked up my hand and kissed the palm softly, then pressed it to his cheek. “But the thing I love the most about you is how you make me feel.”
“How?” I whispered.
“Loved. Cared for. And only for me. You make me feel like I matter.”
I drew in a deep breath. “You are.” I pressed my hand firmly against his rough cheek. “You do.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, Byron. With all my heart.”
His mouth covered mine, our