I slowly move down the stairs. I’m mortified to face him. What else did I do that I can’t remember?
Maybe I don’t want to know.
No. Not maybe.
I don’t want to know.
I get to the bottom of the stairs and pad down the hall to the kitchen. There, I find Xander, sitting at the island with a cup of coffee and reading his phone. I watch him for a moment. He’s in a simple T-shirt and jeans, barefoot and unshaven. The morning sun is streaming through the windows that overlook the garden, and his profile is bathed in the golden light.
He’s so beautiful, he takes my breath away.
Xander lifts his head in that aware way he has. My eyes widen the second he turns towards me. I gasp. He’s wearing a plaster on his forehead, from where my shoe stabbed him.
“Oh, Xander, your head,” I say, moving next to him and lightly pressing my fingertips to his forehead. “Does it hurt?”
“No. I just used the plaster to stop the bleeding.”
“I’m so sorry. I hate that I did this to you. What if it leaves a scar?” I ask, biting my lip.
“It will go with all the other ones,” he says, taking my hand in his and squeezing it several times. “Now, back to you. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Like a fool.”
He chuckles. “Come on. You don’t have to feel that way.”
I pull out the stool next to him and hop onto it. The second I’m next to him, his hand moves to my thigh, caressing it with his massive hand and causing warmth to flood through my body.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “About everything. I know I acted like an idiot in front of your aunt.”
“She’s fine about it, I promise you. In fact, Helene is the one who texted me. She said you were having a grand time. So much so that I should probably see you home, so you’d get there safely.”
My hands fly to my face in embarrassment. “Oh, that’s awful!”
Xander moves his hand to the back of my head, caressing my damp hair in his hand. “It’s all right. She adores you.”
“I crawled on her floor, didn’t I?”
Xander doesn’t say anything.
“I did!” I cry, appalled.
“Poppy. Look at me.”
I flinch. Didn’t I say something like that to Xander last night? Yes, I did tell him to look at me. When I babbled that I loved him.
Another flash hits me out of the blue.
Wait. Did he say he loved me back last night?
I drop my hands, my brain whirling. My pulse is racing. I swear, I heard him say that. Somewhere. At some point. I can hear him say that he loved me, too.
Oh my God, did he tell me he loved me? Because Xander wasn’t drunk when he whispered those words.
Could he be in love with me as I am with him?
“Nothing that happened last night matters,” Xander says firmly, interrupting my thoughts. “You were having fun with my family. Meeting my aunt in that setting was intimidating. I’m not surprised you drank a bit more than you thought you were drinking. It’s okay.”
I stare at him. I can’t let go of my last thought. I search his face for clues.
“What?” he asks, his eyes curious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I said a bunch of things to you. Some I remember.”
Xander doesn’t even blink. “You don’t have to repeat anything. I know the gin was talking.”
But what if I want to repeat them? I think.
“I sai—”
To my surprise, he cuts me off with a sweet kiss on the lips. “Don’t. I don’t want you to say anything else. People say all kinds of things they don’t mean when alcohol is involved.”
The words I wanted to say die on my lips, but new ones come forward.
“Did you say something to me that I was meant to hear last night?” I ask. “About your feelings?”
His brow creases. “Like what?”
Oh no. What if I dreamt that whole last part up? My memories are in bits and pieces. What if he didn’t say that at all?
“Nothing,” I say. “Never mind.”
He looks away from me and clears his throat. Then he gets up, leaving me at the island, and I can tell there is nothing more to be said on that front.
Xander didn’t tell me he loved me, based on this response.
And I can’t help it. My heart wishes he had.
But this is for the best. I only want him to say it if he means it. I