Page 100 of Love Marks
“It’s perfect. It’s exactly the type of place I would choose if I could afford it. I love it.”
My heart stutters at her words and there’s some kind of swelling in my chest that I can’t seem to swallow.
She continues moving through the room. “Did you do the interior design?”
I shake my head, trying to choke down the growing feeling inside me. “I helped, but no, I hired someone much better at design than me. Though all the books and art pieces are mine.”
She seems to notice the piano as I speak and I watch as she approaches it and sits on the bench, dropping her bag on the floor beside her. She runs her fingers along the keys, the same repetitive movement that I did yesterday. She looks thoughtful and peaceful and somehow, having her here just feels…right.
The feeling in my chest seems to grow in intensity as she taps one of the keys, the sound of it hitting me in the gut. Suddenly, I blink, and something very important seems to shift inside me. A realization rising like a tide inside me and crashing over everything.
I’m in love with her.
I almost stumble backwards, the thought jolting me in my place. For a moment, a flash of fear rushes through me at the realization, but almost as soon, it’s replaced by a sort of rightness, a warm feeling pooling in my stomach.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier. Ben was right — I’ve probably been falling for her since I met her. But I’m done being in denial. Done pretending like she isn’t the best thing that ever happened to me. The best thing in my life.
I love her. Every part of her.
Now all I have to do is figure out how the hell to tell her.
Chapter 39
Quinn
It’s been a month since I visited Wesley’s apartment and since then, things have been good. Almost…too good. Last week, he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. Well, if I’m being accurate, he told me I was his girlfriend. We were laying on the couch in his apartment one Sunday afternoon when for some reason, I opened my mouth and asked the dreaded question: what are we?
Wes stared down at me, his expression hard as stone. “What do you mean? You’re my girlfriend.”
I let out a strangled laugh, choking on it halfway and coughing a fit. “Oh, am I? I must have missed the memo. Let me check my work email.”
He rolled his eyes and must have realized I was being serious about my question, because he nudged me to face him. “You’re my girlfriend. We’re exclusive. There’s nobody else for either of us. You’re mine.”
The words probably should have freaked me out, but instead, they landed in my chest and filled me with a giddy, warm feeling.
“So bossy,” I murmured.
“Do you disagree?” At least he had the decency to look somewhat unsure.
I shook my head. “No. I agree.” A smile peeked out from my serious expression, and he kissed me, a twinge of satisfaction in his features.
“Good. You aren’t getting rid of me anytime soon.”
I also started my new job at Le Petit Fleur, the restaurant in the hotel lobby. I had my interview a few days after seeing Wesley’s apartment, which has become my new favorite place in this city, if only because it feels like a secret that Wesley and I share. Even though staying at the penthouse is much more convenient, we often have Pete drive us out to Dumbo to watch the sunset over the downtown skyline together.
The head chef, Rita, told me that she’s taking a chance on me because of Wesley’s recommendation. Even though I didn’t have any direct experience working in a kitchen, she’s hiring me as part of a training internship of sorts. My pay hasn’t changed very much from what I was making with Wesley, but instead of cleaning sheets, I get to shadow Rita in a real kitchen all day long. It’s incredible and I’ve managed to quell my remaining guilt about whether I deserve this opportunity and simply accept that I am here and going to prove my worth the best I can.
Wesley has been busy with work and the new development has finally gone into construction, but he still finds time to come down to the restaurant at least once a day to say hello. Rita refuses to let him in the kitchen even though he insists that he technically owns the place. He’s right, but I do love to see Rita knock him down a few pegs.
Mom spends a few nights a week at Joe’s place. He’s also been taking her to chemo so that I can work more hours at the restaurant, which I’m grateful for. Still, I can’t help but miss her and the nights we used to spend eating ice cream on the couch.
“Where are those scallops?” Rita’s urgent voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
I spin on my heels. “Sorry! Right here, chef.”
She waves me over and I help her finish plating a few dishes as Annette, one of the servers, grabs two prepared plates and skips out of the kitchen.
“Here, watch this,” Rita snaps towards me and I point my eyes at the plate she’s decorating. She finishes with a flourish, and it looks incredible, a visual masterpiece on a plate. Annette arrives swiftly and Rita nods for her to take it.