Page 123 of Never Alone
"Yeah."
"That's not simple. That's—that's the opposite of simple."
He looked at me. His eyes were tired. There was something in them I hadn't seen before, and it took me a second to recognize it.
He was waiting to see if I was still here after he'd said it.
"I'm here."
"Yeah."
"I'm here, Cole."
He nodded, once. Small.
"The recipe box on the shelf. The one you've been making cookies out of. Those were Shelby's. I've been avoiding bakeries since she died. I'd go when Aunt Jenna or Jamie asked me to pick something up, but I never got anything for myself. I haven't eaten anything she made since she died. I haven't been able to."
I felt my hand go up to my mouth.
"The first batch of cookies you made in our kitchen—I came in, and I smelled them, and I?—"
He stopped.
"I felt like she was telling me to put it down. The thing I've been carrying. Like she was telling me she was tired of watching me carry it. Like she was telling me to let her go."
I'd been baking Shelby's recipes in his kitchen for weeks without knowing. The man I loved had been letting me.
"Cole."
I couldn't get more than his name out.
He brought his hand up. He put it on my jaw the way he did. He looked at me for a long second.
"I love you, Tessa."
He said it plainly.
I felt the weight of it land.
It landed with everything he'd just told me—the boy at the kitchen window, the sister at the table, the kitchen on Marlboro Street, the cookies. It landed with the room he'd painted in the color of my eyes and the way he'd saidweabout a weekend at the beach without thinking.
I leaned forward.
I put my hands on either side of his face.
"I love you, Cole."
I kissed him.
I kissed him for a long time.
We didn't say anything else for a while.
Two days later, I was at the bakery alone.
It was a Wednesday. Slow morning. Mrs. Thompson was at the back doing the books. Benjie was at the front with me, restocking the case from the morning bake. The bell on the door had rung once in the last hour.
Benjie said, "You look good, Tessa."
