Page 91 of What We Knew Then
I grab it and keep her from walking away from me just yet. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. One hundred percent. This”—she gestures to the rink—“we can do whenever.” Cora steps in closer to me. “You. I wantnow.”
Fuck. Hearing the woman you’re in love with say something like that is not for the weak. My knees wobble when she smiles in the way I’m used to. Easy. Bright. Fucking drop-dead gorgeous.
It’s not forced or the tight version she’s been wearing lately—the one she wears when trying to convince everyone, including herself, that she’s fine. This one reaches her eyes and settles the uneasiness in the back of my mind.
This is the Cora I know.
It’s the version of Cora that chirps at the guys from the press box. The one who argues stats with me, or really anyone, like it’s a competitive sport.
It’s the one who could get me to do almost anything. Fuck, I think any version of her could do that.
“Let’s get out of here,” I agree, grinning at her. When I give in, she lights up and it makes it hard for me to catch my breath.
We’re all going through shit. This might be one of Cora’s tough seasons but I’m going to do what I can to help her through it. Just like she’d do, and has done, for me.
She fucking deserves at least that much.
Chapter 54
CORA
Ifyoulookatmy planner, yes, I’m behind on the research project. But if you look at the actual deadline and what’s required, I’m probably ahead.
That’s what I tell myself as I glance over at Lane in the passenger seat.
The sun is starting to dip, the sky streaked in soft orange and gray, and somewhere between one turn and the next, it hits me—I don’t have anywhere to be. No plan. No place I’m supposed to go.
My stomach drops at the thought.
Lane reaches over, his hand settling on my thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer, even though I’m not sure what that feeling was. Panic, maybe. Or something else.
I don’t drive toward his apartment. Instead, I keep driving, out past the last stretch of houses toward the water.
By the time I pull up near the beach, the sun is almost gone. The cold has stripped everything back—no people, just steady lake waves.
Lane glances out the window, then back at me. “What are we doing?”
I don’t answer right away. I just shift the car into park, kill the engine, and let the quiet settle around us.
Then I move.
I unbuckle and crawl over the console before I can overthink it, settling in his lap, my knees pressing into the seat on either side of him. His hands come up automatically, steadying me at my hips.
He looks around, surveying the empty beach, before asking, “What’s up, Peaches?”
I push my fingers through his hair, which is a little longer than it should be, the ends brushing his forehead like they’re always one second from falling into his eyes. He lets out a quiet breath, his hands tightening just slightly.
For a second, I just look at him. Clear and steady, it hits me.
I love him.
The words sit right there, pressing at the back of my teeth, but I can’t get them out. Not today. Instead, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his mouth.
It’s slow and gentle—the kind of kiss where I can feel him smile.
