Page 106 of Less
“FYI, I did not name you. Just said there are some developments on Broadway and added the hashtag thingy,” she says like she’s so clever.
“You are the worst friend, Brielle Crandon,” I snark, but I don’t mean it.
“Nah, you love me. And, really, Amanda, can I say congrats? Cause that fine as hell man looks at you like you're the moon and stars.”
My chest squeezes.
Because that's exactly how it feels.
And somehow hearing someone else notice makes it real.
“Yeah? Well, I’m crazy about him too. The truth is, he wasn't always around,” I admit softly. “We have some history.”
“Bad history?”
“Complicated history.”
“Ah.”
Brielle nudges me with her shoulder.
“Well, whatever happened, he clearly got his act together.”
I laugh softly.
“He really did.”
“And you're happy?”
The question catches me off guard.
Because nobody has asked me that in a while.
Not really.
Not beyond surface level.
Am I happy?
I think about waking up wrapped around Less.
About coffee in bed.
About him moving into my condo without even asking permission because apparently he'd already decided.
About the way he checks that I've eaten.
About the way he plays with my hair.
About how he still calls me Rusty.
About the fact that every time he kisses me I feel sixteen and thirty-five all at once.
And God help me—I smile.
Really smile.
Because I am happy.
