“I have so, so many somethings to say to you, actually.” I sighed. “Soooo many.”

“The floor is yours then, Lori,” he said through a small chuckle.

I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m a succulent,” I said.

“A succulent?” he repeated, looking amused.

“What I mean is that once upon a time I was broken. I think I was broken a few times, actually. Had my leaves pulled off, my stem snapped and tossed away, maybe stepped on a bit, and there’s this part of me that hasn’t fully recovered from it yet, even though I go to therapy. I have these panic attacks and worry about things like having a stroke or drowning in air, and am so petrified of water that I haven’t bathed in years . . .” I paused. “I mean, I shower, okay. I’m not, you know . . .”

“I know what you mean.” Jake’s voice was soft and I could see he was listening to every single word I was saying.

“But also, I think that there’s this part of me that still sees me as this damaged, broken thing. And because I see myself like that, maybe I feel like I don’t really deserve fixing. That maybe, I deserve to be like this and I think I’ve been pushing you away because of that feeling.”

“Then don’t push,” Jake said emphatically.

I held my hand up. “Wait, there’s more.” I continued. “But thing is, I’m starting to grow little roots. They’re really small and pink, but they’re there, and they are reaching out for water and soil, and reaching for a new place to start growing. Because I want to start growing again. I deserve to start growing again, and in this really strange way, coming here to this place I thought I was going to hate has helped me. Meeting you and my new therapist and finding this voice through my art that I literally never knew I had, all that has made me the little propagating echeveria looking to put down roots.”

His grin grew. “I literally have no idea what you said at the end there, but I kind of like it and I’m not sure why . . . kind of like those Grimes songs.”

I smiled back at him. “I’m a bloody Grimes song!”

“You are. Brilliant and creative and once you start listening . . . you can’t stop.”

I felt that flutter in my stomach again, the one I felt only in the presence of Jake Jones-Evans.

“I think I know what you’re trying to say, Anything But JustLori.” He stepped even closer and the gap between us vanished.

“You do?”

“I think you’re trying to say that you like me.”