“I’m sorry,” he said again, reaching across to embrace her fully with both arms. She stretched across his body to hug him back and held tight, allowing her bent knees to fall to the side and rest across his legs.

They remained that way for a long time. Not speaking, holding each other, her tears subsiding and her breath returning to normal. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back, feeling his heart swell with emotion. When she hadn’t moved in a while he peeked at her face.

She’d fallen asleep against his chest. He released a slow, steady exhale. What just happened had been horrible, but he felt strangely content in this moment. He kept his arms around her body and leaned his head back against the wall, and eventually sleep pulled him under.

Several hours later, Andrew woke with a major crick in his neck. He and Lauren were still in the hallway of his apartment—he sat with his legs extended and his back against the wall; Lauren was curled into a ball, pressed against his body with her arms loosely around him.

He blinked and scrubbed a hand down his face as the events of the night before rushed back to him.

Lauren cooking dinner. Talking for hours. Watching Love Actually, and Lauren finally making a move to kiss him. His body choosing that exact moment to fail him, and him yelling at her.

Making her cry.

He closed his eyes. His body hurt, and so did his heart.

He opened them again and gazed down at the beautiful woman lying across him. Her dark eyelashes lay across her lightly freckled cheek, and her thick hair was swept back and bunched near his ribs. She’d taken her shoes off when they came in, and her feet looked so tiny and feminine.

He chuckled at himself. He had it bad if he was admiring her feet, of all things.

He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. And not only physically, though that was an extremely powerful desire. He wanted to be hers. The one she called when she was upset or excited. He wanted her face to light up when she saw him, like he knew his did when he laid eyes on her. He wanted to hold her hand in public and kiss her in the coffee line at The Grind House. He wanted everyone to know that they were together, and that she was his.

A line had been crossed. He didn’t know if it was the hours of conversation, the near-kiss during the movie, or holding her after such a raw display of vulnerability. Maybe it was something else entirely.

But he was done pretending.