31. Still February 15 - Savannah

There's a tap at the door, and I clench my fists. Why did she come back? What the hell can my mother say or do that will ever make outing our monetary agreement in front of Wilder right? I confused her with my anger and lashing out at her. Hell, she may have been trying to hurt him as much as she watched him hurt her daughter. Part of me wonders if it was revenge on him for using me as just another year. If so, it's not like she has room to talk, cuffing with a guy that can't legally drink.

I pace at the door, debating whether I'll accept her apology and wondering why she came back. She's my mother. She grew me cell by cell in her body and pushed me out of her vagina. That has to count for something. Maybe she didn't want me to be alone.

"Savannah," a voice says on the other side, and it's not my mother. The voice is deep and masculine.

"Wilder?" I ask, looking at the wood but not opening the door.

Something scratches against the doorframe on the other side, probably his fingers running up and down the wood. "Can I come in and talk?"

"No."

"Please. I want to explain the year thing."

"That's why you have years in your phone contact list, isn't it?" I ask, sarcastically chuckling. "Those are actual women that you've cuffed with. Slept with." I lean my head against the door, and a tear drops to the carpet. "Did you share a bed with them the way you did with me? Did you put your mouth on them and touch them like you touched me?"

"What? No." His voice sounds far away. "I mean, I had sex with them, but trust me when I say that it was absolutely not like what we had. We have something more."

"I wasn't special to you at all."

"Yes, you were. You are. Please open the door."

"Enough of your bullshit." I slap my side of the door, and the sound echoes through my apartment.

"No bullshit. I'll explain everything. Let me come in and talk. I want to see you. I owe you an explanation, and I can't eat or sleep until I give it to you."

I shouldn't open the door, but I do. I open it an inch so he can only see one side of my face. It's better if he only sees one puffy, red eye instead of my entire tear-stained face.

As soon as I see him, my chin trembles, and I chew on my bottom lip, trying to stop it. I don't want to cry in front of him. I don't want to show him how bad he hurt me. It'll only feed his sick ego.

But he doesn't look happy or content to leave me. His hair is messy, his eyes are red, and dark circles stain the space under his eyes. He's wearing the same clothes he did when he left, and it suddenly seems like months since he left my apartment, not two hours. It's odd that him wearing the same clothes surprises me.

"Savannah," he whispers. "Can I come all the way in?" He reaches for my face, and I almost lean into his hand, desperate to feel his touch.

What I wouldn't give to have the whole conversation about a different woman every year and student loans to go away. What I wouldn't give for a time machine to take me back three hours so I could kiss him goodbye with no quarrel between us.

I open the door and look at the floor, stepping back to let him in. He wipes his feet on the mat outside my apartment and walks over the threshold, looking around the area like he's never seen it. Like he didn't live here for four months.

Furious heat moves from my chest to my toes. How dare he come back here? How dare he come back when he used me like he used those other women? My God, the things I've done with him that I never did with anyone else.

His silence and ease piss me off even more.

"Why are you here, Wilder? I thought you wanted this over. Isn't that what you're used to? Aren't I just 2023 to you?" I yell. I've never yelled like this at anyone, and part of me expects him to turn around and be done with me.

His nostrils flare, and he works his jaw. He charges forward, and I back against the wall, scared. Is he going to hit me?

He doesn't hit me, but he presses his forehead against mine. "You will never be just another year to me," he whispers. "I came here because I'm in love with you."

"What?" I ask, shaking my head. He loves me?

"I love you. Fuck you, Savannah. You made me fall in love with you. How did you do what no other woman has been able to do? I've been trying to figure it out since I left. Are you a witch? Did you put a love spell on me? I don't understand."

"I wasn't trying."

"Maybe that's the key," he whispers, his lips trembling. "I've been alone all my life. I like my beer, my motorcycle, and a different woman in my bed every week. But I don't want another woman this time. I don't want a 2024. I want my 2023 to be my 2024, 2025, and however many years you agree to keep me around. No contracts. No deals. No fake dates for parties and parents. I want you. Everything was fucking fine the first month, but then you changed me. What we had together changed me somehow. I didn't even make it two hours with the knowledge that I can't have you."

His shoulders move with his breath, panting really, and I press my hands to his chest. His heart pounds under my fingers, and I inhale the familiar scent of him that marks him as my own. My toothpaste. My laundry detergent. His cigarettes that I deplore but I'll always associate with him. The slight scent of a beer he must have had after he left me, trying to drown me out of his system.

"You don't want me. You want your single life."

He shakes his head again. "You're one to talk. Is the idea of a relationship really so repulsive to you at this point in your life? Did your mother give you the check in full for spending five months with me, or is she going to make payments? I fell in love with a woman who was paid to be with me! That hurt, and I lashed out because I was hurt. I didn't mean what I said, Savannah. I promise I didn't."

"And I fell in love with a man that uses a new woman each year for hot meals, a warm bed, and whatever physical pleasure he can get!"

He steps back, and I miss the proximity of him. I want him close. God damn me to hell, but I never want this man more than a foot from me again. I can't even put a name to the shock I have at realizing this. I want him. But how? How do we move on from me being paid to be with him, basically a bet? Hell, he's right. I'm a hooker. How do we move on from him having a new partner each year for a place to sleep?

"You love me?" he asks, jolting me from my thoughts, and I realize what I said. "You love me like I love you?" He clutches his hand over his chest, like his heart just dropped to the floor and he's trying to put it back inside his rib cage.

A tear falls from my cheek, and he wipes it away, his hand warm and strong as it runs over my cheek. "How did we fall in love with each other when we were just supposed to be a convenience?" I ask.

He shrugs, and a tear of his own runs down his face. This time, I'm the one that wipes it. If we didn't love each other, if there weren't deep feelings for the other person, we'd wipe our own faces. I guess he can't stand to see me sad the way I can't stand to see him torn to shreds.

"It doesn't matter how we fell in love, does it? It happened. I love you, Savannah Smart. I love your geeky awkwardness. I love your body. I love that moment when you wrap your legs around me and moan my name. It's not even about sex," he continues, bracing his arms on the wall behind me and looking into my eyes without blinking.

"I love the way you stick your feet under my chin when we watch TV and wear Christmas socks all year. I like that you don't mind when I burn the popcorn just a little, even if you don't eat it. I don't think I can sleep without you hooking your big toe around mine as we fall asleep. I love the way you bury your face into my back when you're on the back of my bike. You tried new things for me, things that were scary to you."

His shoulders heave with silent sobs, and my hands tremble. "I'm not built for this. I don't know how," I say.

There, I said it.

"I don't have any clue what I'm doing, either. Not only have I never felt this way, but I've never felt like someone, even my own mother, loved me. I don't know what it's like to love or be loved, but I'm willing to try all of it. Let's figure this out together. Put your damn pride aside, and let me love you. Hell, help me love you properly because I'm afraid I don't know how," he pleads.

I don't answer him because my tongue won't move. I can't form words. I fist the hem of his shirt and sniffle, pushing my head against the broad chest I know so well. His smell fills my nose again, and he slides his arms around my back and rocks me into him like he's comforting a child.

He pushes my hair back and buries his face in my hair. "I don't think I'll ever look at cucumber and mint bodywash and shampoo the same way if you push me away right now, Savannah."

"Does it look like I'm pushing you away?"

We stay like that for minutes, but I could stay cuddled in his arms for eternity. The overwhelming feeling I had when I met him, like he was a savory, warm bowl of macaroni and cheese, makes me chuckle into his chest.

"What's so funny?" he whispers. "I find nothing funny about begging for the woman I love to give us a chance."

But he does find it funny. When I look up, the corners of his mouth are tilted up in a wry grin. I run my fingers down his stubble. "I was just thinking about how comfortable I am with you. I've never felt like this around anyone. Could this work?"

He smiles and pushes the bridge of his nose to mine. "Savannah Smart, will you be my 2087?"

"What's so special about 2087?"

He shrugs. "It's a random number that just came out of my mouth, but it's sixty-four years from now. I'll be in my nineties. I figure I'll either be dead or too old to notice anything."

"Well, I guess every day will be a fresh start," I say, pulling him down to kiss me.

We move our lips together in the familiar dance from the last months, our tongues touching and exploring. But this is a kiss of love. No rushing. No pretenses. No lingering promise of loan money paid by my mother and no shadow of him living in my guest room for a warm place to stay. We simply revel in the existence of the person in front of us.

I break the kiss first, and his lips search for a moment, missing mine. "Here's to 2087," I say, letting him pick me up. I snake my legs around him, and he carries me down the hall to my bedroom. Our bedroom. "But don't you dare have a 2086 that isn't me."