I was an idiot, and I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t an idiot,” she whispered. “You were—you are—a man who’s lost someone and is trying to figure it out.”
He nodded, his eyes locked on her mouth before moving up to her eyes. “I was still an idiot. And I’m still sorry.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But Lincoln, I’m not angry at you. I was never angry at you. I understand that you’ll need time, and when you’re ready you’ll find someone wonderful—”
“I don’t want someone wonderful, I want you,” he interrupted.
She lifted her eyebrows, and he closed his eyes, laughing sheepishly as he realized what he’d said. “Damn it. That’s not what I meant.”
“Not so smooth today, I see,” she teased. “Not like with the other girls.”
“No,” he said gruffly. “No, because the other girls don’t matter like you do, Daisy.”
“Lincoln—”
He tilted her head back. “You may have noticed I have a weird habit of calling everyone love. But never you. I never called you that. You were always Daisy or Wallflower.”
Lincoln took a deep breath. “I think…I think I didn’t call you love in the dismissive way I did everyone else because I knew if I ever said it to you, it would come true. That you would be my love, and I would love you, Daisy. I didn’t want that. I couldn’t risk it. So I never said it. But damn it Daisy, it ended up not mattering. I fell in love with you anyway. Somewhere between New York and Charlotte and back to New York again, I fell so hard for my Wallflower.”
She laughed and wiped at her tears. “I thought we agreed not to call me that.”
His lips brushed her cheek, capturing the tear. “How about I call you something else? Love.”
Her eyes closed, and her heart soared. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Not anymore,” he whispered, his mouth brushing over hers. “Only you, Daisy. You are my love.”
She leaned back and forced herself to