Free WORTHY, Part 1 by Lexie Ray Page B

like I didn’t have to hide anything.
    “I —I want to, but it’s just hard.” I took a deep breath. “When I first came out here, I was in a lot of pain. My parents had—had just died, and I couldn’t bear to be around anyone. Somehow, being out here by myself, here in nature, helped heal me. And I’ve never had any desire to leave.”
    “That’s kind of like me,” Jonathan said, smiling faintly. “This place healed me, too. Well, except for my memory. But you know, I’m caring less and less about that as the days go by. Do you think it would be okay if I stayed out here with you? I really like it. And I like being with you. You make me feel good, too, as much as the work and nature and everything.”
    I had no way of knowing how much that question would affect me. My heart lifted and soared. He liked it out here, and he liked me.
    “I would be disappointed to live out here with out you,” I admitted. “I’ve gotten used to you being a part of my life.”
    I looked over at Jonathan, and he was grinning. His happiness was infectious, and I grinned back. I was so buoyed that I hardly cared when we both clambered out of the pool in the early evening. He liked me. It didn’t matter if he caught a glimpse of anything.
    Later that night, he insisted on preparing dinner, with me trying not to insult him by hovering. He was cooking us an Italian dinner, he claimed, and he was experimenting by seeing if he could concoct his own sauce. I gave him a few pointers and tried to back off, cleaning the cottage a little bit until I couldn’t do anything without seeming like I was fidgeting.
    “Relax,” he said, laughing at me. “What do you usually do when there’s nothing for you to do? Read a book or something.”
    I bit my lip as I looked at the bookshelf. There was nothing I wanted to avoid more right now than a romance novel, especially with the way I was feeling. Who knew that a man who knew his way around the kitchen would be such a turn-on? I figured that a lot of it had to do with what was said at the pool today.
    Jonathan liked me, and I liked him. The admission had changed everything for me. He’d become a friend and a companion over time, and I’d enjoyed watching him grow more comfortable and confident the longer he stayed. Now, the fact that he liked living out here as much as I did and wanted to be here as long as I was lifted my heart and made it do dizzy little loops in my chest.
    Finally, I grabbed a harmless volume from the shelf and sat on the couch. I opened the book, but I couldn’t read a word, instead enjoying watching Jonathan move around the kitchen. The sauce smelled amazing, and I couldn’t wait to eat an entire dinner he’d prepared.
    “Okay, I think everything’s getting close to ready over here,” he announced, making me jump out of my trancelike state. I hope he hadn’t noticed me staring and drooling.
    “I’ll just wash my hands real fast,” I said, walking down the hall and into the bathroom. I turned the light on and shrieked, covering my face with my hands and falling to the floor.
    “ Michelle! What’s wrong?”
    I felt rather than saw Jonathan run into the bathroom and stop beside me, trying to piece together the problem. My shoulders hitched with a sob.
    “What is it?” Jonathan asked, sinking to his knees and putting his arm around me. I flinched away from his touch. How could he bear to look at me day after day—let alone touch me?
    “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, sounding hurt and bewildered. I felt a pang that had nothing to do with my weeping. He thought he did something wrong, and here I was letting him believe it. Jonathan was so good—a saint for putting up with me for so long. I couldn’t drag him down like this.
    “Mirror,” I hiccupped, pointing. My stupid heart. How could I have really thought that he’d liked me? He had to have just been saying that, some sort of pitying concession to everything I’d done for him all this time. No one