Chapter 679: 69 ~ Annie is Okay-4

He looked down at the ground, a droplet of water gliding down of his strands of golden hair, slightly curled from the water of his shower, and he sighed. “Okay,” he told me, and I smiled at this, even if his voice wasn’t enthusiastic or as warm as I remember it once being, because it was a start, no matter how small. “I miss you,” I told him, softly, and I could hear the twinge of sadness that trickled its way into my voice, the soft ache of sadness that made him glance up from the ground and up toward me, his eyes finally reflecting the heartfelt hazel that I knew and loved so, so much, and he finally smiled at me, and nodded gently at this, and I felt something—my heart—beginning to soar in my chest at this. “But I’m not ready to be with you. I wish more than anything that I were, but I’m not—I’m not ready to stop feeling guilty about being with you.” I looked down at my hands, blinking, and I wondered if that heartfelt hazel was retreating, disappearing and bringing back that blank expression that felt more painful than his anger. “I still feel as if I’m stealing you from her, even if she’s not here and you totally have a mind of your own so no one is really stealing you but I’m just . . . I’m not ready. But I still do miss you and I miss . . . I miss having a best friend. And I could really use one right now.” I laughed, the sound spurting from my lips in a quick surge of noise. He seemed to consider this silently for a moment, his eyes traveling away from my countenance and down my hands clasped together in my lap, the pads of my fingers sliding across my unpainted nails, the beds pristine and pink, and he almost seemed engrossed in the movements of my fingers until he nodded after a moment, smiling slightly, and then he looked up at me, nodding again, as if he was making sure that I understood his acceptance. “Okay,” he told me, the slight smile on his face tugging into a regular grin. “We’ll be besties.” His grin grew even larger, swallowing up even more of his face when I laughed, rolling his eyes at his choice of words, and then he seemed to sober from his grin and reduced it to a small smile again, his eyes earnest. “I can wait.” I blinked at him, surprised, and then asked him, “Why? Why would you want to wait for me?” He inched his chair a little closer to the edge of the bed, his knee brushing against my own, and I felt that familiar tingle erupting beneath the skin as he looked at me, gently, his eyes so sincere and kind that I felt like blushing just from the gaze he extended to me, the hazel directed only for me, and he smiled, glancing down at my hands against, and I wondered if he would reach for it, interlock his fingers with mine, and squeeze them, but he refrained. “Because I love you,” he murmured after a moment of gazing down at my hands, his voice barely audible, and I could see the shyness beginning to seep his eyes as he slowly lifted them to me. When I smiled at him, and reached out my hand for his, grasping it in my own, and I felt his fingers enfolding mine, his smile grew a little more confident and the pink flush on his neck slowly crept away. “I have a present for you,” I told him. “Yeah?”