Southern Heart by Madison, Natasha (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

"But what if I’m not?" I ask. "What if I’m not wrong for you?" He shakes his head, and I know if I don’t take this chance with him, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life. "What if I’m the right one for you?"

"Chelsea," he says, almost as if he’s pleading with me to stop talking.

"Mayson, you are a man with honor." My hand feels his heart beating, matching mine. "You are respectful. You are kind. You are funny." He looks at me with his eyebrows pulled together. "In your own way. You sacrifice yourself without thinking twice about it."

"You can stop now," he says, his breath hitting my face.

"Those," I say, "are the reasons I have fallen in love with you." He gasps. "You don’t have to say it back. I don’t expect you to say it back. If I’ve learned anything in the past couple of weeks, it’s that tomorrow is not guaranteed. There is no time to tell you how much I love you." My hand moves up now from his chest to his face. My thumb rubs underneath his chin. "When you showed up, I was so scared to touch you." I swallow, ready to give him everything. "So scared I wouldn’t be able to save you." One tear escapes now, and I bend to have it drop on the floor. "So scared I would be the one who couldn't save you and you would die before I got a chance to tell you that you, Mayson Carey, you are perfect."

"Chelsea," he says. "You don’t mean it."

"I mean every single word, Mayson. I mean it from the bottom of my heart to the tips of my fingers." I turn my head to the side and look up at him. "And I’ll remind you of this every single day that you let me." I swallow now. "Let me love you, Mayson."

I don’t wait for him to answer me. I just inch my way closer to his lips. "I love you," I say softly, and then my lips fall onto his. I close my eyes and just feel him all over me. His tongue slips into my mouth as my hand goes to the back of his neck.

"Chelsea," he says as he moves his head from one side to the other. "I’ve dreamed of this moment," he says. "I’ve dreamed of kissing you." He kisses me so softly it feels like a dream. "Every single day."

"I’m here," I say, and one of his arms wraps around my waist. "I’m always here." His mouth falls on mine again.

"So wrong," he says between giving me kisses. "So fucking wrong." His hands cup my face, not letting me go. "So perfectly fucking wrong."

"Or," I say, my tongue sliding across his lower lip. "Or perfectly right."

Chapter 19

Mayson

"Perfectly right." Her voice is strong, and she never wavers.

I push her hair behind her ears. "You need to stop," I say, and she shakes her head.

"You need to listen to me." She holds my face, leaning in to kiss me. The fear that was in her eyes when she got here is now gone. "I’m not going anywhere, and neither are my feelings."

Her hands go from my cheeks now to my lips. "Trust me."

“No one," I say, my hand going to rub her face like she is rubbing mine, I look into her eyes as I say the next part. "No one has ever said that to me before,” I say another secret that I’ve never shared with anyone. "Not even my mother."

She blinks away tears as she looks at me. "She loved you." She smiles at me, and she furiously blinks away tears. "How can she not? Look at how perfect you turned out to be."

"Chelsea." Her name is on my lips all the time lately.

"Don’t you dare," she says, leaning in and kissing me, and my heart fills for a whole different reason. "Don’t you dare say anything."

"Will you let me even if I wanted to?" I lean forward and kiss her jaw.

"No," she says, and the timer rings. "Do you want to help me cook? Maybe it’ll be a stress release."

I swallow, and I don’t tell her that her in my arms is the only stress release I need right now. I don’t tell her that just kissing her makes everything better. I tell her none of that because she deserves better than me, no matter what she says. "Sure," I say, and she steps away from me, going to the fridge and grabbing stuff. "What are we going to do first?"

"Well, one, wash your hands." She points at the sink and laughs. "God, I just sounded like my grandmother."

Walking over to the sink, I wash my hands and turn around to see her at the stove. "How are your cutting skills?"

"It’s okay, I guess. I’m used to just cooking for myself," I say. "I’ve never complained."

"Okay, chop this." She puts the celery and an onion in front of me. She turns and walks over to the pot, putting the chicken in the water to cook.

"What is your favorite thing to eat?" She grabs another bowl and starts to cut apples.

"I don’t think I have a favorite," I say. "When we are away, our food is usually bland and in a bag."

"There has to be something you would eat every day if you could." I swallow because I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that, and I am also pretty sure I shouldn’t tell her.

"I guess I’m more meat and potatoes than fish and rice," I say.

"Well, then I’ll stick to meat and potatoes," she says from next to me. I look over at her. "What?" She looks over at me.

"You," I just say. "You would do that, wouldn’t you?" I ask, and she looks at me, confused. "Cook meat and potatoes every day if that is what I wanted."

"Well…" She shrugs. "I like that, too. So technically, I would be