Three

This is supposed to be a scene of a bigger short story, but I wanted to try and outline this a little more first.

"If you guys need to get up at all, please just be careful because the waitress spilled some water and is working on cleaning it up."

He was going to tell her. They were sitting perfectly at the dinner table in a restaurant downtown, and he had been thinking about it all night. All week, all month practically since that weekend. How would she react? It was driving him insane. Burning him in his chest. She needed to know. They were lightly discussing their boring days until a long period of chewing came about. 

"I have to talk to you about something." he courageously said, head still down, stabbing at his plate with a fork. 

She had her mouth full and just nodded twice. Oblivious to importance, not looking up from her dinner either. 

He put his fork down, took a long sip of his bitter red wine that she picked out, and grabbed on to his napkin on his lap. His pulse began to pound in his ears, he felt this tensing twist in the middle of his stomach. He couldn't take another bite or he might have gotten sick. He takes a deep breath and just as he opens his mouth to speak..

CRASH

A waiter slips on some water left on the floor, and drops an entire tray with a water pitcher and it's glasses. Everyone rushes to clean it up. 

He felt an intense sting on his ankle. His sudden wince made eye contact with her.

"What?" She asked.

He pushed out his chair and leaned down, to see blood running out of his ankle. 

"I'm bleeding," he said surprised, "The glass cut me when it shattered on the floor."

"What? It cut you? Let me see."

She leaned over to look under the table to see the small red pool growing on the floor boards, her eyes opened wide. 

"Ma'am! Towel!" She yelled. 

"I'm definitely going to need stitches."

They return from the hospital, to her apartment. It had been a very long night, and he still felt very incomplete. Three stitches later, he limps through the doorway as she continues her criticism. 

"I can't believe she works at the hospital. I hate her."

She walks to the kitchen and grabs another bottle of wine. Maybe this night was not a good night to tell her. His ankle was throbbing and it had been too hectic, neither of them needed more stress. He stared at the floor, saying nothing, feeling ashamed for being such a coward. His eyes traced the patterns in the carpet over and over again. 

"I mean, she cheats on all of her boyfriends but walks around like some innocent princess. Like somebody owes her something. I can't stand girls like that," she continues, pouring her glass of wine with her back to him. 

"I know, she's something else," he finally said. 

"Ha! But you dated her," she spun around and leaned against the counter, feet crossed, arms crossed, and the wine glass rested beneath her lips. Her eyes full and alive, waiting for a chance to argue.

"So what?" He smirked. 

"She's awful."

"I only dated her because I thought I could love her. That's the only reason I ever date people."

She only looked at him, silent and still. He turned his head back to the floor. She slowly placed her wine glass in an already existing red ring on the counter, and took three steps forward, not taking her eyes off of him. 

"Do you think you could love me?" She asked. Her voice sounded sweet and genuinely curious. Her hands were sweating. If only he knew how badly she wanted to hear him say it. Or anybody for that matter, she suddenly felt so small in front of him. 

He turned and looked at her without blinking, mouth slightly open. The silence danced in the room.

She broke it's path with a chuckle, "I'm sorry, I'm a little drunk, don't listen to me." She turned back around to the counter. He knew this was her first sip of wine in three hours. She wasn't any bit of drunk in the slightest. 

Except he stood up, without removing his eyes, and slowly walked to her. 

Standing directly behind her, he answers her question, "I do."

She casually smiles, and keeps her eyes on her pouring of his glass of wine, "Oh yeah? You think you could?"

"No." He takes the bottle and puts it down, grabs her arm and pulls her body to his.

"I do."

Their lips are less than an inch apart, and she is frozen. Both of their pulses deafening, and their breath caught in their throats. 

"I love you." 

He finally said it. Three words to relief. 

Reviews

[Laura]

I enjoyed your story and the tension between the characters leading up to the three words. You have a talent in creating dialogue and describing the inner thoughts of your character's which makes the reader want find out what will happen next. My one critique is that you need to work on your use present and past tense. I recommend you use only one tense when describing the events so there is continuity throughout the story, particularly when describing the characters' actions.