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That’s it.
I give in.
I laugh so hard it hurts. It loosens my grip on Annabel, but she still stays pressed against me.
So I hold her, and I laugh, and I am soaked.
Soaked by the sudden, thrilling realization that I’m not dead yet. Hell, that I’m actually—mostly—alive.
Her. Me. This day.
We still have all of this.
For the first time, I wonder why, if I’m still capable of feeling so acutely, coherently alive, am I dooming myself to certain death by holding myself back? Because death doesn’t just visit the body. It can kill the spirit, too. And now I’m starting to think I’m welcoming it too quickly and with too much certainty.
What if certainty is the enemy?
What if I allowed myself to enjoy life—this life, with Bel and bowls of flour and bonfire make-out sessions—for as long as life will have me?
Trouble.
Delicious, hilarious, electric trouble.
Chapter Eighteen
Beau
I lean back in my chair with a groan.
“I know,” Bel says, putting a hand on her belly. “I know. But I can’t stop eating. Chef, this is amazing.”
“You two are a handful.” Chef Katie shakes her head at us from across the table. “But I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun at a lesson. Cheers, y’all. It was a pleasure having you.”
She holds up her wine—we’re on a cabernet sauvignon now, light but tasty—and the three of us clink glasses. I’ve been sipping each flight of wine, careful not to overdo it. It’s been fun getting to try a bunch of different varietals. Samuel—or Emma?—killed it.
Chef protested at first, but eventually Annabel and I convinced her to sit with us and eat after our lesson ended. It was the least we could do after the mess we made in her kitchen.
Of course we cleaned up everything. Everything but ourselves. Annabel’s hair is still coated in flour. I have something sticky stuck in my eyebrow, and the skin on my left cheek feels tight. I can only imagine what’s stuck in my beard.
My belly aches from laughing. And because I’m so full. I look down at my empty plate. Despite the dick innuendos and ensuing food fight, the gnocchi turned out delicious. Rich without being heavy (“It’s the ricotta,” Chef explained), it paired beautifully with the butter sauce. And the hazelnuts? They added just the right amount of crunchy sweetness to round out the dish.
I glance at Annabel. Her cheeks are rosy, and her hair’s fluttering in the breeze from the open window. She looks relaxed. It has nothing to do with the wine; she’s taken a sip from each glass, if that.
She looks better than when she first arrived at the farm, that’s for damn sure.
I did that.
Well, not all of it, but I helped. And that feels really fucking good.
When she thinks we’re not looking, she presses the flat of her hand to one breast, then the other. It’s getting late. She’s gotta get back to feed Maisie. I should get up and drive her home.
But I just don’t want this day to end.
I’m tired, and I’m turned on. The memory of Annabel’s body pressed against mine lingers. I imagine the scent of her perfume clinging to my clothes, my skin.
She’s everywhere I want to be, which makes leaving her really, really difficult.
But I have to.
Have to.
Only when I tell myself that, a voice inside my head wonders what would happen if I didn’t.
“Happy?” I ask when I pull up in front of her house, gripping the wheel for dear life, lest I put my hands on her.
She turns her head to meet my eyes, looking so beautiful it hurts.
“Happiness still feels a ways off. It’s closer than before, but still not there. Not yet. That being said, I do feel…full. Not just in the physical sense. Is that the word you’d use to describe the feeling you’re exactly where you need to be, with exactly who you need to be with, doing exactly what you need to be doing?”
Christ Almighty. He’s raining down tests on me left and right today.
“Full.” I lean into the steering wheel, the effort of holding back making me feel sick to my stomach again, the way lifting too much weight did the other day. “Or maybe whole?”
“Yes. That word works, too. Do you feel it? Whole?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do. But I always feel that way around you, Bel.”
A beat of charged silence passes between us.
I begin to pray.
Please. Release, please give me release, I can’t take this much longer.
“What is it that’s really bothering you about your diagnosis?” she says softly. “That you’re not invincible anymore?”
I let out a breath, the reality of my situation hitting me like a blast of cold rain after a day of sunshine. I gotta stop forgetting myself around this girl, but it just—
It feels so great.
