My chest tightened as I listened to her, realizing how hopeless she’d felt after losing her brother—and how incredibly close I came to not having the privilege of meeting her.
“Right before the anniversary of his death, my mom and I went to this tattoo place,” she said. “I’d always wanted a tattoo, but of course, she’d never allowed me to get one. And I wasn’t eighteen yet, so I couldn’t have done it without her permission. But she took me and said we were getting one together.”
“What made you decide on a semicolon?” I asked.
“Because they represent a pause. A break in a sentence, a before and an after. They’re there to remind us that even though Brennan’s story is over, we still have more to say.”
I studied her, this beautiful, perfect woman who’d altered the course of my life by simply existing. I was so grateful she’d gotten the help she needed back then and that I was able to wake up next to her now. I must’ve been quiet for a moment too long because she spoke, reaching out to touch my face.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
I took a deep breath. “I was just thinking how thankful I am that you stayed. You…” I trailed off, my eyes searching hers. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’ve…you’ve changed me. You’ve made me lighter. Better. You make me want tobebetter.”
She tried to look away, but I stopped her, taking her face gently in my hands.
“You do,” I said.
Her eyes lingered on mine for a moment before she leaned in and kissed me. It was nothing like our first kiss from the night before. There was nothing hurried or frenzied about it. It was slow, deep, tender. The feeling of her soft lips against mine was the only thing tethering me to the earth as my heart soared.
She pulled back so she could see me and said three words that made me feel like I could do anything as long as she believed in me.
“So do you. You make me want to be better too.”
Her lips drew me in again, beckoning me closer. I’d spent a lot of my life feeling like I didn’t quite fit anywhere. But with her, in her arms, I finally belonged.
We sippedcoffee in bed and ate leftover cake for breakfast, talking about everything and nothing at all as Emilia snuggled between us. McKenzie threw on one of my T-shirts, and even with yesterday’s eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes, she was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen. I started to imagine more days like this, spent just being together.
“Have you worked any more on the song you played me the last time I was here?” she asked.
“Actually, I finished it,” I answered. “I was so inspired by your feedback that I wrote the rest of it the next day.”
“Play it for me,” she said, pressing a kiss to my lips.
“You really want me to?” I was nervous to share it, but I also trusted her completely. It was because of her I’d even started writing music to begin with.
“Please.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
I brought the guitar into the bedroom, sat at the foot of the mattress, and began to strum the chords. She lay on her side as she listened, and I kept my eyes closed as I sang the words.
I poured my soul into every single syllable, giving her everything I had. It was vulnerable and terrifying, but it made me feel alive—simultaneously lost and found.
My voice faded to a whisper as I finished, the sound of her sniffling bringing me back to the moment.
“Luca,” she said, swiping her fingertips beneath her lashes. “That was beautiful. It was…everything.”
I placed the guitar on the bed and shifted closer to her. “Really?”
She nodded. “I know you started writing just for you, but I think you have something here. Your words could…they could help people.”
The prospect made me both nervous and excited. I hadn’t written with the intention of sharing my songs with anyone. But maybe. Maybe I could. Maybe Ishould.
“You think so?” I asked.
“I know so.”
I moved so I was lying beside her and Emilia, stroking the tips of the pup’s ears as I contemplated what she’d said.
