“I want to see you when we get to Rochester. I don’t want tomorrow to be the end,” I say.
Her smile gets bigger as she laughs. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
She winces. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m not having a heart attack,” I say with a chuckle. “I know you’re busy tomorrow, but I want to see you if you have time. After the party, maybe. And then the day after tomorrow. And the tomorrow after that.”
“That’s a lot of tomorrows.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
She pauses, trying to drop her head, but I tip her chin up so she’s looking at me. “I’d like that,” she says.
No matter how sure I was that she wanted this too, hearing her say it makes me feel like fireworks are exploding in my chest. I bring her face up an inch higher and drop my own head so my lips are a sliver away from hers. My eyes are still open, and so are hers, like we’re in the world’s best game of chicken.
I can see her cheeks rising, can spot the smile in her eyes. Can taste the mint toothpaste on her breath. Our first—and only—kiss felt like a dare … a dare we both won.
I want this one to feel like a promise.
The smile in her eyes shifts to something more—anticipation mixed with trust—and it almost knocks me over. I close the final distance, pressing my lips to hers with a tenderness that feels almost reverent.
This isn’t just a kiss. It’s an answer to every tear she’s cried tonight, my way of telling her:I see you. I choose you. You’re not alone.When her breath catches, it’s like she finally understands what I’m trying to say. Her hands slide from my face to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and the gentle pressure feels like her response:I choose you, too.
Her legs are still draped across my lap, her injured ankle resting gently over my thigh, and I’m careful not to do anything to hurt her. With every kiss, I want her to know she’s safe, that she doesn’t need to hide behind a smile anymore.
She tastes like mint and tears and a sweetness that belongs only to her. Her lips move with mine like we’ve done this a thousand times, but with a newness that makes my heart stutter. Each point of contact feels essential—her hands in my hair, my palm cradling her face, her weight against me. Every touch is confirmation of how right we are together.
I shift my hand from her face to the back of her head, cradling it, while my left hand drops to her waist. Holding her. Anchoring her to me.
The couch cushion dips under our combined weight, and we both laugh against each other’s mouths. The sound out of my throat is so happy, I barely recognize it. But it feels like the best version of me.
I pull back just enough to look at her dark lashes and flushed cheeks and the goodness that radiates from her eyes.
“How did I get so lucky?” I ask.
The look she gives me is so open, so unguarded, it robs me of all thought.
“I don’t think most people would consider a disastrous road trip lucky,” she laughs.
“Most people are idiots.”
She laughs again, and I’m struck by how she can still smile after a lifetime of hurts and disappointments.
I will never be one of them—a hurt or a disappointment, I silently promise.
I kiss her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth, wishing I was better with words. Wishing I could pause this moment and stay here forever instead of just tonight. Wishing I could make her understand that nobody has ever made me feel the way she does—like I’m not the cautionary tale in someone else’s story. Like maybe I’m the hero in my own.
She puts her hand to my cheek, fingers feeling the scruff there. The tender expression on her face makes my chest tight.
“We probably need to decide what movie we’re going to watch,” she whispers.
“It’s cute that you think we’re going to watch anything at all,” I say.
Her laugh is so bright and genuine, even with tears still shimmering in her eyes. If I do nothing else tonight, I’m going to kiss her every hurt better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
