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I grip his arm and shake him. “Tell me!”
“No, no. Wouldn’t want you to freak out at an airport.”
“Matthew!” I shake him again. “Tell me!”
Fish laughs and turns to me, his face aglow. “Reed is putting together a joint tour, Ally. I’ll tell you everything in the car. But he’s already confirmed 22 Goats, 2Real, Laila, Aloha, and Fugitive Summer on the bill . . . along with our opener, Alessandra Tennison.”
I crumple into Fish’s chest and literally weep with joy and he wraps his arms around me and coos into my hair.
“Aw, baby,” he says, holding me tight. He kisses the side of my head. “Please tell me those are happy tears.”
I nod into his chest, sniffling and whimpering. “The happiest tears ever.” I heave out a whimpering sob. “This is the best day of my life.”
He pulls back, puts his fingertip underneath my chin, and lifts my face to his. “From now on, it’s us against the world, baby. I’d do anything for you. This time, I mean it.”
I wipe my eyes. “I’d never let you do ‘anything’ for me that isn’t the best thing for you.”
“That’s exactly why I can promise you that.”
We kiss again. And then hug fiercely, like we’re hanging onto each other in a hurricane.
He kisses my cheek. “These past weeks without you, I’ve realized I literally can’t be happy without you by my side.”
“Me, too.” Someone behind me jostles me slightly, apparently reaching for their suitcase, so I guide Fish a few feet away. I think I saw my suitcase zip by a moment ago, but I don’t care. It’ll come around again. I look into Fish’s green eyes and say, “I’ve felt physically sick without you these past weeks. Video chat isn’t enough.”
“Not even close,” he agrees.
“I thought it would be okay,” I say. “Just like before. But everything is different now. I can’t live without you.”
Fish’s chest heaves. “Please, don’t stay in Reed’s guest house. Stay with me at my place.”
My lips part in surprise. I didn’t know Fish knew about Reed’s offer for me to stay at his casita. I was planning to talk to Fish about that in person. Of course, I’ve been fantasizing about staying with Fish, but he’s never invited me. And I’ve convinced myself these past weeks that’s probably for the best. I’ve told myself living with my boyfriend would be a huge step. Too much, too fast. Not to mention, my mother has always had harsh words about people “shacking up” before marriage. Or at least, an engagement.
When I say nothing, simply because my mind is racing, Fish exhales like he’s been holding his breath underwater. He says, “At least, stay with me while we work on the album. I’ve got a small studio in my spare bedroom, and I’ll buff it out. We’ll record the entire album there. We can work at any crazy hour we want. If we get writer’s block, we’ll sit on the beach, right outside my door, and have ourselves a picnic. We’ll watch the sunset every evening together.” He sighs and touches my cheek. “Regardless of the album, I just want you to be with me, Ally. I want your face to be the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see at night.”
Aw, screw it. I don’t care if this is a huge step. I don’t care what my mother thinks about “shacking up.” Her marriage to Georgina’s father, Marco, only lasted a year—and he’s literally the sweetest man alive. So I don’t think she can claim to be an expert in relationships.
“Yes,” I blurt, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll stay with you. Thank you for asking me.”
Fish looks as euphoric as I feel as he leans in for a kiss.
We kiss and kiss, until we’re both laughing from joy.
When our lips finally disengage, I lay my cheek on his chest and squeeze him tight. “This really is the best day of my life.”
“I feel like I’ve heard that a time or two before.”
“And it’s been the truth, every time.” I look up. “But this time is the granddaddy of best days ever. Honestly, honey, this really, truly is the very, very best day of my entire freaking life.”
Thirty-Six
Fish
Alessandra “oohs” and “aahs” her way through my small beach bungalow, like she’s touring Reed’s sprawling, hilltop mansion.
“And this is my bedroom,” I say, opening the door.
“Oooh,” she breathes.
For a split second, I’m not sure if she’s reacting to the flowers or the sparkling ocean view outside my window. But when she beelines to one of the many bouquets in the room, rather than the large windows, and then bends down and pointedly inhales, I know what’s gotten her attention. It’s not the literal sea. It’s the sea of white roses filling every spare surface of the room. I googled and found out white roses mean “new beginnings,” “eternal love,” and “eternal loyalty.” So, I got as many white roses as my room could possibly contain.
