I put my hand on my forehead to block the light and can finally see Cal’s face. “Yeah, I remember him.”
Cal’s lip twitches. “What if that guy?—”
“—The dumb one?”
“Yeah. That one.” The twitch settles into a nervous grin that threatens to break my heart all over again. If it doesn’t heal it first. “What if the dummy realized he’d made a huge mistake. Could you forgive him?”
I blink. My heart seems to be in tip top shape, because it’s hopping in my chest like a kangaroo. “I don’t know. That depends. He wasn’t sure he could leave home to be with me.”
Cal breathes too loud into the mic, then blinks rapidly at the sound he’s made before collecting himself. It’s possibly the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen him do, and I’ve seen him at a four-year-old’s tea party.
He holds the mic further from his mouth and tries again. “And if he came to his senses and realized home is wherever you are, would you give him a second chance?”
The audience turns all eyes on him, then back on me, waiting.
He tips his head in a question. Except, I’m guessing from the tears rolling down my cheeks, he already knows he had me atWhat if the dummy realized…
“I reckon everyone deserves a second chance. Even dummies.”
Cal’s face breaks into a huge smile.
Gentle clapping quickly turns into the loudest applause ofthe night, but not so loud I can’t hear someone yelling “Kiss her!” over and over.
The crowd joins in, and I realize it’s Archie leading the chant while also pushing Cal toward the stage.
Not that he needs much pushing.
I don’t need any at all. I yank off my heels and run to Cal before he makes it to the stage.
We collide in a kiss powerful enough to silence the noise around us, any remaining doubts, and every voice questioning whether we’re doing the right thing.
A kiss tender enough to erase any hurt we’ve caused each other.
A kiss that reassures, soothes, and lifts.
A kiss that promises me I’ve found home.
Epilogue
One Year Later
My palm is damp when Frankie wraps her hand around mine and squeezes it.
“It’ll all be over in a matter of seconds.” Her lips curve with encouragement. “Wave and smile. That’s all you have to do.”
I nod and inhale deeply as the limo pulls to a stop in front of the BFI Southbank theater.
“And don’t trip!” She adds.
I exhale with a deflated breath. “No way I don’t trip now.”
Frankie leans into kiss me tenderly enough to restore my confidence. Mostly in her, but I think I might live through this experience, too.
A little over a year ago, I knew Frankie as Fran and couldn’t see her as anything but the waitress who kept my coffee cup full and my heart yearning for more of her. Now I’m standing on the Southbank in a custom-fit tux that doesn’t feel quite right, staring at a wall of flashing lights and lenses, with the Thames behind us and the British Film Institute’s banners snapping in the wind like they’re cheering her on.
Frankie, though, is calm.
Not nervous but not performing either. Just…steady.
