Page 69 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

I can’t stop smiling as we drive back to the house later that night. Cai is curled against me in the passenger seat, her hand in mine, humming along to the radio.

Every few minutes I glance over at her, still half-convinced this is a dream. This woman, who has survived a hurricane, a terrible ex, and her own self-doubt, has said yes to staying with me.

I am all in. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

As we pull into the driveway, I kill the engine and turn to her.

“Cai?”

“Hmm?”

“I want to say something to you before we go in there. Before I take you upstairs and everything gets… euphoric. I don’t want you to think it’s just the heat of the moment.”

I pause, thumbs brushing over her knuckles, eyes steady on her.

“I love you. Not the version of you that you think you’re supposed to be. Not the polished or perfect version. I love the real you, the one who shows up with the wrong song, who cries at video game side quests, who quotes movies with me like we’ve known each other forever. I love you, Cai. Exactly as you are.”

I see her eyes fill with happy tears.

I jokingly add, “Please don’t say it back. This is my moment.”

Cai laughs and then says, “As you wish.”

I lean across the console and kiss her. Slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. My hands slide into her hair.

Cai pulls away and looks at me through hooded eyes. “There was some mention of things getting euphoric, I believe?”

I smile back and command, “Inside.”

We barely make it through the front door.

Clothes come off in a trail from the entryway to the stairs, her red dress left in a puddle on the bottom step, my shirt somewhere on the landing. By the time we reach the bedroom, we are laughing and breathless, hands exploring with growing urgency.

I lay her down on the bed like she’s something precious, then spend the next long while proving just how much I mean every word I said. I worship every curve, every soft inch of her with my mouth and hands, until she is trembling and whispering my name like a prayer.

We move together in the quiet dark, slow and sweet at first, then faster, more desperate. Every touch, every moan, every kiss feels like a promise.

Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, sweaty and smiling, my fingers still tracing lazy patterns on her hip. She curls into my chest, listening to my heartbeat.

“Are you done being a prima donna? Have you had your moment? Can I say it now?” Cai teases.

“Go for it,” I say, closing my eyes, committing this moment to memory. She kisses me softly and says, “I love you too, Sonny.”

Rule #29

IT’S NEVER TOO EARLY TO START THINKING ABOUT NEXT HURRICANE SEASON

SONNY

It has been two weeks- only two weeks- and I have no idea how I ever did life without Cai.

As expected, she nailed the meeting with the creative director, and she was brought on board. In Cai fashion, she supposedly accepted it on the condition that she receive no special treatment and that any storyline requiring my approval be submitted anonymously to avoid the appearance of preferential treatment.

We arrive separately when possible and spend our days on our own tasks, avoiding any type of fraternization. Sometimes in the evenings, she tells me how worried she is that she isn’t delivering work fast enough or thoroughly enough, but I assure her she’s doing great. I can tell she really loves the job because she gets to be creative.

I love having her with me every morning and evening, and if I ever want to assure myself that I’m not dreaming midday, I can just walk down the hall and see her.

We have taken care of most of the loose ends: letting go of the lease for her apartment and grabbing the few things she has that are precious to her.