Page 169 of The Difference Between

Unwanted hugs make me cringe, and hugs born out of joy with my sisters and Addie make me laugh. But now I know that some hugs—like this one—can drag hidden grief from the heart to the surface and pull tears from my eyes and a sob from my mouth.

It’s more than arms, body, and breath. Gavin’s arms around me both glue me together and shred me apart.

I weep against him. For the woman I am and the one I missed my chance to be.

“Shh,” he hushes into my hair as my body shakes. “I have you, Reese. I will always have you.”

He might repeat it a dozen times, a million, but every time it hits me like a brand-new truth. The words I’ve needed since I sat at Dr. Cantor’s office and she destroyed my dreams.

He holds me in that stopped elevator until my reality hasn’t changed but my tears run dry.

We pull apart and I wipe my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say with a snivel. “For everything I said. For leaving the way I did.”

He thumbs away my tears and his eyes dance. “I was flattered you thought I had a prayer of putting that shattered champagne flute back together.”

I don’t know how I manage a laugh, but I do. “I can’t have a baby, Gavin.”

With that truth set free, I’m crying again.

I’ve gone over the numbers nearly a million times. The treatments and therapies are all the longest of long shots and will put my body through hell. I reached out to my gynecologist in the city. He reviewed the numbers, used the word grim, then said, “Maybe a reproductive endocrinologist would be better at explaining your options.” I knew what that meant and I’m far too practical for false hope.

“I know,” Gavin says, taking my hands in his and kissing my knuckles. “Banyan told me. I’m sorry.” He’s so sincere I almost laugh. He’s apologizing after I acted like a certifiable bitch. “I wish I would have known or been there. I coul⁠—”

“This is all me.” I sniff. Keeping my eyes on his even though it burns. “I didn’t want you to miss out or⁠—”

“Miss out?” He shakes his head with a slight laugh. “Reese, I will choose you—over and over—every day. No matter what.”

“You’d be terrible at business, you know,” I say through a watery voice. “I’m telling you I can’t give yo⁠—”

“And I don’t care,” he cuts me off, cradling my face in his hands. “I lava you. Forever. No matter how old you are or what your body can or can’t do.” His lips twitch. “Unless you want to put posters of other men on the ceiling of the bedroom.”

I laugh again, and right there I hear Jeremy the window washer’s voice telling me to say yes. Even though I can’t have kids. I can help give Addie a life Amanda would have wanted her to have while I love Gavin. I’ll hold Rue’s baby when it’s born and Remy’s hand as her marriage crumbles. I can live in a shed house surrounded by glass and watch the sky change colors over a vineyard. I will not have biological children, but I can choose excellence—Gavin—even if it looks nothing like I planned.

“Plus,” he says softly, kissing my tears. “Lots of people don’t have kids. There are a lot of ways to have a good life.” When I think he’s done, he adds, “And we have Addie.”

Just hearing her name makes me grin. “We have Addie.” I’m awash with emotions too big for my body and my eyes refill. I laugh. “Why can’t I stop crying?”

“Because you lava me,” he says with a smirk. Then his fingers snake into my hair and his mouth is on mine, kissing me until I don’t have a single doubt we can do this. Gavin is here and choosing me despite everything, and I will damn well let him.

“You know,” he says into my mouth. “I expected the library to be the tallest building in Chicago?”

“Really?” I murmur. “Why’s that?”

He smiles against my smile. “All the stories.”

I laugh and he laughs. When we separate, I catch one of his hands in mine. He’s here and I never want to let him go—I can’t. If I had handcuffs, I’d link him to me and throw the key off the roof.

“You’re everything,” I say—I’m officially delirious.

He squeezes my hand. “So are you.”

With his push of the button, the alarm silences and the elevator resumes its downward course. I can finally drink him in. He’s freshly shaved, his hair is styled, and that tux . . . that tux.

His lips tug to one side. “See something you like, Miss Reese?”

“The tux is a bit much.”

“Yeah.” His lips lift knowingly then he drops a quick kiss on my lips. “But you like it.”