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“Wild, right?”
I smile. “It is.”
“I can’t think of a logical explanation.”
I think back on this past year and all the tiny miracles that got us to this place. “I don’t think there is one.”
He leans in and kisses me, whispering, “I love you,” every time his lips leave mine. When I say it back, it’s with every single piece of me—the healed parts of my heart and the parts that are still working their way back to happiness.
We do eventually have to stop as the restaurant tables start to fill and the streets grow busier with tourists seeking out their spots for the phenomenon to come.
I track down Pedro, who takes me to a simple one-bedroom apartment above the restaurant with a double bed and a small bath. We make up for months of being apart, then just before six, join the rest of Peñíscola outside to watch the moon fully eclipse the sun, with a plate of suquet de peix between us.
The sky grows dark, blanketing us in an eerie twilight.
“Wow,” Mackenzie says. “It really is incredible.”
A breeze seems to pick up off the ocean. I’m not sure if it’s the sudden cool air or the phenomenon happening above me, but a wave of goose bumps prickles up my arms.
“Are you cold?” Mackenzie removes his leather jacket from the back of his chair and hands it to me. I hold my breath as I slide one arm in and then the other, and…nothing happens.
“You okay?” Mackenzie’s arm comes around my back and rests on my shoulders.
I reach for a piece of the crusty bread on the plate in front of us and sop up the last of the flavorful broth. I take a large bite and chew as the eclipse concludes and the sun returns full and bright.
“I am absolutely perfect.”
Epilogue
There is music thumping through my floorboards.
It’s a new hit song from a new hit band that I know very well since I’ve recently become somewhat of a connoisseur when it comes to music.
“She texted you again.” Mackenzie holds out my phone. “She says you have two minutes to get down there before she comes up here to get you. There’s a smile emoji, but I get the sense it’s meant to be a threat.”
As soon as he says it, there is a knock on our apartment door. I walk to it and fling it open, expecting to give Koko my excuses, but it’s not her on the other side; it’s Harmony.
She holds out a stack of knitted dishcloths.
“Welcome home, chickpea.”
I take the stack from her hand and examine it. The stitching is uneven, but the colors are bright.
“My new hobby,” Harmony says as if offering an explanation. “I decided to give the baking a rest for a bit.”
Over the last few months, through a steady back-and-forth of emails and Stanley Tucci Instagram reels, Harmony and I have repaired the confidence that was broken a year ago. I don’t know if I will ever fully trust any baked goods that show up on my doorstep again, but I have come to understand that our root cause was a communication error and my uncle’s deep love for THC brownies.
“You look good.” Harmony’s hand finds my cheek. “Happy.”
I automatically smile because I am happy, really, truly happy, and it’s no longer just a fleeting moment or a good day—it’s just simply how I am.
Harmony’s phone pings. She glances at it quickly and then holds it up. “I’m being summoned.”
I can see a string of emojis under Koko’s name that look like the one Mackenzie described a moment ago.
“Distract her for me for a few minutes?” I ask. Harmony winks and then heads downstairs.
I turn and take another look at our apartment. Most of our personal stuff is still in the UK or in boxes, but Mackenzie will soon start to unpack his stuff, and since we’re no longer subletting, I’ll begin to unpack some of my stuff, too.
