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Everything was perfect.

Grayson hadn’t known he could ever be this happy, and yet, every day surprised him with the little moments it brought forward. Time was passing quickly, quicker than he realized, and he wanted to savor every memory as it was being made.

It felt as if, for most of his life, there had been nothing memorable for him to hold on to. If he looked back on those years, he found a nearly empty photo album, sparsely filled with only a handful of days that were worth remembering.

But now? Everyday moments were snapshots he wanted to keep, no matter how simple or inconsequential: reading a book with Lucy asleep beside him, the sound of her breathing a soft melody in his ears; him and Charles grocery shopping, spending an hour ambling through the aisles only to leave with a carton of milk and a box of blueberries; a double date with Mateo and Alba, the girls laughing so hard they were wheezing; grabbing a pint with Mateo, playing billiards in never-ending rounds to see who was better; sharing a pot of tea with Charles, listening to him tell stories about Sophie and Edmund and Claire; stealing kisses with Lucy between the bookshelves, the sweet taste of her lips.

There were so many moments that were similar to days he’d lived throughout his life—he had gone grocery shopping before, been on dates, slept with women—but none of those memories had ever felt the way they felt now.

It was as if Lucy had infused his life with magic, so that even the most mundane things felt special.

Everything was perfect—so perfect Grayson was afraid.

It felt like he was living someone else’s life: the kind of life he had always imagined and dreamed of but had never truly thought could be his. A home, a family, a community. Love.

Lucy.

He had read his fair share of stories, so he liked to think he had a vivid imagination, but she was something he could have never imagined, not even in his most far-fetched fantasies. He loved her so deeply that it made him afraid for when their story would end.

Because stories always ended, especially the good ones.

Who could know that better than him?

The last time he had lived such a perfect fairy tale was when he was six years old. When he was a child with parents and grandparents who had loved him—then everything had changed in the blink of an eye.

Everything had fallen apart.

But what if this didn’t have to end? What if things could always be this perfect?

Grayson had never considered himself to be somebody who could change his fate, but to keep this life—to keep Lucy—he would do anything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Lucy

Of course, nothing that was perfect could last.

It was May now, and Grayson hadn’t yet brought up when he was leaving. Lucy had to assume he still was because he hadn’t said anything to the contrary.

She couldn’t be angry with him, though. This was always the plan; he was never meant to stay. They talked about everything except this one thing: the future. She should have just talked to him about it, the way they talked about everything else, but she was too afraid to burst the perfect bubble they were in. They were just so … happy.

Lucy didn’t know if he was leaving soon or at the end of summer, before the next school term started in September. She hoped he would stay just a little longer; she didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to stay, to stay forever, really, but such a wish was futile.

He had been having lots of phone calls and meetings lately, which he told her were related to work. She never pried, too scared of breaking her happiness to learn the details of his next semester, when he would be away from her. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want this to end.

He had no reason to stay: Charles was doing great, recovered and happy. He didn’t use his cane at all nowadays. Lucy wasn’t worried about Charles at all—until Sophie’s death anniversary came around.

Charles was always rightfully sad on that day every year, but this year, the anniversary fell on a Monday, when the store was closed. Lucy spent all morning worrying about him. When they were at the store, she could at least keep an eye on him.

But today, he would be stuck at home, and she was sure Grayson would be feeling sad, too. Well. There was only one thing for it.

Lucy went to the kitchen and pulled out an old folded-up piece of paper. It was a recipe for apple cake, instructions written in Sophie’s neat cursive. The paper was worn at the seams from being folded and unfolded so many times, and there was an oil stain on one corner.

The apple cake was the first thing Lucy had perfected baking because Sophie had made it for Lucy’s sixteenth birthday. Lucy had loved it so much she’d asked for the recipe.

“It’s a special recipe,” Sophie had told her, eyes twinkling. “I don’t share it with anyone, but for you, special girl, I’ll make an exception.” She had winked.

Sophie had written the recipe down for her but said the written version was actually false. She verbally listed the amendments that needed to be made, whispering them in Lucy’s ear like a big secret.