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Was it true, this wild, romantic nonsense she’d read in countless plays and novels over the years? Was it real? Could these feelings, from the purely physical, like a rapid pulse, to the lyrically metaphorical—stars cascading through her heart—all be the evidence of love?
Concrete and poetic, frightening and unbearably safe, known and profoundly strange, complicated and simple? Distant as another galaxy and yet…right here?
Was love everyday farm chores, “the fume of sighs,” bananas on her cereal, the “songs of every poet past and forever,” Lincoln’s mouth on her neck, the mysteries of the tides?
Was love everything?
One look into his warm honey eyes told her the answer.
Yes.
“Lincoln.” On her next breath, she took a chance and leapt right into the melodies and uncertainties of the feeling that had inspired so much passion from so many. “I love you too.”
He went still, his gaze fixed on her face. Though Grace had expended a lot of energy being anxious around men, now a lovely, clear peace filled her.
She put her hand on his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart hammered.
“Are you sure?” His throat worked with a swallow.
For the first time since she’d set eyes on him, he sounded uncertain.
She pinched his arm. “No, maybe not. Forget I said anything.”
“No way.” A smile tugged at his mouth as he pulled her closer. “Say it again.”
“You first.”
“I love you, Grace Berry.” He brought his hands to the sides of her neck and tilted her face to his. “I’m not a poet and I can’t write pretty words, but when I saw you in that diner with the pie and your book and your sweater buttoned up wrong…I felt like the earth had shifted back on its axis. As if something had been set right again.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I love you, Lincoln. I think I fell in love with you when you gave me your pie…or maybe it was when you said you were a bacon-fed knave…but whatever. I love you. And it’s not just because you took my virginity and showed me what the fuss was all about, although I’m profoundly happy that you did. Because…wow.”
A slow grin spread over his face. Cupping her chin, he brought his mouth down on hers. Though he’d kissed her countless times before, now his kiss held a new depth of claiming and possession. She pressed her body against his and tangled her hands into his hair. With the forest lights sparkling around them and the pure joy of being close to him again, she felt as if they were standing beneath a shower of stars.
“Ahem.” A sudden gruff noise came from the wings.
Grace broke away from Lincoln, her cheeks heating as she turned to see the custodian shuffling onto the stage.
“Don’t mean to interrupt, but we gotta close up here,” he muttered.
“Sorry, Norman.” Grace smiled and grabbed Lincoln’s hand. “We’ll get out of your way.”
“See that you do.” With a huff, he began sweeping the stage.
Hastily, she and Lincoln collected her bag, flower bouquet, and several boxes of supplies. In a few minutes, they were heading back to her house. After pulling into the driveway, Grace took the flowers and unlocked the front door as Lincoln hauled the boxes from the trunk.
She stopped in the foyer and set the flowers on a table.
Something was different. There was an energy in the air, a sense of aliveness, a—
She gasped.
A glossy black cat with white markings strolled out from the living room, ears perked and whiskers twitching.
“Viola.”Grace dropped to her knees. Her eyes filled with tears.
The cat bounded toward her, nudging against her leg. Grace scooped Viola into her arms and rubbed her cheek against the animal’s back. Her fur was as soft and thick as ever, and she felt hefty and well-fed with no visible injuries.
Behind her, Lincoln put the boxes on the floor and closed the door.
