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I drag my bottom lip through my teeth. “It was awesome. You’d never know it, but Brooks crushes it on the rink.”
“I still can’t wrap my head around that,” Ian says.
“So we’d like to do an event at Kate’s featuring all of Lizzie’s favorite things. We’ll do it during the day so it’s family friendly. Good food, good music. Glow-in-the-dark skating.”
Margaux’s brow creases. “Can I come? This sounds like a really good time. Much different than the usual ballroom-at-a-country-club most people do for these types of things.”
“Exactly what we’re going for,” Brooks says. “I want the opposite of pretentious. I want it to feel like Lizzie, you know? Approachable and fun.”
“We’d love to have your support,” I add. “We haven’t put together an invite list yet, but you’re definitely on it.”
Ian grins at her. “I can be your date. I’m kind of a big deal at Lizzie’s Lovefest.”
“Lizzie’s Lovefest!” I gasp, putting a hand on Brooks’s forearm. “That’s it! That’s the name for the foundation.”
Brooks blinks, the ends of his mouth slowly curling upward. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Funny.”
“Sweet.”
“Cheeky.”
“Just like Lizzie.” He raises his other forearm. “I have fucking goosebumps.”
Ian crosses his arms. “My work here is done.”
“Well, really, our work is just beginning,” Margaux says, playing with the mousepad again. “But I love what y’all have so far. Lizzie would adore it.”
Brooks scoffs. “She’d be spouting ideas a hundred miles a minute. She loved a project. Almost as much as she loved helping out the people in her life. Remember that bake sale she put together to help y’all buy your new uniforms, Margaux?”
“Oh my God, I do! We all brought these lame cupcakes that came from a box, but not Lizzie. She convinced your dad to buy all these Godiva chocolate-covered pretzels. The ones with the sprinkles and everything? We must’ve sold a hundred of them for five bucks a piece.” Margaux shakes her head. “It was the most fun bake sale ever.”
“I remember that. I think I bought half of them with my lawn mowing money,” Brooks says with a laugh. “She and I ate so many I puked in the bushes outside of the gym. Lizzie called me an amateur, then offered me some tissues.”
“She was never one to mince words,” Margaux replies.
Brooks laughs again. “God love her, she told it like it was.”
My heart is so swollen inside my chest I can barely take in any air. The only other time Brooks has talked so openly about his sister was in the privacy of our hotel room back at Blue Mountain Farm.
Now he’s not only talking about her in public. He’s laughing. Joking. Reliving memories instead of burying them.
It’s unspeakably beautiful.
Two more rounds of mimosa carafes later, we have our legal ducks in a row and a date for the inaugural Lizzie’s Lovefest Chocolate & Roller Skating Extravaganza. We all hug on the way out. Ian asks Margaux what she’s up to the rest of the day. When she says she has no plans, he mentions a nearby restaurant with great drinks and a better patio.
They disappear together, while Brooks and I head for his car.
I’m a little drunk. Full. Proud. Tired. My hand is clasped in the warm, dry paw of his.
The sun is shining.
Things aren’t perfect. I’m learning they may never be. Not the way I imagined, anyway.
But this moment? This feeling? Of being in love and full of hope despite everything?
It’s peace. And maybe that’s better than perfect.
“Where to?” Brooks asks as we pull out of our parking spot. “You wanna go get another drink? Do a little shopping? We should celebrate.”
I look at him in his sunglasses and sweater and scruff. My heart aches in the best, most delicious, most terrifying way.
This guy. The one who never smiled and certainly didn’t celebrate when we met.
He wants to celebrate our progress, his sister, the friendships we’ve made, and he wants to do it with me.
“Brooks, I’m in love with you,” I say, my eyes blurring the second the words leave my lips. I touch the back of my thumb knuckle to my right eye in a futile attempt to keep the tears inside it. “I understand if that’s not what you want to hear right now with, like, everything going on. But I need to tell you how I feel. I can’t keep it inside anymore. You’re a great fucking brother and a wonderful friend and you’re masterful with a shower head and I . . .” I make a sound that’s half-sob, half-laugh. “I’ve never felt as plugged in to what lights me up as I do when I’m with you.”
He hits the brakes, head swiveling to look at me. A beat passes. Then another.
My heart is in freefall.
The Porsche waiting for our spot honks. Brooks doesn’t move.
And then, without warning, he cups the back of my neck and pulls me in for a hard, hungry kiss.
