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I smile, probably a little dopily.
I’ll write back later when I can indulge in a longer conversation. Not going to lie—I look forward to her gifts each night. I think they mean something. Like she’s trying to send me a message she’s not ready to say out loud. Like she wants to give me things, like I gave her perfume and lingerie and a tour of the gardens.
But I don’t want to push her. I said as much in Paris. The ball is in her court and she seems to be playing it, so I’ve been happily receiving her gifts, waiting to see what she wants.
I set the phone on the table and sit next to my brother.
“So, tomorrow is Tiramisu day,” Nick muses.
“Yup.” We’re going to the shelter to find a dog.
Nick sighs contentedly, parking his hands behind his head as he watches our sons splash around in the pool. “You’ll have a kid and a dog.”
He says it like that’s all I need.
But is it? Because I’m picturing Miami and Jules, Paris and Jules, New York and Jules.
And Zach and Jules.
And the library and Jules.
And all these gifts and Jules.
And then all the things I meant when I sent her gifts.
With the perfume…I can’t stop thinking about you.
With the gardens…I’d do anything for you.
Suddenly, I know what she’s saying.
I sit up straight. “I’m an idiot.”
“No shit,” Nick says with a snort.
I turn to my brother, intensely serious. “No, I really am.” I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.
His droll expression burns off, and he sits up too. “Why now?”
“Because she’s been sending me gifts all week, and I’ve been waiting. I can’t keep waiting,” I say, popping up from the chair.
Nick blinks. “Whoa. Back it up. Who’s she?”
I haven’t told him. I haven’t told a soul.
Ah, fuck it. “Tate's daughter.”
Nick sputters out a “What?”
“I’m in love with her.” It’s easy to say and it’s right to say. It shouldn’t be something I have to lie about, something I have to hide. It should be something I get to enjoy every day. That we can enjoy together. I say it again because it feels so right to voice it out loud, “I’m in love with her.”
“Okay,” Nick says, standing too, trying to follow my train of thought then shrugging as if deciding to just catch up to where I am. “And does she know?”
“In Paris I told her I wanted more, but…”
I flash back to that moment in the hotel room when I said I want this.
When I said she was perfect for me.
