He comes over and takes my hand to kiss my knuckle. “Tell me all about it.”
“I’ve put together some of my favorite passages from my journals and submitted them to agents as a book of poetry. It’s a long shot, but—”
“No it’s not.”
“It is.” I nod. “But that’s okay. Rejection will happen, and it’s healthy and normal, Cindy says.”
“Have you heard back from any of the agents?”
“No.” I take my hand back and wipe my palms on my dress. “Well, kind of.”
He brightens up. “Already?”
“I turned it down. One guy said he had a publisher interested, but not in my writing, per se. They wanted our story. Sort of like a memoir, I guess, with a social media spin.” I’m no longer looking at Finn, so I can’t read his reaction.
“Why’d you turn it down?”
“It’s not my story to tell. I’m not even sure I want to try.”
“You should.”
I look up at him. “It was exposing ourselves that caused problems in the first place. I don’t want to put you or myself through that again.”
He makes a point of looking around the room, at the myriad photos of me on the wall.
“Touché,” I say, “but this is your art.”
“And that’s yours. Write the memoir, Hals. I’ll be by your side through the whole thing. This is who we are, these pictures, your words—isn’t it? I don’t want to be ashamed of that.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Neither do I. I’d like it if we could even . . . keep posting?” It’s a bold suggestion after the last six months, but like Finn said—it’s who we are.
“Me too,” he says, to my relief. “I’ve tried to maintain the account, but I’m having some trouble finding subjects as interesting as you.”
I smile. “I deleted the app from my phone the day I left, but Benny told me. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we can try food porn instead?”
He laughs. “We don’t have to change the kinds of photos we take. It’s how we dealt with stuff that was the problem. I can’t protect you from everything. We have to work through the shitty stuff—together—and then move on. No running away.”
I nod. “We have to be partners in everything. A team.”
“Yeah. We’ve always made a really good team.” He puts an arm around my neck, drawing me in for a kiss. Finally, I get what I really did all this work for—those to-die-for, pillowy lips of his. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I don’t have a single doubt about that or about us. One day soon, we’ll make our team official. If you’ll have me.”
My cheeks heat. “No doubts here, either. I love you. And I’ll have you.”
I think Finn just proposed to me in some untraditional, roundabout way.
And I think I just accepted.
Who needs traditional anyway?
