The door shuts behind them, leaving the house suddenly quieter.
Patrick steps closer, sliding his arms around my waist. “I’m sorry she’s leaving.”
I rest my head against his chest. “Me too,” I admit. Then, softer, “But I’m glad you’re back.”
He holds me tighter. “Me too.”
His gaze drifts past me to the small stepping stool by the counter. “What were you looking for?”
I bite my tongue. This is the part I don’t know how to say without sounding like I’m accusing him of something.
“I love you,” I say first.
He smiles, his response immediate. “I love you too.”
“Good,” I say, bracing myself. “Remember that when I ask the next part.”
His brow furrows slightly, but he nods. “Okay.”
“Do you have any hidden booze anywhere in the house?” I blurt out, words rushing together. “I trust you, I do, but last time-” I cut myself off, inhaling sharply. “You weren’t you back then and I wanna make sure…”
He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t tense.
Instead, he cups my face gently, thumb brushing my cheek. “Thank you for asking,” he says quietly. “And for trusting me to be honest when I say I already got rid of everything.”
I blink.
“I swear,” he continues. “Theres nothing left.” He leans his forehead against mine. “I promise.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He kisses my hair. “If you need to make sure,” he adds, “I won’t take offense.”
I shake my head, emotion swelling in my chest. Leaning up on my toes, I press a soft kiss to his lips.
“I trust you.”
Epilogue
Lorelie
“So, Patrick went to New York,” I announce to the group, dropping into my chair with a flourish.
There’s a collective murmur around the circle.
“Last week,” I add, rolling my eyes, “his sister called him. Asked him to come get her. Alone. Because apparently demanding he come to New York isn’t dramatic enough unless you also demand secrecy.”
Typical Chloe. Drag Patrick straight into the center of her chaos and then act ungrateful when he’s standing there.
“So,” I continue lightly, throwing my hands up, “our very romantic, very overdue night got pushed. Again”
What I don’t say out loud is that we still haven’t consummated our reconciliation. Not for lack of desire. Or effort.
It’s always something like Milo crawling into our bed to make sure we’re still there. Patrick getting called into work. Me working late. Someone getting sick. Someone being colicky. Life keeps cockblocking us with impressive consistency.
“I mean,” I laugh, because what else can you do, “come on.”
Kate smirks. “Hard up, are ya?”
