The fact that he's mentioning next year—that there will be a next year, where he'll still be around, and that I will be too...
I feel hope swell inside my chest, almost making it hard tobreathe.
I wish for that too.
"When's your birthday?" I ask him eagerly, remembering that he's a Libra, so it should be soon. Today is the last day of Virgo season after all.
"October 18th."
"You better buckle up then," I tease him, nudging his broad shoulder with mine. "Because you are so getting a kick-ass party like this."
He laughs, his joy almost tangible, and I want to hold it delicately in my hands, protecting it. We're silent for a couple of moments, observing the party from the quiet of our little space.
"Have you ever heard of kintsugi?"
He nods his head, "Yeah, I've read about it."
"Of course you have," I tease him, his lips twitching like he's trying not to grin.
"My sister told me about it today," I say, my voice softer now. "She said it's the art of mending broken things with gold. Instead of hiding the cracks, they highlight them and make them part of the story. It's a symbol that it survived, and that it's even more beautifulbecauseit broke."
His eyes soften immediately, something deep and knowing flickering across his face.
His eyes immediately light up as he catches the meaning behind my words, but I continue with a whisper. "You guys are the gold. Maeve. The book club. Donna and Rich.You.You guys are filling in the cracks of my broken little life that doesn't feel so broken anymore."
My eyes sting, and I whisper, barely audible over the hum of conversation. "I'm so happy...youmake me so happy, Callum."
I watch as his face melts into a big smile, wide and bright and so beautiful it almost hurts to look at.
"I like the thought of filling in your cracks," he says,completely guileless.
And there it is.
I snort a laugh, covering my mouth with both hands to hold it in. Callum pales before his cheeks flush a violent red, and I lose my battle with my laughter.
"Not again,” he groans.
His face is the picture of mortification right now, hand over his eyes, and it only makes me giggle more.
"I didn't mean it likethat," he mumbles.
"I know," I manage between laughs, wiping my eyes. "You really just can't help it."
I'm moving before my brain catches up, but my body knows exactly what to do.
I stand up on my tiptoes, grabbing onto his broad shoulders for support, and kiss his heated cheek. The scruff of his beard tickles my lips, and I let my lips linger, breathing in his scent.
His hand immediately drops from his face when I make contact, and he looks at me with wide eyes.
"Ask me,” I whisper.
His eyes widen even more, and some unspoken language between us lets him know the exact question I’m talking about. The air crackles, the space between us charged with the kind of electricity that could power cities. It's been building between us gradually—through every shared sunset, every ice cream hangout, every lingering look at book club, every text message that makes me laugh until my stomach hurts.
I know some might consider it too soon, that I've only been out of a relationship for a couple of weeks—would have been out of it sooner if I had known. Paul didn't wait until we were broken up, but at least I did.
There's a war going on inside my body as I stand here with this man. I have cancer. There's a possibility I won't make it to thirty-one. So, no, I don't care about some arbitrary number ofdays, weeks, or months I should wait before seeking happiness. No societal rulebook will rob me of this, of Callum.
Because I might not have days, weeks, or months to spare.
