He pauses after he writes his name and new phone number at the bottom of the email, then he looks up at me. “Good to send?”
Hope and love threaten to burst right out of my chest, and for a second, I can’t respond.
This is it.
This is real.
This is him, overcoming everything he’s been through and taking this impossible leap, to be with me.
He arches his eyebrows. “Yo, Alex? It’s good, right?”
I nod, and he grins, turns back to the computer, and clicks send.
“How long do you think until she gets back to me?” he asks, swiveling in the chair to face me. He scoots a little closer and spreads his legs until I’m standing right between his knees. Then he leans forward and rests his head on my stomach.
I let my fingers run through his hair as I think about the answer. My mom called Vera a few hours ago—early afternoon here, but late morning in California—and I remember very casually eavesdropping on the half of the conversation I could hear through the open door to the garage. They talked for a while, and not everything was about Nico. In fact, they talked at length about some art exhibition Vera is planning for next year. The conversation wasn’thurried or rushed in any way, which could mean she wasn’t busy. Or any other number of things.
“Maybe not long? Or hopefully not, anyway. I really don’t know, though.” I trail my fingers down his neck, and Nico hums contentedly, which makes me smile.
“Thanks for helping me,” he says, turning to kiss my stomach. He tilts his head up to look at me, a soft expression in his eyes.
A million little moments flutter around me, reminding me of all the times I’ve wished to see him look like this—comfortable, happy, hopeful, content. It’s overwhelming again, and my heart feels so full.
Carefully, I bring my hand up to touch his cheek, my fingertips grazing his skin. He smiles.
“I’m so proud of you,” I say softly. My hand cups his cheek, and I get lost in his beautiful eyes—lost in possibility and hope and joy, because that’s what I see in them now. I lean down and tilt his chin up, and I kiss him with a slow tenderness. A promise.
And when I pull back and straighten up, he’s still smiling, blissful and gorgeous. My thumb traces his cheekbone as his eyes open partway, and I’m struck with that feeling again—how incredible it is to see him like this.
“I love you, Nico,” I murmur. There’s a slight roughness to my voice as I say the words out loud for the first time. They’re true. I’ve known them to be true for a while now. But that doesn’t stop my chest from tightening and my heart from leaping up into my throat.
I stroke his cheek gently and watch his eyes grow wide and his mouth open. His lower lip trembles, and then he stands, one hand coming to rest on my hip, the other settling right in the middle of my chest.
“You mean that?” he asks quietly.
I lower my forehead to rest against his and whisper, “With all ofmy heart.”
He leans into me, his hand pressing into my chest. “I love you, too,” he says on a breath, and then his lips are on mine, his kiss passionate, tender, and needy all at once.
I wrap my arms low around his waist and hold him tightly as I kiss him back. Something inside me is bursting with joy, and suddenly I’m laughing as we kiss. I bring both of my hands up to his cheeks, pull back just enough to see his gorgeous eyes and his smile, and then I kiss him again.
“I love you,” I repeat between kisses, and he breaks away and drops his chin, shaking his head. His cheeks are wet with tears, and he blinks and reaches up with his right hand to wipe the tears away.
“It almost doesn’t feel real,” he admits, though he quickly corrects himself. “I mean, it’s just... it’s hard for me to believe that you could... love me.”
I shake my head. “I do. It’s real. This”—my hand finds his, and I bring it up to my lips and kiss the back of his knuckles—“is real. I promise.”
He sniffles and lowers his eyes, then he slips his arms around my waist and rests his head on my chest. He’s quiet for a few minutes as we stand there, holding each other. Then, he presses his cheek against me and breathes in deeply. “You make me feel good... and loved.” His arms tighten around me. “You always have.”
He smiles into me, and it’s the best feeling. I straighten slightly, bring one hand up to his chin, and tilt it back so he’s looking up at me. Then I lean down and touch my lips to his in another gentle kiss.
I’m about to say something more, to tell him I always want to make him feel that way, when his phone chimes from where it sits on the desk next to my computer. He pulls back, grinning, and kisses me again before turning to grab his phone. His shoulders tense almost immediately.
“What is it?”
“She emailed me back already,” he says, all of the blissfulness gone from his tone. “That was too fast. That can’t be good. Can it?”
He hasn’t clicked on the email notification yet, and he closes his eyes and shoves the phone at me.
