I hope all she finds there is resounding love. Acceptance. Compassion.
“When I was sixteen,” I begin, breathing her in, “I fell in love with a girl who made me desperate for her dinosaur T-shirts, her terrible baking, and the crazy confidence she had in my ability to graduate, to get scholarships, and to follow my dreams. She made me crave her love, her affection, her smiles and her belly rubs.”
Brooke laughs lightly through tears.
“That girl… that woman… taught me what friendship and support and unwavering commitment truly mean. What it means to selflessly love someone, asking for nothing in return. You may not have known that kind of love, Brooke, but you have shown it to me every day for ten years.”
I cup her cheek with one hand. She places hers on top. “Your fears aren’t my fears, Brooke. Because whether it’s an away game, or an endless week between seeing you in college, a day without talking, or a wall separating us”—I gesture to the wall my headboard rests against, knowing the bed she picked out is on the other side—“every moment I’m not with you is a moment I’m not home. We’re going to disappoint each other. Iwilllet you down at some point. We’ll fight, we’ll make up, we’ll make out…”
She laughs again, kissing my chin.
I consider it encouragement to keep going. “You will drive me crazy with your tiny shorts and your terrible birthday cakes and tantalizing haircuts. And when we’re apart it’s going to be difficult like it’s always been, but we’re gonna work hard at it—at us—everyday. And we aren’t going to give up. Because we love each other, Brooke, and we always end up back here. And if it means I need to reassure you everyday for the rest of our lives, I'll happily do so. I’ll fight your fears endlessly if it means we’re together. Babe and Ruth.”
“Babe and Ruth,” she echoes and rests her forehead on my cheek. “I’m sorry, Owen. For everything. Today… and we lost theSuite Heartsafter all that time. I just… I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, we didn’t lose, Babe. Not a bit.” I could never consider where we ended up today a loss. “Plus, I think you’re forgetting your exit…”
Her head pops up, obviously remembering. “The offer?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “There’s a shiny new truck and Tinkerbell number four in our driveway with our names on them.”
She begins to settle back into my arms, but I stop her, holding her face in my hands. “No more apologies, okay? Don’t be sorry, Love.” I draw her mouth to mine, sealing my promises like the vows on our wedding day, my movements slow andintentional, so there’s no mistaking where this is going. “Just be my wife.”
This is how it will always be,I silently swear.Forever.
“Yes, I want to be your wife,” she says on a whisper, pulling away only to answer, but doesn’t need words again for quite some time.
20
LUCKY
JASON MRAZ AND COLBIE CAILLAT
BROOKE
“You know what I just realized?”
Owen hums with his eyes closed as his fingers make lazy, delectable passes over my shoulder. We both have things to do and places to be today, but I can’t help but steal a few more minutes before we’re separated for the next few days.
Owen leaves for Salt Lake City in a few hours where he’ll officially sign a contract with an agent, Reuben Cruz, brother of Erin Cruz, and more notably, only interested in pursuing my husband professionally. I’ll be staying behind in Honey Hill, working at my brand new gig as Sumer Morrison’s hairstylist while her normal girl is out on maternity leave.
“This room looks exactly like the spare room,” I say, burrowing against Owen’s bare chest, pulling the covers close and wiggling my feet against the ultrasoft, one bazillion thread count sheets. If I could, I’d live in this room permanently—in this bed, with this man. This is my favorite place in the whole world. “Even these sheets are the same… and the color of the walls, and the decor.”
“That’s wild,” he muses, not surprised, at all. “We’ve been home for weeks and this is the first time you’re noticing…”
“You had me decorate the other room. I love that room, Owen. You made me pick out all the stuff. You said you needed help.”
He doesn’t even deign to open his eyes. “Yup.”
I poke him in the chest. Owen retaliates, grabbing my finger and kissing the tip, before burying my hand in his hair, what he does when he’s positive he’s been a good boy—his words, not mine—and deserves a head scratch.
I’m married to a gorgeous golden retriever. It’s the best.
I start scratching, because it’s impossible not to give in when Owen’s shirtless and sleepy. His hair’s mussed and in need of a trim—something I plan to rectify in two nights’ time—and his closed-mouth, contented smile produces the most adorable appearance of those dimples I love so much.
“You just knew I’d end up in this room one day, didn’t you?” I ask as he leans into my touch. “You were just so incredibly confident.”
“If you build it, she will come…” he quotesField of Dreams. Kind of. “Baseball movies and Kevin Costner, Babe. They never lead me astray.”
