Between paying Mum back for my flights and this, I’ll be tethered to the past forever. Indulging in this soul-searching adventure finally caught up to me.
My gaze snags on a single word printed in small capitals.
PAID.
Then—
Balance: £0.00
“What…?” I spot the services listed on the invoice, then my head jerks up to Brandon. “You didn’t.”
He gives the world’s most unhelpful little smile as he nods at the case.
Hands trembling, I unlatch the lid and lift.
Air leaves my lungs in a silent rush.
The body has been perfectly rebuilt. The new wood blends into the old so seamlessly that it’s as though time rewound itself.
With one distinct change: the rosette I fantasised about is real. Tiny pieces of turquoise sea glass are inlaid around the circular opening, overlaying wood, the blue-green shards cool and faintly luminous, held in fine lines of gold. It reminds me of sunlight caught in shallow water. And of…
“Kintsugi,” I breathe. Or something resembling that.
It’s beautiful.
It’s not just restored—it’s reborn.
A new beginning.
Wonder floods me, warm and full, too much for my chest. I feel expanded, lit from the inside, sunlight pouring as a smile spreads on my face, tears filling my eyes.
“You paid for it?” I ask in awe, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. I thought…” Brandon starts, voice low, uncertain. “You only declined because of financial constraint. I—”
I launch my whole body at him, arms around his neck, showering him with kisses wherever I can reach—his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. He laughs against my lips.
“Thank you,” I whisper between kisses, giddy and breathless. I press my forehead to his. “Thank you.”
The laughter melts, and our lips find each other again. I’m still half draped over him, fingers tangled in his shirt, the guitar gleaming on thebed beside us.
“I love you,” I breathe against his mouth. A kiss. Another. Softer, surer. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
And I always will.
52
Epilogue I: A New Beginning
Brandon
The Audi glistens in the midday sun, our bags arranged in Tetris-fashion into the boot, which finally smells clean and not of oysters.
Though we’re minutes from leaving, Lily can’t resist getting her guitar out.
I lean back against the bonnet, arms wrapped securely around her waist as she leans back against my chest, my chin resting atop her head. Her guitar is slung across her shoulder, her fingers dancing over the fretboard as she finger-picks a soft, idle melody.
I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair, content to stay here as long as she likes. It seems impossible that we began as two people circling each other so carefully. Now we fit, with music threading us together.
