“Sorry it’s kind of burnt,” Henry says, frowning down at his plate.
I shake my head and smile at him. “It’s perfect,” I say, and Michael squeezes my hand again.
As we eat, Henry tells me about things that have been happening at school, with his friends, how much he’s enjoying riding his new bike when it’s not snowing. After dinner, Michael does the dishes while Henry and I sit at the table and keep talking. He tells me about the book he’s been reading—Bill Bryson’sA Short History of Nearly Everything, the book he was reading when I first met him, in the hall—and he shares what he’s learned and how interesting it is. As he speaks, I’m struck by his curiosity and intelligence—traits I’m certain he got from his dad.
Eventually, Michael finishes up in the kitchen and Henry goes to get ready for bed. I sit at the table, finishing my glass of wine, not wanting to leave but knowing I probably should. I did show up here unannounced, after all. And it’s a school night for Henry.
But just as I’m about to rise from my chair, Michael comes over behind me and leans down by my ear, speaking in a low voice. “Don’t you even think of going anywhere. I’m just going to see Henry off to bed, then I’ll be free. Okay?”
I tilt my face towards him. He’s only inches away from me, and I can’t stop myself from leaning closer. “Okay.”
He brushes his lips over mine, letting out a little sigh.
“Ew, gross.” We both turn to see Henry in his dinosaur pajamas, emerging from the hallway.
Michael straightens up, one hand on my shoulder, a wide grin stretching his face. “Get used to it, bud.”
I stand from the table, blushing. “Sorry, Henry.”
He gives a dramatic eye-roll, but I can see he’s smiling.
Michael pads up the hallway with a chuckle, and Henry steps closer to me. “It’s nice to have you here again, Alex. Dad hasn’t smiled like that for weeks.” He reaches out and pulls me into a hug, squeezing me tight. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Henry,” I say, fighting against another round of tears. Happy tears. Really happy tears.
I sit on the sofa trying to process everything that has happened over the past hour and a half. I told Michael I love him, and he told me he loves me back. I ate dinner with him and Henry, and it was wonderful. And as Michael finally emerges from the hall and his eyes land on me and smolder, I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.
He reaches for my hand, pulling me up off the sofa. “Henry’s so happy you’re back. He might have missed you more than me, actually.”
I laugh, feeling joy rush my bloodstream. I know that things with Michael can only work if Henry is on board, so having him want me here is everything. But it’s not just that. I’ve missed Henry too. I’ve missed them both.
I run my eyes over Michael, taking a second to just look at him. His dark hair is messy and unstyled, his face is tired, but there’s a light in his eyes, in the way that he’s looking at me—just like that time at the ice-rink. I take a mental picture of him standing there in his long-sleeved tee, faded jeans, bare feet. This man—fuck. He’s everything I could ever want. I’ll never love another man as much as I love him. Never.
He swallows visibly, pulling me close to him. “Bedroom?”
I nod and turn down the hallway without hesitating. He enters the room behind me and closes the door, then turns to me, peeling my layers off, until I’m naked. His eyes roam over my bare skin while I stand there, but I don’t feel the need to hide. Because I know he’s seen all of it—all ofme—and he loves me anyway. He always has.
We make love slowly, passionately, as if we’re doing it for the first time all over again. And while he kisses me, holding me close and giving me every piece of him, I wonder how on earth I ever managed to convince myself that believing in love was crazy.
* * *
After,he kisses me with those feather-soft kisses that make my toes curl, make me giddy.
“Alex…” He sets his head down on the pillow and gazes at me. His eyes have those deep crinkles in the corners, his mouth is set in a permanent smile. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I’d lost you. I’m never letting you go now. You know that, right?”
“I know. And I’m more than okay with that.”
He leans forward to kiss me again. “I love you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I love you too. More than anything.” I think of the last time I was here, and regret tugs at me. “I’m so sorry about our fight. I promised not to hurt you and I did.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to be perfect.”
“And I don’t expectyouto be, either,” I say quickly, remembering what he’d said last time.
His eyes soften. “I know. I was just scared that I couldn’t be what you need me to be. But I know you don’t need me to be perfect, and you can’t be either. I don’t expect us to always see eye to eye. Sometimes we’ll fight, and that’s fine.” He takes my hand and laces his fingers through mine. “What matters is that we keep going. It’s not a one-time thing, falling in love. We have to keep choosing each other, over and over again.”
“I can do that,” I say, knowing it’s the truth. And just like that, I understand. Happily ever after is not some fairy-tale ending. It’s not a hand-in-hand stroll into the sunset as the credits roll. It’s a work in progress, a choice you have to keep making. And that’s how I know I’m getting my happy ending—because I’ll never choose anyone else again.
