And his eyes were on me.
“Yes! They’re filming over by the Commissariat House!” one of the women exclaimed.
I stood, my heart thudding.
He was here.Mitchell was here, in Newfoundland, looking at me.
“Who is he?” one of the women said. “Maybe that guy on that show…”
“He’s Prince Charming,” I said, stepping out from my seat.
I ran. I shoved through the door into the freezing cold evening, not feeling the temperature at all. Mitchell was already crossing the street, and then, I was in his arms, spinning around, crying, laughing, and calling him a damn fool.
“I couldn’t let you come here alone, Firecracker,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to mine.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I said through my tears. “We don’t make sense.”
“We’ll make it make sense.”
“Not anymore.” He told me his news. I told him he’d lost his mind.
“Winona,” he said, lowering me to my feet. “All I know is I can’t live without you.”
“Neither can I,” I whispered, knowing in my bones it was true.
“Okay then,” Mitchell said.
I smiled, teary-eyed. “Okay,” I whispered. “Now you better kiss me, Prince Charming.”
“As you wish,” Mitchell said, and pressed his lips to mine.
Epilogue
WINONA
“You’re really going to make me do this?” Mitchell asked. Around us, the music thudded as loud as the raucous crowd. The man before me had to be seven feet tall, with long mutton chops, ruddy red cheeks, and a massive dead fish in both hands.
“It’s tradition!” I laughed.
“What about you?”
“You come from away, Mitch, not me.”
Come from away—the catchall term for anyone not born and raised on the island of Newfoundland. “Listen,” he said. “You haven’t lived here in?—“
I threw Mitchell a look so searing he clapped his hand on his mouth. He was tipsy already—a commonplace occurrence down here on a Saturday night. He’d gone off when a seagull had walked in front of us between the last bar and this one. “There are a million different seabirds here, Winona! It’s glorious!”
Tomorrow I’d sneak off to buy him those binoculars.
Luckily, I’d been drinking soda water—I was still feelinglike a bundle of nerves, and wanted my head on straight. Plus, it looked like I’d be the one getting us home tonight.
The crowd cheered as Mitch took a piece of bologna the pretty barman’s assistant handed him. He swallowed it down with a swig of beer. “Revolting!”
“Next is the best part,” I said.
The barman, whose name was Peeved Pete, held up the cod. Mitchell closed my eyes as the fish came toward him, but Pete winked at me and pulled it back. I swooped in and pressed my lips against Mitchell.
He actually hollered.
