“What? What does that mean? How can you know that?”
Declan’s eyes dart between mine, searching. “Do you remember what she was like when weweredating?”
I rack my memory but come up short when it comes to Gwen during our short, blissful stint of a relationship senior year. At my blank expression, Declan says, “Exactly. She stayed out of our way. After talking to her last night, I’malmost one hundred percent certain she’s realized that if her goal is to keep me safe, then keeping me away from you is the exact opposite way to accomplish that goal. She was embarrassed, which is rare, said that her mental state and actions during that time are unrecognizable to her now. And then she tore up the house looking for the letter. Told me to tell you she hopes returning it can be the start of her apology, and that she’d love to apologize in person but she also wants to give you space.” Declan looks like he’s in physical pain delivering the words.
Perhaps it’s the shock of all these new revelations, but my mind is still fixated on him. On the words he wrote when I thought he wanted nothing to do with me.
“Declan,” I start in a cautious voice. “The stuff with your mom we can deal with later. As pissed as I may be that I never got this letter, I can’t imagine what almost losing your son would do to you. But the words you wrote.” I hold up the crinkled letter, shaking my head. “I need to tell you how sorry I am.”
“Blair, no. It’s okay.”
“Declan. Let me apologize to you,” I demand, wrapping my hands around his neck. “I am so sorry for walking out on you at the gala. I completely freaked out about where this was going. You know how fresh into grief I am, and I started wondering if it was selfish of me to start a relationship with you when I am practically, like, I don’t know—this human cocoon. Just, you know, I’m very inward right now. And I don’t want to drain you with how much comfort I might need. I don’t want to hurt you again. But then, I probably did in the process because I said I’d stop doing the running away thing, and then I did the running away thing.”
“It’s okay, Blair. My mom got in your head. Grief is complicated and—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Okay, well, yes. She did. And grief is complicated. But it’s not so complicated that I can just run away from you when it feels hard. Especially because, then I started thinking about how much I wanted to be there for you after the accident. I wouldn’t have cared if you cried for sixteen hours a day, or didn’t make eye contact with me, or didn’t have the energy to say anything. I literally just wanted to sit by your bedside. That’s it. And I know we can’t change the choices we made in the past, but we can control the choices we’re making right now. And I want a future with you. I want this.” My interlaced hands tighten around his neck, and I dip my eyes down before looking up at him again. “I want you, Declan. And we can’t keep letting difficult things be excuses to block each other out anymore. We keep trying to be perfect for each other and it’s so—” I shake my head. “It’s so dumb. Hard things will keep happening in life, but I want to go through them with you. I am so confused at my own emotions these days and I’m the one they’re inside of, so it is terrifying to imagine letting someone into that, but I will let you in, if you want to be let in. And I really hope you do because one of those emotions is how much I love you and I honestly couldn’t ever and still can’t picture my life with anyone but you.”
He stares at me like my words change something vital about him and he’s reconciling all the ways it might reorient his being. His eyes dilate, this time I’m sure, and he wraps his hands around my waist to pull me in. “I’m glad you finally agree,” he says before his lips crush mine.Home,my brain screams, like a knee-jerk reaction. I pull back.
“That’s it?” I cry. “It’s just that easy for you?”
“It wasn’t.” He shakes his head, releases a weary laugh. “But it’s been four years and now it is. Back then, I didn’t have the words to articulate what I was feeling. I was resentful. So,so resentful, and it had zero direction. Instead, it just exploded on everything in my vicinity. And worst of all, it landed on you. You can’t know how much I regret that. So, yes. ‘That’s it.’ I’ve lost way too much time with you already. I don’t want to lose a second more.”
“Me neither.” A tear slides down my cheek as I smile.
“And Blair?”
“Mh-hmm?”
“I love you too.” He swoops me into another kiss and it feels like everything I’ve ever worked toward was a lousy distraction from what I really wanted. Every moment spent fearing this conclusion was a pathetic denial of what I already knew to be true. He was my first love, and he is my last.
Declan pauses to look at me with an expression so precious I think I might explode. He’s still holding my jaw in his hands, and I laugh with disbelief as I stare into the same eyes I fell in love with when I was five years old. I weave my fingers into his disheveled hair and pull him down to kiss me again. He complies. Greatly.
At first, the kiss feels like an apology. Then it morphs into a promise. Some are languid, mourning for lost time. Some are impatient for the future we’ve pictured since we were kids. We pause, laugh a little, with relief and realization that this is not our last kiss. But the first of the rest of our lifetime.
“Wait,” he says, threading his arm under my legs to return me to my spot on the couch before standing. “I have something for you.”
I chuckle. “What? How did you have time to—”
“Just wait here.” He stalks past the kitchen and then I hear a door opening and closing.
He comes back hiding something with both hands behind his back.
“Okay, ready? I made you something,” he clarifies.
“What! How did you have time to make me something?”
“Well,” he says ironically, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head to imply the days we spent apart gave him ample time.
I grimace, shrugging my shoulders.
“I was shocked at how much you noticed the birdhouses, so, I thought you might like one of your own.” He spins the object out from behind his back, revealing a small birdhouse, like the ones hanging from the coffee shop ceiling, except this one is color-blocked in pastel pinks, yellows, oranges, and greens. The disassembled clock parts still adorn the sides. “All of the birdhouses I’ve ever built remind me of you. I thought it was time the Little Bird herself had one of her own.”
“Are you kidding me?” I howl, standing up like the couch is on fire. “Oh my gosh.”
He hands it to me, and I hold it in my hands like it’s made of glass. I admire the delicacy of the detailed door, rounded at the top like my cottage’s front door, with my mouth slightly agape.
“This is beautiful, Declan.” I try to elongate the word to emphasize my weight of feeling, but there aren’t enough words in all of language to describe how special, how seen I feel in this moment.
