The pizza’s probably getting cold, but I don’t care. I pull her close again, and she wraps her arms around my waist.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say.
“You’re stuck with me now.” She tips her head back to look at me, and we stand there a minute, just holding each other, and I think about how much has changed since that moment my rookie year when I first noticed Charlotte Mercer wasn’t just Kyle’s little sister.
“Hey,” she says suddenly. “Remember the day we reconnected? When you came to the center and interviewed me against my will?”
“You were not my hostage!” I click my tongue. “But I’m sorry about all that.”
“Well, I completely lost it and asked you to save our center and then was mortified after.”
I smile and kiss her soft, warm neck. “Despite the complications, I really liked that day.”
“Me, too.”
She giggles and I don’t know if it’s because her neck is always a bit ticklish, or because she’s giddy, like me.
“I was just thinking about that day because I wore the wrong outfit and got fired.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She gestures around. “This is the part where I’m wearing the right outfit and getting exactly what I want.”
I look down at her clothes—jeans that fit just right, a soft blue sweater that makes her eyes and hair pop, and pink converse sneakers. I circle her waist with my hands. “I do like this outfit.”
“I’m just glad I’m wearing something I love right now.” She reaches up and kisses me. “It’s fitting because here, with you, is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
And looking at her—standing in my apartment, in my arms, planning a future I didn’t know I could have—I have to agree.
She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.
We both are.
Epilogue
Charlotte
Nearly One Year Later
“Thecatisjudgingme.”
I look up from my laptop to find Taysom standing in my kitchen, holding a spatula, while Miley sits on an overstuffed chair in the corner, giving him her most disdainful stare. She’s gotten huge over the past few months—fully grown now.
“She’s not judging you. She’s supervising.”
“Same thing.” He points the spatula at her. “I know what you’re thinking, and for your information, Icancook pasta without burning it.”
Miley slowly blinks, which in cat language roughly translates to “time will tell.” It’s funny because she’s still Taysom’s biggest fan, but maybe she thinks even he needs to be humbled sometimes.
“She’s got a point,” I say, closing my laptop and joining him in the kitchen. “You did set off the smoke alarm last week.”
“That was one time.”
“Twice.”
He balks. “The second time doesn’t count. That was the toaster’s fault.”
I wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my cheek against his back. He’s wearing his Commanders hoodie—the one I plan to steal very soon—and he smells like cologne and butter. “I appreciate the effort, even if Miley doesn’t.”
