“Do you think she’ll like me?”
“She has to. I mean, she likes Ezra . . .”
Atlas hits me playfully on the arm but giggles nonetheless.
“I’m sorry you had to leave her for so long.”
“I’m sorry, too . . . for how everything abruptly ended for you. If Ezra and I hadn’t shown up, you’d still be there with your parents—”
“Stop,” Atlas says firmly. “It was never completely safe there, not even when abu was alive. Besides, it was my job. Aiding people with special abilities was a decision we made collectively as a family. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
“I’m excited for them to come here—come home,” he whispers.
Because Proctusishome. If you had asked me when we first arrived if I ever thought that possible, I’d have said no. But it’s true. I can’t wait to live our entire lives together here.
“Me too,” I say.
“I can’t wait to tell them about my teaching position!”
“They’ll be so proud.”
I scoop him up, kissing him passionately on his beautiful lips.
“I’m proud.”
“Hey, you two,” Ezra warns, “there’s people here.”
Ambrosia chuckles. Ezra shuffles our way to join in on the fun.
“Did you know she cosplayed as Aayla Secura?Queen.”
I knew he’d gain a significant amount of respect for her after learning about her cosplaying days. She looks pleased but keeps a respectable distance from us. I nod and mouth a thank-you.
“Well, I need to help take everything down. Meet you guys at WellWorks after?”
“Of course, love,” I say. Atlas squeezes his shoulder.
Ezra disappears into Pop’s, leaving the three of us alone in the venue once teeming with enthusiastic Angelics. We saunter to Sacramento Avenue, the night alive with palpable vigor. Many crowd into WellWorks for late-night drinks and food, so we follow along, basking in the hype and liveliness.
It’s a testament to how far we’ve come, a promise of a long, fulfilling life with people who’ve undergone so many of the same experiences. My heart soars and I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.
Chapter 70
Ezra
His head pokes around from the tips of the growing tomato vines. I see the bleached highlights of his otherwise dark hair and the glint of glasses as he rounds the corner of the trellis. Excitement courses through my veins like it does every morning he and I do this. I rush over with a basket in hand, body expectant and tingling with elation. Atlas’s face scrunches up in concern while he studies a particular vine that wraps messily on a spool. When at last I approach, he sighs, deep and guttural. He folds his arms but smiles when he notices my arrival.
“Hey, you,” Atlas says warmly.
“Hi.” I grin. “What’s wrong?”
He studies the tomatoes, feeling the frayed leaves.
“It’s this vine,” he mutters, tracing fingers along its twirling figure. “I’m not sure what happened, but it wasn’t like this a few days ago.”
“There’s too much extra foliage. No one pruned the poor thing,” I say, angrily ripping away a few excess leaves.
“We’ve been so busy with the corn, I think we overlooked it.”
