I’ll save it, of course. I’ll back it up to the cloud, put it on a portable hard drive. I’ll keep it on every phone I ever own.
“Tegan said I needed a grand gesture. Her ideas were a little over-the-top. She had this one idea about balloons spelling out your name. But I was thinking, if I could—”
“Jess.”
She clamps her mouth shut, as though she knows she’s rambling. I’ve never heard Jess Greene ramble, not even once. It’s about as beautiful as I bet that recording is.
I step forward. Shove my coffee table to the side with one of my legs. I walk right up to her, and I take the phone from her hands, toss it gently on the chair Salem was sitting in all afternoon.
I put my lips close to her ear. I say it only for her, which I know is how she’d want it.
“I love you, too.”
She exhales a shaky breath, and sets her hands on my waist, over the fabric of my T-shirt. She leans her forehead against my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Adam,” she whispers.
I wrap my arms around her, which is what I’ve been waiting to do since Washington. I hold her so close. I tell her at least a dozen things that I didn’t practice for at all, that probably don’t make any sense—that she’s got nothing to be sorry for but also that I forgive her, that I’m sorry for what I brought to her door but that I’d never take it back if it meant never meeting her, that two weeks may not be long but two minutes isn’t either, and I’m pretty sure that’s all it took for me to fall for her. I tell her I missed her, everything about her, her hair and her tattoos and the stubborn set of her mouth when she doesn’t want to talk and quirking edges of her lips when she does. I tell her I bought a set of black sheets at three in the morning one night last week, that I haven’t been to the grocery store, and that I never thought I’d see a day when she and Salem gave each other a hug.
At that, she laughs a little and hugs me tighter, presses against me closer, and that’s when I feel the moisture seeping through my T-shirt.
I lean back to look at her, cupping her face in my hands. I never thought Jess Greene could be more gorgeous, but somehow, like this—showing her whole self to me—she is.
“I do this a lot now,” she says. “For the last couple of days, at least. My therapist is going to be thrilled.”
“Your therapist, huh?”
She nods, a little sheepish. “One of the things that’s not for the recording.”
I lean down and kiss her. Her salt-soft lips that open to mine, and it feels so good that my knees nearly buckle with it. I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her a little, making it easy, making it good for us both, the remnants of her tears transferring from her cheeks to mine. I kiss her until we both lose our breath, until I’m seconds away from showing her those sheets. From begging to see her body against them.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe against her neck. “I know I’m too—”
“You’re not too anything. You’ve never been too anything, for me.”
I smile against her skin. That feels so good, to hear her say that.
“There’s so much I want to ask you,” she says. “Have you been working on your story? Salem said she’d produce, right? Is there—”
“What is this, an interview?”
She laughs, quiet and happy. I pull back so I can see it.
“I’ve got a lot of questions for you, too, you know. The therapy thing, for one. But also, how you and Tegan and Salem pulled the wool over my eyes, and for how long. Like how we got to where you’re good with Tegan and Salem going off to God knows where together.”
She smiles at me, playful and mysterious. I love that smile on her. I have a feeling she’s never shown it to anyone but me.
“They’re going to Rhode Island for the night,” she whispers.
“Let me guess. A seaside cottage?”
“Yeah, with Salem’s husband and daughter. Tegan’s really excited.”
“You’re okay with it? Her going?”
There’s a little flicker of uncertainty in Jess’s eyes, but she wrangles it quickly. She wouldn’t be Jess without that layer of worry for her sister, and I get it.
But I also get what she’s doing, too. I get that she’s working on it.
