“Whenever you’re ready,” he says. “I bought open ended tickets.”
“I can’t believe you planned this!”
“All I did was book a flight. I wantusto plan it. Together.” he says with intention.
I wrap my arms around his waist and press my forehead to his chest. “Brennan,” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“We’re just getting started on the happy we planned on having all those years ago; aren’t we?”
His arms tighten around me. “It’s going to be better.”
I pull back enough to look at him. The man he is now. The man who stayed. Who learned the truth. Changed in ways most people don’t know.
Who shows up every single day.
“I love you,” I say.
His answer is immediate. “I love you, too, my queen.”
For the first time in a long time, love doesn’t feel like a question I need to solve or resolve.
I’m exactly where I’m meant to be at the right point in time.
EPILOGUE
DELAYED ENTRY: SLOWING AT THE BLUE LINE TO ALLOW TEAMMATES TO CATCH UP
There are three moments in a man’s life when he realizes he has lost all control.
The first is when he realizes he’s in love. The second is when he had the balls to admit it aloud. The third is the moment where the parents meet for the first time.
We are finally at moment three and it’s not just a moment—it’s a spectacle. Because my parents decided to visit on LaborDay weekend—the very weekend Amy’s moving into my house. Now, our house.
So, of course, chaos ensues. Instead of chatting over dinner, our parents are bonding while carrying box after box into our home. I mutter, “I’m not certain I had this many boxes when I moved in.”
I also know I’m curious as hell about the box labeled,Misc Bedroom Stuffbecause I didn’t pack it. Since Amy carried it rapidly down the hall to our room, I’mveryinterested to know what’s inside.
Now she’s standing in the middle of it all. Her hands are on her hips laughing as my mother and her mother debate whether the couch should be moved. JoAnn questions, “Should it face the window or the fireplace?”
My mother tuts, “I wonder if we can move it around—just to see.”
I look at Amy for help, but she just shrugs diplomatically. “Let them try it out.”
“How about we don’t and say we did?” my dad mutters, as he passes by holding a box labeledKitchen—Fragile—DO NOT DROPlike it’s a bomb.
Ted just grins. “This is why she’s great as a teacher. She knows how to negotiate.”
I listen to her joyful laugh and God, it makes me want her. I want to throw both sets of parents out so we can christen the rest of our home.
A few weeks ago, we were in Ireland and now? I revel in the idea of every inch of my home being picked apart by three different women because it means I’ll wake up with Amy every morning.
“Brennan,” my mother calls. “Where do you want us to arrange Amy’s books?”
Amy turns to me and raises a brow. “Careful. This answer sets the tone for the rest of our lives.”
I don’t even hesitate. “Wherever she wants them.”
