There’s a reason poets try to name the impossible.
L-O-V-E doesn’t seem like nearly enough.
Epilogue
Twenty Years Later
Isaac
The knock on the doorway is soft. “Professor?”
“Come in,” I call, trying my best not to smile.
Trevor strolls into the room, hands tucked into his front pockets, his sweater a light oatmeal color that complements the ink on his skin. He’s biting the corner of his lip, his eyes flitting from me to the engraved metal sign sitting atop my desk.
His fingers trail over it lightly. “Professor Isaac Slade. Looks like this spot is already taken.”
I hum. “I might be willing to share.”
“Is that so,” Trevor says, walking around the desk to where I’m sitting. He spins my chair to the side and tugs me upright before I can protest, not that I would. With me wrapped around him, Trevor turns and sits in the comfy leather.
“I swear to God, if you break another of my chairs—”
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Trevor says, his hand around the back of my neck as he tugs me in.
I don’t bother resisting. The second his lips meet mine, I melt, forgetting about the paper I was grading and the structural integrity of my chair. There’s only Trevor, my husband, kissing me like it’s the first time, not the millionth.
“Do you remember we have an event to attend today?” Trevor asks, his mouth dragging down to my neck.
“I wasn’t going to work long,” I lie.
“Uh-huh. Is the paper even any good?”
“Horrible,” I tell him truthfully.
He chuckles against my skin before hugging me close and inhaling deeply, like he’s breathing me in. “Take a break with me.”
I lay my head against his with a sigh, my eyes tracing the shelves of books lining the walls, so many spines I lost count years ago. There’s a tufted chair at the opposite end of the room where I like to drink my morning coffee. A ladder leaning against the tallest shelves behind it. A luxurious couch in the middle of the space with pillows I’ve buried my face in on multiple occasions.
Fucking me in our home library might be one of Trevor’s favorite things.
Mine, too.
The decor and photos in here are familiar, a lifetime of memories on display. Including Trevor’s diploma, framed alongside a picture of him and Rafael, his uncle looking proud as can be at his nephew’s graduation. The furniture is just as loved. This is where I work, yes. But the library is also where I come to relax. Where Trevor and I sit together on those evenings when nothing sounds better than reading a good book.
This is my happy place. A dream now realized. The man in my arms my very own wish come true.
“Can you believe it’s been twenty years?” I ask, hardly able to believe it myself. So much time has passed. So much has changed. And so much is exactly the same.
Trevor pullshis face away from my neck, dark eyes meeting mine. The piercings in his nose and ears wink under the lights, his soft smile making my chest constrict. “We were together. I forget the rest.”
My breath puffs out, even as I shake my head. “That’s a common misquote attributed to Whitman. What he actually wrote was, ‘Day by day and night by night’—”
Trevor laughs, his blinding smile making my mouth clamp shut. “I know, Red. But I like this version better. It’s simple. And it’s true.”
I trace my fingers along the side of Trevor’s neck. “All you can see is me?”
He turns his head, lips pressing to my palm. “You’re everything.”
