Page 147 of This is a Kissing Book

“Hi,” I say, because apparently my vocabulary has been reduced to monosyllables.

“Hi,” she repeats.

Her gaze searches mine, looking for something—apology, forgiveness, or proof that this isn’t a strange dream.

But maybe this isn’t yet a moment for words. Perhaps we need something physical. Without speaking, we reach for each other at the same time. The hug is desperate and fierce, like we were drowning and the other is the life raft. Like we need air and the other is oxygen.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispers against my shoulder.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” I say.

“Never say never,” she says, voice thick.

“Then I’ll say forever.” I draw back because I want her to see my face as I speak this truth.

She tips her head to look up at me, tears glassy in her eyes.

“I’m yours, Buttercup.”

The Care Bear plush is stuffed under my arm and I hold it out to her.

“Cheer Bear,” she says. “For when I need something to snuggle and you’re not around.”

Does that mean …?

With shaking hands, she takes the bear and presses the soft rainbow belly against her chest. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you.” I cup her face gently, wiping away tears with my thumbs. “Every ridiculous theory about borrowing and theft, how you like your coffee, and how everything about you makes me want to be better.”

Around us, fall leaves drift down like confetti, painting the plaza in shades of gold and amber. Chicago morning rush hour continues with honking horns and squeaking brakes, but we might as well be alone in the world.

“We need to talk things through.” Her eyes, heavy, land on my lips. She bites hers and lifts ever so slightly onto her toes, leaning closer.

“We do.”

“But first⁠—”

She nods as if she knows what I’m going to say.

I drop my mouth to hers and kiss her, soft and tentative to start, then deeper as she returns the kiss. She tastes like coffee and hope and the future I want to build with her.

The sweetness of it overwhelms me—not just the kiss itself, but what it represents. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve survived, led us here. She nuzzles my nose with hers, playful and affectionate, and I can’t help but smile against her lips.

So cute. So beautiful. So perfectly Jules.

My chest expands with a sense of fulfillment I’ve never known, like every jagged piece of my life smoothed over. She invites me in. Smooths out my rough edges. Loves me in far greater measure than she ever hated me.

I can feel it in the press of her lips against mine.

In the hitch in her breath when I kiss the spot behind her ear.

In the way she clings to me, her pulse jangling.

This woman in my arms isn’t just my present, she’s my future. Every dream I didn’t dare to dream, every hope I was afraid to lose, it’s all right here.

When we break apart, both breathing hard, she says, “I’m sorry about everything⁠—”

“I am too.”