Page 52 of I’ll Find You

The promise of something new hangs in the air as the clock winds down with every passing minute, making the past feel farther away—something to let go of instead of something I'm still carrying.

Beyond the window, snow falls in a slow, drifting silence. They say each snowflake is unique, and I watch it with rapt attention, staring as if I can see what makes it so. Each large snowflake catches the fading light before disappearing into the growing blanket of snow. The harsh stone and concrete blur at the edges as fresh snow transforms the landscape into something peaceful. Bundled in my fluffy sweats and wrapped in a faux fur blanket, it's the kind of night where the future doesn't feel so intimidating, where maybe anything is possible.

Inside, it’s warm in a way that has nothing to do with the heat. Takeout containers sit open on the kitchen counters before us. The scent of soy and ginger fills the air of the small space while we eat without ceremony, standing close, and passing things back and forth without asking. Our movement falls into an easy rhythm as Alex takes on a container of noodles with his chopsticks and lifts it to my lips. The noodles hit my chin as I start to suck them into my mouth. Latched onto opposite ends of the same noodle, our lips collide, and suddenly I'm reminded of my first night here, when we shared that single plate of spaghetti I'd made for us. I pull back with wide eyes, and his grin spreads wide. I’m about to look around for a napkin, but he keeps that smile, leaning forward, licking the remnants of the brown sauce from my chin, and swiping his tongue across my lips. He pulls back, grabbing onto more noodles with his chopsticks and placing more into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he says with his heated stare, and I still blush whenever he says something like that, because I know he wasn’t just talking about the noodles. Everything between us feels comfortably familiar now.

We found a strand of battery-operated fairy lights tucked away in the boxes I brought over from the apartment I shared with Maxwell, Chelsea, and Lucinda. Placing them on the little Charlie Brown tree gives it the glow it was missing, crooked star and all. Its soft, uneven light catches the tinsel and strings of popcorn in a way that shouldn't be beautiful, but is. Because it's ours. Or maybe it's just the man walking toward me, no longer carrying food but a bottle.

Alex opens the champagne, the quiet pop breaking through our little bubble. I cover my ears, and he laughs as the foam sprays from the bottle. He brings it to his mouth, drinking the bubbles spilling over the top before pouring champagne into a wine glass without looking. He hands it to me, his fingers brushing mine. This time, he doesn't pull away.

Outside, the snow keeps falling, but inside, the time slows. We drift toward the window without saying it, drawn by something neither of us needs to say aloud. Fate. Destiny. Meant to fucking be. It’s all the things I thought were part of a fairy tale. The parking lot is nearly gone beneath the snow now, the world reduced to light and shadow and the faint glow of the other townhomes in close proximity.

“Almost midnight,” he says softly.

I nod, my shoulder resting against his, covered in his favorite black t-shirt stretched across his sculpted chest. The contact between us is instinctive now, unquestioned, and something I no longer deny myself. There’s no countdown. No noise. Just the quiet turning of time, and our unseen future. When the moment comes, it isn’t announced on a big screen with the dropped ball or the sound of gowns and confetti littering the streets of Times Square.

It just arrives, wrapping around and cloaking us in our own moment. His hand brushes my cheek, and I lean into it without thinking. When he kisses me, it's unhurried. Patient. His lips linger against mine before pressing deeper, and something inside me finally stops fighting. I'm standing at the beginning of something that was always meant to be mine.

Alex closes the door behind him and switches on the low light in the corner. He walks toward me with purpose before sitting on the edge of the bed. One leg is curled, and the other hangs off. He smiles at me, and my world narrows until he’s all I can see. He reaches for his present and hands it to me. I look at the small box, its slightly uneven wrapping a dead giveaway that he did it himself. Somehow, that means more to me than whatever's inside.

“I already had a gift,” he admits, looking away, a faint blush rising on his face. The man doesn’t get embarrassed, so this must mean something to him. “I just didn’t know what to say, but when you moved in, I knew exactly what the gift should be,” he admits as he holds it out to me.

My fingers tremble at his admission as I open it. Careful not to rip through the wrapping, I unfold it, tugging at the transparent tape with my nail until the foiled wrapping comes loose, revealing a velvet box. I look at him before I turn it in my hand and pry it open. A necklace.

It’s delicate, but the pendant inside causes my breath to falter. Numbers? No. Coordinates are engraved into the metal. I look up at him, the question in my eyes without having to voice them, wondering what they mean.

“That’s where I first saw you,” he says, his voice lower now. “Before you even knew anything about me.”

I run my fingers over the cool metal, tracing the numbers. “I saw you at your house in Texas,” I murmur. “It was there with my old roommates, and we went to visit your parents.” I look up at him. He’s already watching me, trying to piece it all together. “That’s where we first saw one another, right?”

He nods, his hand lifting to brush lightly against my cheek. “I didn’t understand what it meant,” he says, inching closer. “But I knew something in my life was about to change. I just didn’t realize how much.”

My heart stutters.

“You’re not the beginning for me,” he murmurs. “You’re the end of everything before it.”

The room feels too small for the moment, but he continues, wrecking my heart.

“This necklace is to remind you that if you ever feel lost again…” He takes my hand in his, making sure I’m listening, “...it will always lead you home. To your family. To me.”

Tears slip down my face as he takes the necklace from my hand and moves behind me, his fingers brushing my skin as he fastens it gently around my neck. His touch leaves warmth in its wake.

When he turns me back toward him, his gaze drops to where it rests against my skin. It feels like it belongs there. Like I do. His hand finds mine again, lifting it between us. He’s moved past every boundary I built, broken through every defense I thought would hold. My forehead falls against his chest. My breathing is uneven, my chest tight, but not in a way that’s constricting. In a way that feels alive.

“My turn,” I tell him. I don’t think it can compare, but I think he’ll like it. Our last night there in Texas, I was hanging out with June and Raven while the guys had gone. We were having lunch when June paused mid-scroll, making a face as she clutched her chest.

“Hey guys, look at this,” she said, pushing her phone toward me. It was a photo of Alex and me at their place. We’re standing by the windows, close enough to touch, and somehow closer than I remember us being when the picture was taken. My cheeks warm at the memory of that night, of the way he pressed me there while the rest of the world faded until it was just him and me. It was one of those moments that stays with you long after it’s over.

In the photo, he’s saying something, his fingers brushing the faint stain of my lipstick. My hands are curled against his chest like I couldn’t bear to let go. But it isn’t the picture itself that gets me, but the way we’re looking at one another. Nothing else in the world exists beyond the two of us. We were caught in our own orbit. I was the sun, and he was my star, pulled toward me by a gravitational force neither of us could fight nor deny. It captured everything I felt for him, and everything he felt for me. All of it, held still in a single moment. I had it printed, searching for the right frame until I found one in a small bookstore. I knew then that this was the one. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but just a single moment that meant everything.

“For you,” I say, a trace of uncertainty in my voice, my cheeks still flushed at the memory. He takes it, slower this time, looking at me instead of the package. He looks at me one last time before opening it. The only sound is the soft crinkle of wrapping paper as he unwraps it. I watch his expression soften in the slightest way, his shoulders lowering just a fraction. The way his jaw tightens once, holding something in. He moves his fingers over the antique black finish of the metal. It’s beautiful and ornate with roses and vines wrapped all around, but when his eyes land on the engraved areas in a little placard above and below the picture he goes completely still. The top is written in script with the words destined to find you, and the one below in the same cursive reads, damned to love you. It’s what we first said to one another because this kind of love consumes you, and we both willingly choose to burn in it, buried beneath the soil, holding one another in our graves, even when it’s just our earthly remains.

He touches the picture possessively, reverently, and he continues to stare at it as his eyes become glossy. My fingers twist slightly in my lap as I wait for him to say something, anything about what he’s thinking when he looks at it. Does he see the same thing reflected back at him that I do?

His hand remains on the frame, and for a moment, he doesn't move at all. When he finally looks up at me, I see it in his eyes. He understands what this means. That I gave him this. This is everything. "You see it, too, don't you, baby?" he asks.

I nod. “I do,” I answer, admitting what was always there.