Page 51 of XOXO, Yours

"Jules—"

"I'm not finished." Her chin comes up slightly. "I'm not going to be easy. I have a lot of habits that are going to be annoying, and some of them are pretty deeply ingrained. I'm going to need you to be patient with me sometimes, and I'm going to need you to tell me when I'm retreating instead of just letting me do it, because left to my own devices, I will absolutely retreat." She looks at me steadily. "But I'm here. I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you. And I'm not leaving."

I have been in love with this woman for months and I have said it exactly once, in a letter, on a piece of paper left on a porch. I have been patient and steady, and I have not pushed, and I meant all of it, every day of it.

But now I am done waiting.

I close the three steps between us and I kiss her, my hands finding her face, and she makes a small sound against my mouth like relief. Her arms wrap around me, and she kisses me back.

“I love you, Jules. I’m not going anywhere. And as long as you’re in this, I will chase you every day if that’s what you need.”

When we finally pull back she's looking at me with her eyes a little bright. I realize that her armor is entirely off, she looks so different without it and so completely herself that it hits me—this is her. The real one. The one she doesn't show people until she decides they're worth the risk.

"I would like to formally note," she says, slightly breathless, "that I did not run."

"I noticed."

"That was very hard for me."

"I know." I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. "I'm proud of you."

She laughs, wet at the edges, and I pull her in and she tucks her face against my neck and we stand like that for a long moment.

From somewhere in the back of the house, there's a whoop—singular, loud, extremely Oliver—followed immediately by what sounds like Henry telling him to sit down. Then there are more cheers and some actual applause.

Jules pulls back slightly and looks at me. "Did they all know?"

"Almost certainly."

"How many of them?"

"Probably everyone."

She considers this. "Your family is big and invasive.”

"Yes," I agree. “All of that and more. They’re going to love you.”

“You think?”

“I know. You’re impossible not to love.”

“I think you might be getting lucky later today,” she whispers.

“I’m already lucky, Bossy.”

epilogue

Jules

Months later…

The Blankenship family gatherings have a very specific and undeniable gravitational field.

You arrive intending to stay two hours and somehow it's dark outside. Someone has produced a guitar (usually Ethan, Kelsie’s husband), Mimz is on her third glass of wine telling a story about Pops that he is actively trying to interrupt.

There is always more food than the number of people present could reasonably account for. There is always, without fail, a moment where everyone is talking at once, and somehow the conversation still makes sense.

I used to find this overwhelming.