“Y-yeah,” he said quickly. “Okay. I’ll say I photoshopped it.”
“Really?” I slathered my voice with a thick layer of disbelief. “Even if BlazeNewz makes you give their money back?”
“Ah, damn.” Aron shut his eyes. “Yeah.”
I tried not to show that I was doing an internal victory dance. “Well, I’m not sure if anyone will listen to me, since I’m just the eyewitness to the crime you perpetrated, but I’ll mention your intention to the, um… crack legal team.” I shrugged. “We’ll see what they say.” I smiled at his friends. “You all have a lovely night.”
“Aron? Dude! The fuck did you do?” I heard the guys mutter as I walked around them and continued down the street.
Halfway down the block, my hands started to shake. I needed Beale so, so, so much. I wanted to tell him the whole story. I could almost picture his smile.
Franz stood outside my building and opened the door when I got close. “Your ice cream order arrived, sir.”
“Oh.” I gave him a wobbly smile. “Great. Thank you.” I was pretty sure I’d die if I tried to eat it now. I was at the stage of emotionality where even ice cream couldn’t help me, and I was pretty sure I’d never been here before.
I let myself into my quiet apartment, locked the door behind me, and leaned back against it. The lights of the city outside my window sparkled through my dark apartment, promising all sorts of excitement and adventure. But the adventure I’d committed myself to was way scarier, and I was so excited, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep.
I shucked my beautiful shoes and shirt and skintight jeans, set my phone to charge in the living room, and despite the early hour, I lay down in bed, because tomorrow would be a long—
The weight hit my chest, knocking the breath from my body, and then a noise halfway between a chainsaw purr and a smoker’s cough filled the apartment.
“No,” I said clearly. “No, I am hallucinating. I have consumed too much Peanut Butter Party in a short amount of time. And the cholesterol has caused me to have a lucid dream. Or an un-lucid dream. Holy Kacey Musgraves, I have invented un-lucid dreaming.”
“For a man so obsessed with potential murder,” came the world’s warmest, best, most comforting voice from mere inches away on the other side of my bed, “it was extremely easy to stroll into your apartment with a rolling suitcase and a cat carrier. I met the ice cream delivery guy in the lobby, and he let me in.”
“Please be real,” I whispered, and Marjorie dug her claws into my flesh in a really kind and comforting way, to let me know she was really, actually there, before hopping off the bed and gallomphing across the hardwood floors.
I snickered.
Beale rolled against me a second later, a gorgeous shape in the darkness, and braced his hand in the bed on my opposite side, holding himself over me. He bent his head to my neck and… sniffed? Then his whole upper body sagged against me wearily.
“I didn’t actually mean to be asleep when you came in,” he told my collarbone. “But I didn’t know how late you might be, and I heard your mattress was ultra-plush—”
I snorted.
“And it’s just been a really long day.” He sighed, his warm breath brushing my skin. “It’s been a really long week, actually. The longest of my life, and it’s all my fault. I came to tell you that. And apologize.”
I twined my arms around his neck and let my fingers sift through his long, shaggy hair. Beale inhaled sharply, then moaned quietly like he’d missed being touched as much as I missed touching him. I pulled his head up, found his lips in the darkness, and kissed him. He tasted sleepy-sweet and smelled like home, and something inside me settled into place.
It was scary as fuck to be this happy, but that exquisite fear was all part of the joy.
I pulled back a little and cleared my throat. “That’s funny, because I was coming to Florida tomorrow to tell you the exact same thing.”
Beale’s head came up, though it was probably too dark for him to see me, unless green tea gave him superpowers. “You were?”
I nodded. “I wrote you a column today. You probably didn’t—”
“I saw it, baby. That’s what convinced me I needed to come right now. See, I was trying to get ahold of Jay, like maybe if I could get him to make a statement and clear up all this stuff, maybe that would be a good way to apologize, but Gage stopped taking my calls, and their drive here from Colorado has turned into an epic road trip. But when I read your words, I thought maybe I didn’t need to wait. That maybe you just wanted me.”
“I always just want you,” I whispered. “And I maybe helped with the Jayd thing.” I sketched out what had happened with Aron earlier. “I’m not sure if that will fix things for Jayd or not, but I don’t want to wait, Beale.”
“Me neither. That’s why I… hang on.” He levered off me to stand and turned on my bedside lamp. “I wrote a letter for you, too.”
He sat on the bed by my waist and riffled through a backpack there before holding up…
“Excuse you.” I snatched it out of his hand. “Is this a vomit bag from the plane?”
“Maybe?” He snatched it back. “My phone died, and I forgot the charger, but I wanted to… I wanted to convince you to give me a second chance, and I figured maybe if I wrote it down, I could make it clearer, so I used what I had. The bag part’s not important.”
I begged to differ. It was fucking adorable. I wasn’t sure if anyone had ever had an airline vomit bag covered in crossed-out scribbles professionally framed before or if I’d be the first. I was very okay with that.
I sat up further and bent over so my chin was on his shoulder and my hands were on his warm skin. “Well, it’s important to note that I don’t require convincing. But also, please convince me.”
Beale shot me a look, his blue eyes hot in the golden light from the lamp. “Promise you won’t laugh.”
“I solemnly assure you, laughter is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Okay, so… Ahem. Dear Aunt Hagatha—”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Toby!” Beale looked at me severely, though it was clear he was close to laughing, too.
“You didn’t tell me it was a Hagatha letter! Sorry! Sorry, sorry.” I pressed apologetic kisses to his shoulder and neck, everywhere I could reach. “Go on. No more laughing,” I vowed, though laughter and shock and relief still bubbled in my chest.
Then he started reading, and suddenly I was closer to tears than laughter.
“My whole life, I’ve been waiting to find my soul mate. My other half. I imagined he’d like a lot of the things I liked, and believe mostly what I believed, and that he’d be my refuge from a world that constantly asked me to explain and justify myself. I was sure that once I met him, I’d never feel like I wasn’t good enough again, because he’d love me despite all my imperfections. He’d make me feel valued and safe and loved.”
I pressed my forehead to Beale’s shoulder. I wasn’t his soul mate, then. But…
“Instead,” he went on, “I met a man who challenged me from the first minute we met. He annoys me. He exasperates me. He makes me nervous. He lights me up. And he’s not perfect, just like I’m not perfect, but that just means we fit perfectly. We make each other better.”