Almost there, I want to tell him. Hold on. Hold on for me.
One hundred seventy-two seconds. Both of us may explode. The people who encircle us start counting down. “. . . Eight! Seven! Six!”
I stand. Esben stands. We’re ready. We follow the rules and don’t break eye contact, but we’re ready.
These last seconds are excruciating and gorgeous. Esben is so exceedingly handsome and strong and shattering on all levels. All of his beauty used to break me, but tonight, it empowers me. It assures me that I can create a life that will let me be whole.
“Time,” Kerry calls out.
We are so lost in each other that neither of us hears her. His shoulders are broad in a way that fits my body so perfectly, his focus on me so great that I cannot break from this moment, and my devotion to him is so overwhelming that my head and heart are not in my control.
“Time!” Kerry yells forcefully. “Time!”
I snap back to reality and give him a flirtatious, daring look.
Esben grins back. Do it, he’s silently telling me. Do it. Let me hold you again.
With nothing but confidence, I slam my foot back, kicking the chair out from under me. It takes a fraction of a second more for me to lower my hand under the table and upend it onto its side. There’s a stop in time, during which we look at each other and do not move. I begin to break, because I see that all we fought for has endured.
“Time! Goddamn it, time!” Kerry is screaming now.
We cannot reach each other fast enough, and tonight, I am the one to hold him up, because Esben is falling apart, burrowing his face into my neck, his tears wetting my skin. So, I reach for his lower back and pull him in.
“Please don’t cry, love,” I say. “Please don’t.”
His arms wrap around me, and I savor his perfect embrace. “Did I understand you right? You’re totally in this? You won’t leave again?” he asks, his voice wobbly.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. God, I was a wreck in Los Angeles. I made every mistake and then some.”
“Stop,” he says while he holds me securely. “It’s going to be all right. God, Allison, just kiss me.”
This is easy to do. In seconds, we re-create our kiss from months ago, but with even more sincerity and so many more layers of feeling. There is nothing from the wreckage of my past that invades my need for him this time. There is nothing but pure, raw love. So, when he pulls me harder against his mouth, I respond by lifting up on my toes and meeting the power of his kiss. It is allowed, I remind myself, to be wholeheartedly in love. To devour this wonderful boy and to celebrate the future.
There is no reason to ever stop kissing him, and it’s seriously possible that I could stay like this for the rest of my life. But when his tongue crosses my lips . . . and trails to my neck . . . and then when I arch into him too hard, I remember that we are so, so not alone. There are camera clicks and flashes and more whoops from the ever-growing audience here. These are sounds I would have shunned before, but tonight? Tonight, they flood me with happiness.
When a particularly loud whistle floats our way, we both ease back and laugh.
I run my hands over Esben’s chest and rapidly get lost in too many wonderful ways. The feel of him and the shape of him are so familiar and so needed. “Do you want to get a coffee?” I finally whisper. “And later, maybe some oysters?”
His hand touches the back of my neck. “Absolutely.”
It takes a few breaths to gain my composure, but I look at him. “And then, do you want to talk about some crazy social experiments that we could do together and post online? Because I have some ideas.”
He takes time to gaze down at me and let his mouth travel gently over mine once again. “Absolutely.”
“But first”—I start with no shame and no hesitancy—“but first, before any of that, do you want to go back to my room and be crazy in love?”
“I do.” Esben’s lips play down my neck, and he takes my hand. “More than anything.”
“And then?” I press my body against his. “And then, how about we never stop?”
“Agreed. Never.” Esben grabs me by the waist and spins us around, raising our hands to our audience so that we can take in the support and joy from so many who have been rooting for us. Then, in one swift move, he bends me back and dips me so smoothly and so romantically that I can hardly breathe. His mouth grazes against my neckline.
“The Internet is gonna love this,” I say over the crazed cheering.
“They certainly will,” he says, laughing into me. “And I assume that, this time, I have your full permission to post?”
“You know it.”
“I love you so much, Allison.” He breathes these words not just over my skin but over my heart.
“And I love you so much, Esben.”
There is no more white noise in my head or soul.
There is no longer the belief that I only get one.
I get way more than one. I get as many as I will allow, and I plan to allow many.
I’m going to live a beautiful life. In honor of Steffi, in honor of Simon, in honor of all the glorious, giving, caring people online, and—most importantly—in honor of myself.
I hold on to Esben. He still smells like cookies and love.