“Hold out your hands.”
She stretches them in front of her, and I set the rubber ax in her palms.
“Is this what I think it is?” she asks with delight.
“Sort of.” I move behind her and untie the blindfold, letting it fall to the floor.
Her smile fills the room when she sees the target I’ve installed. “It’s ax throwing for my princess lumberjack.”
She dances a little jig as she raises the toy ax made of hard, sharpened rubber over her shoulder and takes aim at the target. As she stares at it, narrowing her eyes, ready to fire, I flash back on our last year together—nights and days, hopes and dreams, love and dinners and breakfasts and coffees.
She moved in with me at the start of the summer, and the timing fit since Barrett was spending more and more time in the college dorms. He started early at NYU, and he’s been living on campus, taking summer classes.
He comes home for dinner a few nights a week, and that’s one of my favorite things in the world—seeing him so often, having dinner with him and Peyton as a family. Sometimes Eli joins us, and Rachel too. Eli’s going to school in the city, so we’ll see if they stay together. For now, Barrett’s happy, and that’s all I care about.
The edge of the ax wedges itself into the corkboard target, and Peyton thrusts her arms in the air. “Victory is mine.”
And I hope she’ll be mine forever as she turns around to find me on one knee.
She gasps, her eyes widening. “Oh my God.”
I hold open a blue velvet box. “Peyton Marie Valencia, I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ve been the luckiest guy in the world to have you love me back these last months. You’re the only woman for me, and I want you to be mine always. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please marry me,” I say, echoing the words I shared with her on the street last fall.
I say them without a shred of worry.
Only hope.
Only love.
She sinks to the floor, throws her arms around me, and says, “You don’t have to ask. I’m already yours forever. I love you, and I’ll marry you anytime, any day, anywhere.”
A variation on her words that day too.
I slide the ring on her finger, and her eyes light up as she gazes at the diamond solitaire.
“It’s gorgeous. I do love shiny objects. But not as much as I love you.” She clasps my face and kisses her yes against my lips. Then softly, sweetly, she says, “Thank you for waiting for me.”
I kiss her back. “Thank you for asking me to be your research partner.”
“You’re my permanent research partner now,” she says.
“And we’ll have a lifetime to experiment.”
Another Epilogue
The Lingerie Devotee: Do Try This at a Hotel
Blog entry, My Wedding Night
There’s something special about white lace.
It’s both innocent and sexual at the same time.
And when I wear it, I feel beautiful too.
That’s how I wanted to feel on my wedding night.
No surprise I wore lace, then. White lace bikini panties, white lace garters, and a white lace demi-cup bra. Stockings too. Never forget the stockings.
The lingerie served me well during the ceremony and the reception.
But it served both of us later that night. After all, sometimes the mark of fantastic lingerie is how quickly it comes off.
I believe we set a record.
And we’re going to keep setting them for the rest of our lives.
THE END
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I dart outside and answer the call from my brother. “What’s going on?”
“Not much,” he says, with a laugh that sounds forced.
“Everything is great.”
My hackles go up. “Let me ask again. What’s going on now?”
Rowan clears his throat. “Listen, it’s no biggie. Everything
is cool. I mean, it will be when we get our stuff back, plus the security deposit, which we’re totally going to need. Anyway, I just sent you the email with the details. But there’s one little thing I forgot to tell you before we board this cruise.”
I groan. “Your stuff isn’t in Brooklyn?”
“No. It probably is. I mean, that’d make sense. I’d have to look at the email more closely to know for sure, and I didn’t read it yet because it was super long and annoying and messing with my mojo. But that’s not the point.”
A ship’s horn cuts through the phone line, and I can’t hear a word he’s saying. When the horn ends, he says, “So you don’t mind, do you?
“Mind what?” I ask, my jaw ticking, as the May sunshine dares to peek out from behind a cloud. It should be raining. It should be fucking pouring right now.
“You don’t mind that Luna asked for help too?”
I let out a sigh of relief. “No, that’s fine, of course. It’ll be done faster then,” I say before I connect the dots. But when I do, all the life leaks out of me. I tense, bracing myself for an answer I don’t want. But I have to ask the question. “Who’s helping Luna? Is it her sister?”
Please say no, please say no.
I can hear Rowan smile as he answers. “Yes. Lola will help.”
Lola Dumont.
Lola fucking Dumont.
I lean against the brick wall of the coffee shop wall, picturing the last time I saw the dark-haired beauty at an industry event. She looked like she wanted to toss her champagne at me. Then deliver a scathing rebuttal of all my mistakes.
Hell, there were things I wanted to say to her too.
When her name pops up in my texts a few minutes later, my brain plays a cruel joke by reminding me of three things.
How much fun we had together for that one year when we were nearly inseparable.
How good her lips tasted that night I kissed her.
And how shitty I felt the weekend after.
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