A grin spreads, slow and beautiful, across her face.
With confidence in her stance and strength in her eyes, she holds up a sheet of paper. It’s one I know well. One I kept with me for two long years.
One that belongs to her now.
She walks like she’s still owning the hell out of that list, and that’s all I ever wanted for her.
She fingers the hem of her dress. “Red is my favorite color. And you’re my favorite person.”
My throat goes tight with emotion. “Ditto.”
Her dark eyes soften. “Good . . . because I came here to finish the list. There’s one last item, and I want to check it off all by myself.”
I nod, shoulders tensing, hoping against hope that she intends to finish it the way I want her to. “So, you got my note?”
Her brow creases. “You left a note?”
“I did, in your mailbox.” I want to speed up time but want to savor this moment too. This moment when she’s maybe almost mine.
She blinks. “I haven’t been home yet.”
Huh. Interesting. Maybe even better. “Do you want me to tell you what I wrote?”
She shakes her head. “Actually, no, I don’t. I want to say what I came here to say. The hard thing.”
Uh oh. The hard thing. I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.
But maybe I’m wrong.
I want to be wrong, especially since this moment feels so right.
I step closer to her, the air between us crackling, the energy buzzing. It can’t just be my heart racing away from me. She has to feel it too.
I hope.
I have so much hope it could power me through the rest of the year.
Still, I wait for her. “All right. I’m ready—for whatever you need to say.”
“The hard thing is . . .” She takes another step, another breath, then reaches for me, running her fingers along my arm to take my hand. My skin tingles everywhere from that touch.
“Well, Claire and I used to joke about ‘the hard thing.’ Saying the hard thing. Because, I’d never said it. I’d never felt it. Or I didn’t think I had . . .” Her tongue slips out to dampen her lips, and I want to kiss her so much it’s probably criminal. “But I think I’ve been closer to the hard thing than even I realized. I mean, of course, I had a crush on you for the longest time,”
she says, with a slightly shy, completely adorable smile. “I’d be over at your parents’ place, hanging out with Claire, and you’d prowl through the living room on your way to some cool, older brother place, and I’d imagine what it would be like to go with you. To be one of the girls you dated. You were this . . . epic figure. This sexy, confident guy who always knew what to say.”
“That’s a lot to live up to,” I say, my voice a little gravelly.
“But it’s not,” she insists. “Because that’s who you really are. I realized that as I grew up. I wasn’t seeing you through rose-colored crush glasses. You really are that cool.”
I shake my head. “Ruby, I—”
“No,” she says. “You have to own your awesome, Hendrix—the way you made me own mine. You’re bold and honest, and you live fully and without regret. And I love that about you. I love who you are.” She threads her fingers through mine. “At the hotel, when I said that you don’t lie—that’s one of the things I’m most crazy about. You’re not just the cool guy. You’re the good guy. You’re a good person with a huge heart.” Her other palm comes to rest on my chest, her fingers spread over my pecs. “You love deeply and fiercely. And I’ve always felt honored to be one of the people under your heart umbrella.”
She must feel my heart thumping wildly, beating madly. “You always will be. That’s what I said in my letter,” I start, because I can’t hold it in any longer.
“You’re making it hard for me to finish,” she says, but there’s a playful note in her voice.
And I love it. Love her. Love the way she sees me, the things she makes me feel, and the thought of keeping her under my umbrella for a long, long time.