Epilogue
Noah
“But like, are you sure you want to deal with this long-term? I mean, I know it’s been almost ten months—not that I’m counting or anything—and you’ve learned the doom pile system, but at some point, you’re going to get sick of me. You have to.”
I swear I could strangle this girl if I didn’t love her so much. The way her brain works is anyone’s guess, and I am at a loss as to how to get it through to her that she is my end game.
“Chaos, you are shit out of luck. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you might. I put peanut butter crackers in the freezer and a container of gelato in the refrigerator, for cryin’ out loud.”
As she tosses the ruined dessert into the trash can, I refrain from telling her that it should be fine to put it in the freezer now. She’d argue that the texture is ruined. It’s alright. I have my own stash next door specifically for her.
“I want it all with you, Jett. Don’t you get that?” I ask as I try to take her hand into mine, but she pulls away.
“No! I don’t get it, Noah. I am a disaster in every sense of the word. What could you possibly—”
I cut her off. “Precisely. You, Jennette Marie Taylor, are walking, talking, beautiful chaos, and I want nothing more than to call you mine.”
God, why can this girl not grasp how absolutely perfect she is?
Jett’s eyes widen as I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out a small box before extending my closed fist to her. She hesitantly reaches out to grasp her surprise.
“You are not proposing, are you? Please say no. I mean, you would make for a great husband and I love you and want that at some point, but I doubt either of us are ready for that level of commitment and—”
Her words end as abruptly as they began as she takes in what is resting in my open palm. Because there, in the center of my oil-stained, calloused hand, is a tiny decorative storage box painted to look like the special edition cover of her all-time favorite romance novel.
“It is absolutely beautiful,” she whispers as she gingerly lifts it from my palm as if it’ll fall apart if she touches it wrong.
“It won’t break, chaos. It’s made of cedar. Hand crafted and hand painted for your bookshelf. Or wherever else you might want to put it.”
Her lower lip trembles, and I start to panic. “Please don’t cry—this is supposed to make you happy. Not tearful.”
She lets loose a wet laugh. “I can be both, damn it.”
“Open it.”
“It opens?” she squeaks, but she is already lifting the cover to reveal the small storage space that I had created within it. Resting in the center of it is a key to my loft.
Her moist eyes meet mine, the traces of a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Nothing needs to be rushed. If you only want to move one shirt a week until every item of yours has moved in, then that is fine with me. I just want you in my bed every night. What do you say?”
Her lip trembles before she grasps it between her teeth and nods excitedly. “Hell yes, Noah.”