Epilogue
Clara
If someone had told me back in college that one day I’d be dating the girl who had stolen fries off my plate when we’d been just kids, I would’ve laughed—and maybe panicked a little at the thought of Alejandra ever knowing about my feelings for her.
Still, here I am, getting ready to head out with Alejandra to celebrate our six months.
I didn’t know months were celebratory in relationships—probably because I’ve never had one—but regardless of whether they are or not, Alejandra has been insistent.
Even though it’s only been six months since we got together, it feels like much longer.
Part of it may be because I’ve wanted to be with her since we were teenagers, and also because our day-to-day lives haven’t changed much since we started dating.
We still have our nightly hangouts and our DIY spa days, rituals that somehow feel even more special now.
Only, instead of going into separate bedrooms afterward, we crawl back into our bed, curl up, and hold each other close until we fall asleep.
The day we got back from Diana and Alex’s wedding, Alejandra officially moved all her things into my room, and we turned her old room into an office/guest room.
Who would have thought that Lala’s relentless insistence on finding Alejandra a girlfriend would end up sending her straight into my arms? Not me, that’s for sure.
“Babe, are you almost ready?” Alejandra shouts from somewhere in the house. Maybe the bathroom, because of the slight echo.
“Yeah,” I shout back, securing the last button on a long-sleeved black button-up shirt Alejandra bought for me a few weeks ago—when she announced we were going on a date for our six-monthaversary.
After two hours, five outfit changes, and a full makeup session, Alejandra finally walks into our bedroom, and can’t seem to take a full breath.
She’s wearing a mossy green dress that clings to her curves, every line accentuating the parts of her I now know so well.
Thin straps rest on her shoulders, framing her collarbones. The slit along one thigh isn’t even dramatic, but it’s enough to make my imagination run wild, my heart pounding harder than it should after all this time.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.
Slowly, I lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a sultry, deep kiss that sets my whole chest on fire.
I can’t believe I kept myself from this—this closeness, this connection.
I don’t know how I ever let myself think it wouldn’t work out, because since being with her, everything finally feels right.
“You look amazing,” I breathe against her neck, taking in the smell of her skin before she puts on perfume.
“So do you,” Alejandra says before giving me a spin. It’s far from the first time she’s done this, but my pulse still jumps like it is, every time, and I hope it stays that way, forever.
“Ready?” she asks, reaching for my other hand, and I nod, lacing my fingers in hers.
Alejandra and I drive for about an hour, finally pulling up to the new restaurant nestled along the Puget Sound. It’s one we’ve been wanting to check out for months, but getting a reservation has been nearly impossible.
I step out of the car first and rush to Alejandra’s side to pull the car door open for her.
Alejandra giggles. “What a gentlelady,” she teases, before pressing a sweet kiss to my cheek.
I slide my arm around her waist, pulling her close as I guide us toward the restaurant door.
When we step inside, it’s dimly lit, with soft flickers of candles on every table, and the rich smell of oak and spiced wine fills the air.
There’s a red-haired woman playing the piano at the end of the bar.
I finally understand why getting a reservation was a nightmare. It is magical in here.
Alejandra
After a few minutes of waiting, we’re ushered in and seated at a table near a big window overlooking the water, so close that I can almost reach out and touch it.
“Hi, my name is Julia. I’ll be your server tonight. Anything special you two are celebrating?”
“Monthaversary,” Clara says, smiling at her and then dropping her gaze to me.
A flutter sparks in my chest. My cheeks flush instantly, warmth blooming across my face.
I still can’t believe we’re dating sometimes.
It’s hard to wrap my head around the luck of it all.
How everything fell perfectly into place for us, and now we’re here—more in love than ever.
Whatever questions Julia asks next, I don’t hear.
I’m too busy trying to steady my breath.
Thankfully, Clara knows exactly what I want.
I’ve always hated ordering in person—something about being put on the spot and the pressure of deciding.
So now, I always look at the menu ahead of time and tell Clara before we even get to the restaurant.
“We’ll both take your house red, and we’ll start with the olive platter,” Clara says with a smile.
We both love olives, which, according to the “Olive Theory,” should disqualify us from being together.
The theory goes that for a relationship to work, one person has to love olives, and the other has to hate them.
But here we are, breaking the rules and nearly killing each other when we get to the last olive.
I honestly wouldn’t want it any other way.
A different server comes around to drop off our wine. We both nod and mouth “thank you” before Clara raises her glass.
“We should toast to this moment,” she says.
I raise mine instinctively, mirroring her. “To what?”
“To forever,” she says with a wink. We’ve both said it so many times before that it shouldn’t make my stomach flutter the way it is, but I can’t help it. I clink my glass softly against hers.
“To forever,” I echo.
We sip, not breaking eye contact. She sets her glass down and leans in until our lips meet. When she sits back in her chair, I reach for her hand across the table. She meets me halfway, fingers sliding easily into mine as her thumb brushes lightly across my knuckles.
“I love this,” I whisper. “You. Us. Everything.”
Clara doesn’t answer, but looks at me with those soft eyes, the ones I’ve started calling her “love eyes” in my head. The ones that make my chest ache in the best way possible.
“I love you. Deeply. And not in the I-hope-this-works kind of way. In the I-know-it-will kind of way.”
Her eyes soften even more. Her breath catches slightly, and a smile spreads across her lips.
“I love you,” she whispers, her voice trembling with so much emotion, it almost feels like she’s saying it for herself now—and for her past selves, for every version of Clara that’s loved me for the last fifteen years.
I wish I had seen this sooner, so I could have loved her then like I do now. I wish I could give us those years, because no amount of time will ever feel like enough. I will spend the rest of my life making up for not seeing her sooner, for missing out on her.
My love, my home, my forever.