Chapter 29 She Was It
She Was It
My alarm buzzed on the nightstand. I smacked it off and lay there in the quiet, a grin already pulling at my mouth.
The highlights reel started playing.
Claire at the cutting board, trying to focus on the asparagus. Me coming up behind her, kissing the spot right behind her ear. Her shiver. Her trying to sound stern: “The risotto chef is impossible. I can’t get in trouble for pieces that aren’t exactly one inch.”
Me whispering as I kept my chin hooked on her shoulder. "I'm sure the risotto chef will approve of his assistant's work." She elbowed me away, laughing.
Sitting on the balcony after dinner, each in our own chair. My hand rested on the armrest between us, her fingers laced through mine. Not saying much.
Her standing to go to bed. The pause. Her leaning over my chair, her hair a curtain around our faces as she kissed me.
I kicked off the sheets. I had to make coffee.
The clean kitchen was a quiet reminder of last night.
I set the machine going, the familiar routine feeling brand new.
I could still see her, drying the risotto pot I’d handed her, her laughter echoing off the tiles as she’d mock-scolded me for splashing her.
The gurgle and hiss of the brewer filled the quiet that now felt full, not empty.
I heard the door to her bedroom open. I turned from the counter.
She shuffled into the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in that giant hoodie. Her hair was a mess, and she squinted against the light. Perfect.
She aimed a sleepy smile at me and reached for the mug I’d just filled.
I moved it an inch out of her reach and hooked a finger in the belt loop of her pants, pulling her to me. Her body was warm against mine.
“I still love being the first person to see you each morning,” I said. Her eyes, still soft with sleep, held mine. “Now I get to kiss you every morning too.”
I bent my head and brushed my lips against hers.
When I pulled back, her smile was wider. She brought her hand up, her thumb brushing my cheekbone. “I like this new routine.”
“But I still get coffee, right?” she asked, her tone deadpan.
A laugh shot out of me. I pulled her in, wrapping my arms all the way around her and squeezing. I felt her laugh too, a quiet vibration against my chest. I pressed a kiss into her hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. I let her go and finally handed her the mug. “You get coffee.”
Our fingers brushed during the handoff. She took a sip, watching me over the rim. The tightness I’d carried for ten years was gone. This was what I’d been missing.
I knocked on her bedroom door. It was cracked open, and I could see her at her desk, glasses on, focused on her laptop screen.
“—just need to cross-reference the final totals,” she said to someone on a call, then held up a just-a-second finger to me without looking away. She hit a button on her keyboard. “Sorry, I’m on mute now.”
I smiled. Dr. Mode Claire was a force.
“I’m heading to practice,” I said, keeping my voice low.
She finally looked over, her focus shifting to me. She reached out and snagged my hand, her fingers warm. “When will you be home?” she asked.
The question hit me right in the chest. No one had asked me that in a decade. I loved it.
I brought her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Probably not until after two.”
She nodded, her eyes staying on me. She didn’t let go of my hand. “Okay.” She gave my fingers a slight squeeze. "Watch out for those maniacs on e-bikes.”
Practice was a blur. My mind was back at the apartment. When I pushed the door open, I saw the plant.
A small basil plant in a simple clay pot. It was sitting right on the floor in front of the balcony door, positioned perfectly in a patch of full sun.
I stopped. My gear bag slid from my shoulder and thumped onto the floor.
I walked over and crouched down. I pinched a leaf between my fingers, rubbing it gently. The sharp, sweet scent burst into the air. I checked the soil. Moist, but not wet. She’d watered it.
“I know you love fresh basil.”
Her voice came from the kitchen. My head snapped up. She was leaning against the counter, holding a glass of water.
“And if it matters to you,” she said, her voice quiet but clear, “it matters to me.”
I stood up. I didn’t think. I just crossed the room in a few strides and pulled her into me.
My arms wrapped around her, one hand splaying across her back, the other cradling the base of her skull. I buried my face in her hair and just held on. I felt her arms come around my waist, her hands fisting in the back of my jersey.
I tried to find the words, but they wouldn't come. So I just held her tighter.
I felt her relax against me, her head tucking under my chin. We stood there in the quiet, holding on, while the smell of basil hung in the air between us.
****
The dinner dishes were done, the kitchen clean. She was curled on the couch, reading, while I finished wiping down the counters. I tossed the rag in the sink and walked over to her.
I stopped in front of the couch and held out my hand. "Come outside with me for a minute."
She looked up, a question in her eyes, but she placed her hand in mine without a word. I led her through the dim apartment to the balcony door.
The night air was cool. The city glittered below us, a million pinpricks of light mirroring the sky above.
“Stand here,” I said softly, guiding her to the railing.
She moved in front of me, her hands resting on the cool metal. I stepped close behind her, placing my hands on the railing on either side of hers, caging her in. My chest pressed against her back. I felt her take a deep, slow breath and let it out, her body relaxing against mine.
We were quiet for a long moment, just looking up.
“I’ve been studying,” I said, my voice low near her ear.
I felt her head tilt slightly. “Studying what?”
“The constellations.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air between us. “You should test me.”
She was silent. I could feel the shift in her, the understanding moving through her. She went completely still.
Then, she turned in the circle of my arms.
Her eyes searched mine in the faint light. She wasn’t smiling. Her expression was serious, full of a wonder that made my chest ache. She brought a hand up to my cheek.
And then she kissed me.
It wasn’t soft or gentle. Her fingers slid into my hair. I pulled her tighter against me, one hand on her back, the other tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. I forgot about the stars. She was the only gravity left.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
A slow grin spread across my face. “Wow. If I’d known you’d kiss me like that, I would’ve learned them a lot sooner.”
She laughed, a breathy, happy sound, and swatted my arm. “Jerk.”
I chuckled, pulling her back in so her head rested under my chin. I kissed her hair. “I wanted to learn about something that was important to you,” I murmured into the quiet.
She didn’t answer. She just turned her head and pressed her cheek against my chest, right over my heart. We stood there for a long time, wrapped up in each other, under a sky that finally felt like ours.
We stepped back inside from the balcony, the cool night air clinging to our clothes. I kept her hand in mine, not ready to let go. I led her to the hall table where a small, flat package wrapped in simple brown paper waited.
“I have something for you. For us,” I said.
Her brow furrowed in curiosity as she took it. She carefully tore the paper away, revealing a simple black frame. Behind the glass was a picture of us, covered in flour, laughing. Sophie had snapped it at Nolan’s pizza night.
Claire’s breath caught. “This is us.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little rough.
She looked from the photo to my face, her eyes wide with happy confusion.
I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly feeling bashful under her gaze.
“That day we were shopping… in the elevator,” I started.
“I saw our reflection in the mirror. We looked like a couple. Or maybe I was just wishing we were a couple. I just… I couldn’t get that image out of my mind.
” I looked down at the picture in her hands.
“So I wanted a real one. A picture of us I could look at anytime. And I remembered…”
Her face softened, her eyes glistening. “Pizza night,” she finished for me, her voice a whisper. “Sophie kept trying to take our picture with your phone.”
A quiet chuckle escaped me. “Yeah. I think I still have glitter on the case from her grabbing it.”
She laughed, a sweet, watery sound, and looked back at the photo, her thumb tracing the edge of the frame.
“So,” she said, a playful glint returning to her eyes. “Where are we hanging it? On your wall of fame?”
I stared at her, my brow furrowing. “My what?”
She laughed softly at my confused expression and gestured down the hall. “You know. The hallway leading to your bedroom? With all your framed jerseys and action shots and trophies. Your wall of fame.”
Oh. That. I’d never given it a name. To me, it was just… the past.
I took the frame from her gently. “No.” I looked toward the living room. “I was thinking right there. On the main wall. I want everyone to see it.”
I watched her process that. To me, that hallway was my past. The living room was our present. Our future.
She didn’t say anything. She just nodded, a slow, sure smile spreading across her face.
We found a nail and a hammer. She held the picture level against the wall, her hands steady. “Here?”
“A little to the left,” I said.
I drove the nail in with two solid taps. I took the frame from her and hung it, centering it perfectly. Then we both stepped back.
I slid my arm around her waist and pulled her close. She rested her head on my shoulder.
I looked at the picture, then down at the woman in my arms. I pressed a kiss to her hair.
She was it.