Chapter 32 Now
Now
The room is quiet except for the faint rustle of sheets as I shift onto my side.
Lucas’s arm is slung lazily around my waist, his thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles against my skin like he’s not even thinking about it.
His dark hair is a beautiful mess, his skin warm against mine, and there’s a satisfied smile tugging at his mouth as he glances over at me.
“Well,” he says. “I think we can both agree that was definitely worth the risk.”
“Yeah,” I say, and I brush a knuckle across his cheek because I can’t not touch him after what we just did. “I guess you were right.”
Worth the risk.
The words echo in my head, and suddenly, everything starts to come together.
It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s not an aha moment.
It’s just a quiet knowing, like I had the answer all along.
My breath catches, and I sit up, tugging on the oversize T-shirt closest to me.
Lucas watches me with a sleepy, curious smile.
“What’s going on up here?” he asks, tapping the space between my eyebrows with his pointer finger.
“I have an idea,” I say, already scanning the floor for my tote bag.
Lucas props himself up on one elbow. The sheet slips lower on his hips, and he doesn’t even flinch, which honestly feels rude because, as good as he looks, I’m trying to focus.
“What kind of idea?” he asks.
“For the ending of a book.”
I find my laptop, flip it open, and the screen lights up like it’s just as ready as I am.
“Not every love story ends with a happily ever after,” I say softly. “Some of them are messy, uncertain, a little broken, bittersweet, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. Or worth it. Or beautiful. You sort of said it earlier—falling is the best part.”
He’s quiet for a second, and then his smile grows. “I like it.”
And that’s all he needs to say.
I climb back onto the bed, cross-legged, laptop balanced on my knees. My fingers hover over the keys, and then they start to move. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. The words pour out of me in a way they haven’t in over a year.
Eventually, Lucas gets up. Disappears into the bathroom. Comes back out fully dressed, hair damp from a quick rinse. He watches me from the doorway for a beat before clearing his throat.
“What do you need?” he asks.
I glance up, distracted. “What?”
“You’re in the zone,” he says. “What do you need? Coffee? Snacks? A specific playlist?”
I laugh, a soft little exhale that bubbles up from somewhere deep. “I think I’m good, thanks. You should go do something for you. Explore the town. Take a nap. Brag to someone about how your grand gesture worked.”
He scoffs like the suggestion is ridiculous. “You think I’m going to just let you run off and write the entire book alone after I basically ghostwrote the emotional climax? I may not be the writer in this relationship, but I feel like it’s only fair that I’m included in the brainstorm.”
I look up at him over the rim of my screen. “Relationship?”
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, giving me a look that I recognize so well—the same one that falls across my dad’s face every time my mom walks into the room.
“Well, we’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”
And just like that, I melt.
He walks over, takes my face gently in his hands, and kisses me.
It’s a kiss that feels like coming home after a long day, and this has felt like the longest day ever.
When we finally pull apart, I glance back at the screen.
My fingers rest on the keys, the cursor blinking like it’s waiting for more.
Lucas pulls the blankets up around me, presses a kiss to my forehead, and whispers, “Go write your book.”
He leaves the room, and I stay tucked beneath the covers, laptop perched on my knees.
I open a new document, and this time I don’t overthink. I just start typing.
It’s not about Cole. It’s not about Lucas either. It’s about the space after love. It’s about the versions of ourselves we become when the person we thought would stay doesn’t. It’s about what we carry and what we choose to let go.
I don’t know how this story ends between Lucas and me, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth writing.
* * *
A few weeks later, I’m mid-sentence, hunched over my laptop with Winston asleep at my feet, when I hear Lucas behind me.
“Here we have Ainsley Green in her natural habitat,” he says in his narrator voice, which he’s starting to use far too often. “Once a struggling romance author staging meet-cutes in the wild. Now, she’s found her inspiration, and she’s back to writing them down instead.”
I spin around in my chair to find him holding his phone up like a documentary filmmaker. “Not this again.”
He zooms closer until I swat at him, laughing. “Careful, the subject startles easily,” he adds, tilting the camera to Winston, who doesn’t even bat an eye. “Note the loyal companion, always nearby.”
I cover my face with my hands, groaning. “You’re ridiculous.”
Then, instead of keeping the camera on me, Lucas flips it toward himself. He’s grinning, but it’s softer than I’ve ever seen. “And that concludes our regularly scheduled programming. Thanks for watching Ainsley find her love story.”
The camera cuts out on his smile.
@ainsleygreenwrites: Meet-cute mission complete. Turns out the story was right in front of me all along.
Comments:
@samanthajoneswannabe: my life is complete. I can rest now.
@sloanehart: NO BECAUSE I’M SOBBING THIS IS CINEMA
@PRinceCharming: as your publicist, I approve this message
@hinge: consider our app uninstalled. congrats queen.