Chapter 39
thirty-nine
FRANCIE
The SUV comes around to the front of the lighthouse and the engine cuts off. A moment later, there’s a knock at the front door.
It isn’t loud. Not urgent. Just a soft, rhythmic tap, like he knows I need time.
I stand up from the desk, my muscles knotted from sitting here for too long, and pad to the front door.
But when I pull it open there’s nobody there. Just a cup of coffee with cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon – the way I like it – and a bag full of muffins with a note written across the brown paper.
Finish your book. Then come and find me. I’ll be waiting. Always. A x
I pick them up with trembling fingers. And as I glance up I see the SUV is parked at the end of the graveled lane. And even though I can’t see him through the reflection of the sun on the windshield I know he’s there. Waiting like he said he would.
I close the door with a soft click and pad back across the floor to my desk. As I put the coffee and the muffins down, my laptop screen glows with the half-finished sentence I’ve been working on all morning.
But now there’s a tremble in my hands that has nothing to do with writer’s block.
I pick up my phone and before I can second-guess myself I open our message thread. The one I haven’t touched since I got back to Liberty.
And I send him a message.
What if it takes a few days for me to finish this book? Are you going to sit out there forever? – Francie
For a moment there’s no reply. Then the typing icon appears.
Then I’ll bring more coffee tomorrow. And the day after that. And if you still need time, I’ll open my own coffee shop. Can’t promise I’ll make them as good as Mylene does. – Asher
A small helpless laugh bubbles up inside me.
That’s dedication. How about showers – are you just going to stink? What if you need to pee? – Francie
You’re a romance writer. You know the hero never needs the bathroom. – Asher
I roll my eyes even as my throat tightens. Then I put my phone down and turn my gaze to my laptop screen. We’re at the darkest moment. Just before the dawn. Everything is lost and yet… there’s still hope.
Maybe that’s what love is. Not a perfect arc or fairy-tale ending. But the grit to keep showing up when things get hard. To wait outside in the cold, to bring coffee and cinnamon muffins, because you have to believe the story isn’t over yet.
I take a long sip of the drink he left. It’s warm and sweet. Then I turn to the keyboard.
One more chapter to go. My fingers tap on the keys, so ready to write.
Because the real happy ending isn’t going to be in this book. It’s waiting in the SUV parked at the end of the driveway.
ASHER
It feels like forever since I pulled up outside the lighthouse.
It’s been at least nine hours, long enough for the sun to arc across the horizon and dip low toward the ocean behind the lighthouse, leaving the sky inky black.
My back aches from this stupid seat, and I’m pretty sure I’ve read the same line of this email from Brad five times without actually taking any of it in.
But I don’t move. I don’t check the cameras. I don’t message her. I don’t knock on the door again. Because this time, I’m not here to fix things on my terms.
I’m here to wait. For as long as it takes.
I ate my last muffin hours ago. My stomach is growling when the soft creak of a door opening breaks the silence. I lift my eyes from the phone and there she is.
Francie.
Her hair is tied up. She’s barefoot in a pair of yoga pants with a sweater hanging off her shoulder like she doesn’t even realize how heartbreakingly beautiful she looks.
I open the car door and climb out, sliding my phone into my pocket, striding toward the lighthouse, my shoes crunching on the gravel.
And when I get close, she takes a few steps toward me, only stopping when the concrete meets the gravel and she remembers she’s barefoot.
The porch light behind her casts a halo around her head. And even though I’m cold and aching and nervous as hell, I swear to God I’ve never felt warmer.
“I’m finished,” she says softly when only a few feet from her.
My chest tightens. “Yeah?”
She nods. “It’s messy. And raw. And might get me disowned by my editor. But it’s done.”
“It sounds perfect,” I murmur. “And we need to celebrate. I brought champagne.” I look back at the SUV, remembering the bottle I brought with me. “I’ll go and get it.”
She shivers.
“Meet me inside,” I tell her. “That’s if it’s okay for me to come in.”
She nods and I go back to the SUV, pulling out the bottle from the cooler. She left the door to the lighthouse open for me, and I walk in, finding her in the kitchen, pulling out two champagne flutes.
“I brought cups,” I say, pulling out the two paper cups I stole from Mylene.
“Classy,” Francie says with a soft smile.
“I aim to impress.” I pop the cork, pour the bubbly liquid into the glasses, and hand her one.
Her fingers brush mine as she takes it. “I can’t believe you waited in your car all day.”
“I told you I would.”
“I know.” There’s the smallest smile on her lips. “You must ache like hell from being cramped up.”
“It was worth it,” I tell her truthfully. And then, I take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. For not talking to you. For not trusting you with what was going on. I’m working on it. I promise. And I won’t block you out. If you just give me… us, another chance.”
Her lips part. “You nearly lost everything.”
“I nearly lost you.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. “I started writing a short story while I was in the car. Would you like to see it?”
She blinks, somewhere between confused and amused. “Okay.”
I open the notes app and pass it to her. And she starts reading it out loud.
“He realized he’d lost the best thing that ever happened to him. And he groveled. For the rest of his life. The end.”
She looks up, her eyes crinkling. “You’re such a nerd.”
“I’m your nerd,” I murmur. “If you’ll have me back.”
Her breath hitches. “I’m so mad at you.”
“I know.”
“You hurt me.” Her voice cracks and it fractures something inside me too. But this is my fault. And I need to make amends.
“I know that too. And I’ll keep apologizing every day until you believe how sorry I am.”
A beat of silence follows. Then her voice softens. “But I’m so stupidly in love with you it hurts to be without you even more.”
The air leaves my lungs. “God, Francie, I love you. So damn much.”
Then she’s in my arms, our mouths meeting in a kiss that tastes like champagne and second chances. It’s wild and warm and filled with everything we haven’t said.
The bottle tips over somewhere behind us, champagne hissing as it meets the counter. My elbow knocks over one of the glasses. But we ignore it, my hands in her hair, hers tugging at my shirt buttons like we’re both desperate to make up for lost time.
She pulls back long enough to whisper, “Take me to bed. Now.”
And I don’t need telling twice.
ASHER
Francie lays in my arms, softly sleeping as I stare at the ceiling, my chest feeling so damn light I swear I could float up there if I wanted to.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this content. Maybe I never have, I don’t know. All I do know is that being with this woman feels like coming home and being on vacation at the same time. She’s the best of everything. Definitely the best of me.
And she’s forgiven me for lying to her.
Thank God. It already feels like months ago, the pain of watching her walk away, even though it’s hardly been a week. The ache in my heart of knowing I’d messed up the best thing that had ever happened to me.
My phone starts to vibrate on the table beside me, and without moving Francie, I reach for it, ready to silence it.
But there’s a message from Zach. Some stupid meme of a cat wearing a bandana.
I like it and go to turn off the screen, but of course I’ve unleashed the fucking Kraken.
Because now the family chat notifications are buzzing.
And yes, the old Asher would be annoyed and turn it off. But I’m not the old Asher. I’m fucking happy and content and if my family wants to chat, let them.
ZACH:
Asher just liked a meme I sent him. At 10:47 p.m. On a Saturday.
HUDSON:
What meme was it? Skyler wants to know.
ZACH:
It was a cat wearing a crown that said “when he’s secretly soft but also dangerous.”
HUDSON:
She says that’s basically Asher in a nutshell.
ZACH:
So the reconciliation worked then? The man is definitely in love.
AUTUMN:
Guys, it’s the middle of the night here. If you’re going to wake me up with gossip, you could at least send coffee. And I have ALL the details about the groveling. Our boy did good. I’m proud of him.
ASHER:
Can you all please stop talking about me now?
AUTUMN:
Shut up. You love it. And you love my best friend.
I lift a brow.
ASHER: I do.
AUTUMN: Squee! He admits it. Oh god, I’m hyperventilating. Somebody send oxygen!
ZACH:
It’s sweet. We love to see it.
HUDSON:
Seriously, though. We’re happy for you, Ash. Just don’t screw it up again.
ASHER:
I don’t intend to.
ZACH:
Ah, my big brother is self-reflective! Now that’s what I call character development. What is this, THREE of you in functional relationships? Who would have thought it?
AUTUMN:
I know. It’s weird. I’m scared. Hold me.
ZACH:
I’m telling you, if Eden ends up with someone, I’m going to need a therapist. I liked us all being dysfunctional. It took the heat off me.
HUDSON:
It’s okay. Eden hates romantic entanglements. Right.
HUDSON:
RIGHT?
EDEN:
Hi everyone! And yes I do. I don’t belong to anybody. Except mother earth.
HUDSON:
Good, let’s keep it that way.
EDEN:
Not that I’d tell you if I WAS attracted to somebody. Especially not if he was completely the wrong somebody for me…
AUTUMN:
Ooh, that’s oddly specific. Let’s take this to the Fitzgerald girl’s only chat.
HUDSON:
Wait. What? You have a side chat?
AUTUMN:
Of course we have a side chat. Do you know nothing about women?
ZACH:
Can I join?
AUTUMN:
Hell no.
HUDSON:
Eden, add me in.
EDEN:
Gotta go, battery’s dying. LOVE YA FAM!
WYATT:
Just as I go to close the chat, Francie blinks awake, her lashes lifting slow. “You’re smiling,” she murmurs, her voice sleep-rough, like she’s been dreaming of somewhere warm. “I like it when you smile.”
I huff a laugh and tilt my phone toward her. “I’ve been reading the Fitzgerald Family chat. They all know we’re together. It’s chaos in there.”
Her mouth curves, like she understands. “The good kind?”
“The best kind.” I set the phone aside and let my hand trace her cheek, my thumb brushing the soft curve like I’m committing it to memory. “Almost as good as this.”
Her gaze holds mine, steady and sure. “You look happy,” she says quietly, like she’s trying to put a name to something she’s never seen in me before.
“That’s because I am.” My voice feels different when I say it. Hell, I feel different. Lighter. Like a softer version of who I used to be. “You make me that way,” I murmur, leaning down to press my lips against her brow.
The lighthouse is quiet except for the faint hum of the sea through the open window. But everything else falls away.
She shifts, slow and deliberate, sliding over until she’s straddling my hips. My hands find her waist, instinctively tightening, pulling her closer.
“You know,” she says, her smile turning wicked, “we never did finish celebrating meeting my book deadline.”
I lift a brow. “You finished twice, as I recall,” I murmur, my voice dropping low, “But I’m not against celebrating all over again.”
Her laugh is low, full of promise. She leans in, brushing her mouth over mine once, twice, until my patience snaps and I kiss her the way I’ve been wanting to all damn day.
The world can wait. The family chat can wait.
Because this woman? She’s mine, and I’m determined to keep it that way.
So I circle my hands around her waist, and flip us over until she’s beneath me, her eyes wide with excitement, her lips parted with anticipation.
Yep, she’s definitely mine.
And I’m never letting her go.