Chapter 42 Gracie #3
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Says the woman who once spent thirty minutes snooping in my sock drawer. Go ahead.”
Letting out a choked laugh, I take out his letter, which is soft around the edges like it’s already been read about fifty times. The truth is, I do want to save my letter for last—if only because it means holding on to her final, unknown words for a little longer.
Unfolding the paper, I begin to read and promptly start to cry. And laugh. And gasp. And cry some more. By the time I’m done reading, my chest feels like it’s been asked to hold twice its capacity for love and grief.
“Jude—” I begin, hardly knowing how to express my desperate urge to become a living shield against anything that might try to hurt him. Or how to apologize for my own misjudgments and assumptions. Or how to digest the ludicrous fact that Agatha successfully set us up from beyond the grave.
But he shakes his head. “Read yours.”
Nodding, I hand him back his letter before opening mine.
At the sight of my name in her elegant hand, I can’t help my shaking exhale.
Dear Gracie,
If you’re reading this, then I believe it’s safe to assume you’ve been missing me for a little while now.
Darling, I already miss you, too. But with my departure, one of my greatest comforts is knowing that you’ve finally met my outrageously handsome grandson, Jude.
And if you agree, I believe a big, glittering I-Told-You-So is in order.
If he’s let you read his letter (and I’m assuming he has because I did an excellent job raising him as a gentleman), then you already know about my romantic meddling.
And while I’m not sorry in the slightest (I do love a side of drama with my champagne), I do sympathize with the growing pains you must have endured after meeting each other.
I understand how dearly you’ve relied upon Larkwood to stay in your beloved comfort zone, and conversely, how deeply Jude has yearned to remove it from his life.
It was never going to be an easy needle to thread.
But as I’ve said to you before, I have always believed that Larkwood was meant to be a place of hope and new beginnings—no matter if it stays a wedding venue or transforms into something new.
Above all, I hope that it has become a means to a fresh start for both of you—together.
Because (as you know) I’m nothing if not a romantic.
As someone who has known and loved you both, having to wait until the right time to introduce you has felt like holding two halves of the same heart in separate hands.
And maybe I’m wildly mistaken. Maybe you both still despise each other—wouldn’t that be a twist?
But something tells me that if Jude is with you as you read this, he’s staring at you with every ounce of the—frankly, alarming—amount of love he’s capable of. And that you’re giving it right back.
Which is the only reason I’m able to say goodbye to you now with a smile.
There’s no earthly way of expressing how dear you’ve become to me, but I’ll rest easy knowing you and Jude have found each other.
I only ask that you give him one last kiss for me and eventually name a grandchild after me—a middle name is fine. I’m only kidding, of course.
Love eternally,
Agatha
P.S. Or am I?
When I finish reading on a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, I lift my eyes to Jude’s.
And just as his grandmother uncannily predicted, he’s staring at me like my tear-stained face is the light source for all his future happiness.
His love swims in my bloodstream, as permanent and necessary as oxygen, and I know I’m incapable of reflecting anything less back to him.
“She knew,” is what I finally whisper, knowing he’ll understand.
He nods, his smile soft and a little tired. “Of course she knew I’d fall in love with you, Gracie. How couldn’t I?”
There’s a feeling in my chest like invisible hands are reaching toward him. I step closer. “She called us two halves of the same heart.”
He closes his eyes for moment, swallowing hard. “We should probably get that checked out.”
I smile through my tears, bringing my hands up to loop behind his neck. When he looks at me like he still can’t believe I could want him after all the immeasurable good he’s done—I try not to crumble under the weight of how long he’s isolated himself.
“Is Agatha’s letter why you talked to your mom about confiding in me?”
He lets out an exhale and nods. “In the end, it wasn’t really a choice. Even though I swore I’d move on after you left, losing you for good felt”—his Adam’s apple works heavily—“unbearable. Her letter gave me the final push I needed.”
His hand moves to my jaw. “So I called my mom and told her that I love you,” he says simply.
“I told her that if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, Gracie.
And somehow, she listened. She gave me her permission to tell you everything.
” His eyes search mine. “But the only question is, will you let me? Will you let me love you the way you’ve always deserved, for as long as I possibly can? ”
In a final splitting crack, my heart seems to burst in my chest, and I realize all the time I thought it was breaking, it was just expanding. Failing to contain all of this love. It rushes through me until a single word breaks loose.
“Yes,” I say through my tears. “I love you, too,” I try to tell him, but he’s already kissing me, and I feel it—the same dam breaking in his chest, concrete walls crumbling and washing away until we’re in the torrent of it together.
Suspended and weightless in this sweeping love that we no longer need to hold ourselves back from.
When he pulls back slightly, his smile is too beautiful to smother with another kiss. “So that’s a yes,” he says breathlessly.
“Yes,” I say, my smile so wide it hurts.
He caresses the side of my face. “And you realize you technically just agreed to a lifetime arrangement.”
A wild thrill leaps through me. “I didn’t realize I’d signed any kind of contract.”
“That could be arranged,” he says huskily, gaze darkening.
I lightly smack his chest with a nervous laugh. “You can’t just say stuff like that to a wedding planner! We take lifelong romantic contracts very seriously.”
His lips press to mine, featherlight and adoring, before moving to my jaw, making me shiver. “Who said I wasn’t serious? You of all people should know how deeply I’ve always respected the institution of marriage.”
My laugh is breathless as I cling to his broad shoulders, never wanting this moment to end. I shake my head with wonder. “Jude Larkwood, talking marriage. I never thought I’d see the day.”
He rests his forehead on mine. “Gracie Holland, there is no ceremony I wouldn’t go through, no contract I wouldn’t sign, and no vow I wouldn’t make to call you mine.”
My eyes flutter shut as his words sink into me. “Then I guess I’m yours,” I whisper.
His lips find mine, and this time, it’s the turning of a page. The release of something old. The start of something new. The beginning of forever.