Epilogue
August
“Sweets?” I close the front door, kick off my shoes, and set the car keys on the hall table. “Where you at?”
It’s a common question. Sure, I can go hunt her down, but I like calling out the second I get home. The ritual of being able to ask that and knowing Pen will answer is highly satisfying.
Her soft voice carries from the back of the house, telling me she’s in the bedroom. I head that way, mentally shedding off the layers of the outside world as I go. Here, in this space, it’s just August and Penelope. Nothing else matters.
Sunlight streaming through the tall, windowed doors make the bedroom glow with golden light. One of the doors is open, letting in a soft breeze. But no Pen. The faint scent of paint lingers in the air.
“Pen?”
“Up here in the office.”
I take the stairs two at a time and spot her immediately. She’s perched on a ladder that’s resting against the built-in bookshelves. A fresh coat of shiny raspberry-red paint gleams on the back walls of the shelves. She looks over her shoulder and smiles softly, those big eyes of hers lighting up.
It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a few hours since we woke up together, the sight of her never fails to affect me.
It’s as though she has her own power source, and whenever I draw near, my body jump-starts.
She’s so pretty. Delicate but strong. Clever eyes and smart mouth. And mine. God, I love that.
“Penelope,” I say, strolling across the room.
“August.”
I pause a few feet away, resting a hip against the desk. Pen turns on the ladder to fully face me, and I take a long, lingering look. She’s a feast after a famine. Delicious. I know this now. The knowledge doesn’t ease my hunger, only makes it more rampant. I find myself wanting her all the time.
“Penelope.”
Candy-pink lips curl in a smile. “You realize that, unless you’re using it as a greeting, you only call me Penelope now when you’re in some sort of a mood.”
“Oh, I’m definitely in a mood right now.” Surprise, surprise. “Your full name is sexy.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Hardly.”
How little she understands her appeal. One day, she’ll fully realize it. I’ve made it my job to educate her.
“I’m serious. There’s something sexy about it, purposeful. All those syllables. You can’t ignore it—Pen-el-o-pe. It rolls off the tongue with such intention.”
She tilts her head, eyeing me thoughtfully. “And what is your intention now?”
“To get you to come closer.”
Slowly, she climbs down from the ladder, a saucy look in her eyes as she takes a step in my direction. “Like here?”
“Closer.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she takes a few more steps. “This good?”
Little temptress.
“A little more.”
Holding my gaze, she strolls forward, hips swaying until she’s inches away, then smiles up at me, clearly pleased with her teasing. I am too.
“Mmm. That’s very good.” I tuck my hands into my pockets. “Now kiss me, Penelope.”
Rising to her toes, she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a soft, lingering kiss hello. A sound of satisfaction rumbles in my chest, and I deepen the kiss until she stumbles against me, breathless and eyes shining.
I can’t keep my hands to myself any longer. Without warning, I pluck her up in my arms like a bride and whirl her around. She yelps but wraps her arms around my neck and peppers kisses along my jaw. I love that she takes what she wants.
“I told you I’d help you paint when I got back,” I say.
Pen has been redoing the upstairs office and making it hers. The curtains are no longer white but lime silk. She’s mentioned a set of Billy Baldwin X-benches that she put on hold at an antique store. I have no idea what those are, but Pen was excited as hell about them.
It’s taken a year, but she’s redone the whole house to create a home that’s entirely ours. A drafting table sits near the window now because Pen has started to do more designs. I love watching her blossom and find her place in the world.
“Eh. I got antsy.” She busses a kiss over my cheek. “You can hang the art, and I’ll tell you if it’s crooked.”
I glance at the framed movie posters stacked against the wall and imagine that particular task. “I’d rather have painted.”
“But you’re better at holding up the frames with those freaky long arms so I can take a look.”
“Yeah, great.” I nip her earlobe before putting her down. “And you’ll have me holding them up ten different ways before making up your mind.”
“So dramatic.” She walks over to a paint can and puts the top on it. “How’s Jelly doing?”
I had been over at his house for a couple of hours hanging out. Jelly was still getting over the death of his coach but he’s back in playing form. He and Monica are now officially engaged.
After returning from Texas last Thanksgiving, we confessed all to them because we knew they’d keep it secret. They’d been surprisingly understanding; Monica especially, having shrugged and said that’s Hollywood.
As for the rest of the world, we’re having a long engagement.
Not that I think many people care much anymore.
They’re hung up on my Super Bowl win right now.
Mainly because I made history by becoming the first rookie quarterback to ever win.
Some days it doesn’t seem real. Other days, it doesn’t really matter.
The only game that counts is the one you’re playing. The past is just that.
“Jelly’s good.” I leaf through the movie posters and pause at a familiar one. “The Lord of the Rings?”
“I consider that the Luck family movie.”
I laugh, feeling nostalgic about it now. “True.” Curious, I keep looking through the other ones. But it’s not a movie poster that has my hand stilling. Heart in my throat, I lift my head. “What’s this?”
But I know. I just can’t believe . . .
Pen moves to my side and looks at the framed photo blown up poster size. It’s of me backlit by the stadium lights, hair slick with sweat, arm upraised in victory and holding my helmet as I shout my joy at an equally joyous group of teammates.
“I love that photo.” She leans against my arm with a soft smile.
“I didn’t think you would be so into my games. But I love that you are now.”
Shaking her head as though I’m being ridiculous, she then looks up at me. “Pickle?”
“Yeah?” My attention is divided between her and the photo.
“I’ve watched every game you ever played.”
Though softly spoken, her words slam into me, and I’m left unsteady.
“What?”
Deep brown eyes hold mine calmly. “Every game. Ever.”
“I . . . You . . . Really?”
At that, she walks to the desk and picks up her phone, thumbing the screen as she comes back to me. From over her shoulder, I peer at the phone as she finds a folder entitled “AugustGames.”
“Here.” She hands me the phone.
I’m clumsy with it, unable to get my fingers to work at first. But then I scroll through the images saved. And something inside me breaks open. Years of articles, pictures saved, stats. She has it all. Emotion wells up from deep in my chest.
“I kept these as well.” She’s holding a shoebox filled with papers.
My hands shake as I accept the box. I swear, I’ve got to sit down. But I hold it together and examine the contents. Shock bolts through my chest as I riffle through old ticket stubs from my middle and high school games. A program from homecoming. Little pieces of my career lovingly saved.
My gaze darts to Penelope.
“I told you.” She shrugs with a small smile. “I’ve loved you all my life. Your games have always meant something to me.”
Slowly but deliberately, I set down the phone and the box, then reach for her. I wrap her up tight and hold her as close as possible. For a long moment, I simply breathe her in. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never felt this . . . loved.
“Pen,” I finally manage. “You’re going to make me cry.”
She gives me a squeeze, then pats my chest. “It’s okay, big guy.”
It pulls a laugh from me. I haul her up and head for the stairs. I don’t stop until we’re both lying in bed. The oval of her face beams with happiness as she looks back at me. Again, comes that strange sensation of buoyancy.
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel real.” I take her hand. “Like maybe I’m in a coma somewhere, dreaming this all up.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle. “You know, I had the same thought a couple of times since we got together. Either that or I’m in an alternate reality.”
We laugh about it for a second, then fall into contented silence. But my mind is moving ahead again. I’ve been holding back for months now with increasing difficulty. After seeing the pieces of my life lovingly saved by her, I can’t do it anymore.
The tip of my thumb catches the edge of the ring on Pen’s slender finger and toys with it. “Looks good on you, Pen.”
Inside, my heart is pounding hard and insistent. While she simply smiles fondly.
“You should have seen the way May and June gaped. They were convinced it was your grandmother’s ring.”
“Because it is.”
Surprise has her gaze shooting to mine. “I wondered but I didn’t think . . . How did you get it so fast?”
I shrug, pretending I’m calm. But I’m not. “I always had it.”
“What?” It comes out in a squeak.
Ah, but the way she continues to be surprised by my love for her. One day she won’t. I want all the days.
“That day, when you were hurt,” I tell her. “After your mom took you to the doctor, I went to see Nanna Linda in the den. I told her what had happened, said with great authority that I wanted to marry you, but I needed a ring.”
“No . . . Truly? What did she say?” Her rapt expression has me smiling, my mind sinking back into the memory of Nanna’s indulgent look when I’d told her of my plan.
“She didn’t laugh or tell me I was being foolish. She just nodded and said sometimes that’s the way of it. That Grandpop Charles had pledged his love to her when they were thirteen. And since I appeared serious about the matter, she was going to give me her ring for you.
“Took it off that weekend. Said her knuckles were getting too big for it and she wanted to remove it before she couldn’t. Put it in a safe and, when she died, left it for me in her will.”
With a little noise of pleasure, Pen presses her lips to my neck and hugs me. Her breath is warm on my skin. “You floor me sometimes, Pickle. You really do.”
“It doesn’t freak you out?”
“Why would it, when I loved you just as long? It’s more like . . . sometimes I wish I’d opened my eyes a little more and really seen you then.”
“I think about that too, wishing I’d realized sooner that you actually liked me instead of the hate thing.” I grin at her sour face. “But we’re here now. That’s all that matters in the end.”
“You’re right.” Gently, she spreads her hand out over my heart and looks at the ring I claimed for her long ago. I never thought I’d be able to give it to her. In truth, I never actually tried until I opened that door one rainy night, and she finally looked at me.
Call it pride, or perhaps it was the fear of rejection. But I held myself back from Penelope for too long. No more. I’m all in. Come what may.
Pen’s voice cracks with emotion when she finally speaks.
“My whole life I was content with sitting back and watching others shine. I’d resigned myself to watching you too.
Then you came along and pulled me right into the sun, made me feel beautiful and treasured.
With your beautiful soul, immense talent, and tender heart. You’re the best person I know.”
Hell. I curl into her, holding her hand to my heart. I can’t wait any longer.
“Penelope?”
“August.”
I meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to take the ring off.”
She pauses, lips parting on a breath. A gleam enters her eyes. “You don’t?”
“No.” I stroke her wrist where her pulse beats as fast as mine. “I never did. But it’s a delicate thing asking the girl you’ve loved forever to marry you when you’ve only been together for a little while.”
Pen swallows thickly. “I can see that being something to consider.”
I nod, looking down at the ring, then back at her. “So I’ve been waiting. Letting you get used to the idea of you and me.”
“But you didn’t need to get used to it?” She gives me a look of total understanding and growing impishness.
“No,” I say easily. “I knew from the start. We were inevitable.”
“Like Thanos.” It comes out weepy but happy.
A smile pulls wide. I feel it to my toes. “Yeah. Only not evil.”
“But perfect.” She threads her fingers through my hair. “We were always going to be perfect together.”
Our kiss is soft and reverent before I pull back. She’s the most beautiful thing in my life. Always was. “So fucking perfect. Marry me, Penelope? For real and forever?”
Her smile blooms. “I love you, August. For real and forever. And I’m never taking this ring off.”
“You’ve made my life, Sweets.”
“That’s good. You’ve made mine too, Pickle.”
You see that guy? The one lying next to the most perfect woman in his world? The one smiling at him like he brought her the sun? When really, it’s she who gave him everything he ever wanted? Yeah, that’s me, lucky bastard that I am.
Am I entertained?
You bet your ass.
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