Chapter 57
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SEVEN
RYAN
I'm in Julie's backyard assembling the fourth Adirondack chair I've done today when it hits me how fucking happy I am. Like, stupidly happy. The kind of happy where you catch yourself grinning at nothing and don't even care if you look like an idiot.
The sun is warm on my back, there's a playlist of Julie's favorite songs coming through the speaker on the deck, and I'm building furniture for the housewarming party she's planned for the weekend.
I tighten the last bolt and sit back on my heels, surveying my work.
Four chairs, all lined up in a neat row, ready to be arranged around the fire pit I dug yesterday.
"How's it going out there?" Julie calls from the kitchen window.
I look up and see her leaning out, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, a smudge of paint on her cheek from where we were touching up the trim this morning. God, she's beautiful. "Almost done," I call back. "Come see."
She disappears from the window, and a minute later, the back door opens. She's wearing cutoff denim shorts and one of my old t-shirts, the hem tied in a knot at her waist. Her feet are bare, and she's carrying two glasses of lemonade.
"You're a lifesaver," I say, taking one of the glasses and downing half of it in one go.
"You're a workhorse," she counters, handing me the second glass when I finish the first. "Have you even taken a break today?"
"I took a break when we had lunch."
"That was four hours ago."
"Was it?" I glance at my watch and realize she's right. "Huh. Time flies when you're having fun."
She laughs and sits down in one of the chairs, testing it out. "These are perfect. I can't believe you built them."
"YouTube is a hell of a teacher."
"Still. They're amazing." She runs her hand along the armrest, her smile soft. "I love them."
"Good. Because I'm not building any more." I drop into the chair next to hers and stretch my legs out. "My back is killing me."
"Poor baby." She leans over and kisses my shoulder. "Want me to rub it later?"
"I want you to rub a lot of things later."
She laughs again, and the sound makes my chest feel too full. I reach over and take her hand, lacing our fingers together.
"This is nice," she says quietly.
"Yeah. It is."
We sit like that for a while, just holding hands and looking out at the yard.
"What are you thinking about?" Julie asks.
I squeeze her hand. "I'm thinking about how lucky I am. How happy I am. How much I love you."
Her eyes get a little misty. "Ryan."
"I mean it, Buttercup. I've never been this happy in my life."
She leans over and kisses me, soft and sweet. "Me neither."
The next day, we tackle the grill. Julie ordered it from a big box store and had it delivered. It’s a massive stainless steel beast that came in approximately seven thousand pieces. We spread the instructions out on the deck and stare at them like they're written in ancient hieroglyphics.
"This can't be right," Julie says, holding up a bag of screws. "There are at least fifty screws in here. Why does a grill need fifty screws?"
"Structural integrity?" I offer.
"It's a grill, Ryan. Not a spaceship."
I laugh and pull the first piece out of the box. "Okay. Step one: attach panel A to panel B using screws C and D."
"Which ones are screws C and D?"
"I have no idea."
We spend the next two hours fumbling through the instructions, laughing every time we realize we've put something on backward or upside down. At one point, Julie holds up a piece that looks like it belongs on a medieval torture device and says, "What the hell is this?"
"I think it's the grease trap."
"Why does it look like that?"
"Because the universe hates us."
She throws a bolt at me, and I catch it, grinning. By the time we finish, we're both sweaty and covered in grease, but the grill is standing, and it looks... well, it looks like a grill.
"We did it," Julie says, stepping back to admire our work.
"We did."
"I can't believe it actually works."
"Have a little faith, Buttercup."
She turns to me, her eyes sparkling. "You know what, Shawshank? I do. I have faith in us."
I pull her into my arms and kiss her, not caring that we're both a mess. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
The next few days are a blur of activity. I mow the lawn while Julie plants flowers in the pots we picked out together. We hang Edison bulbs along the fence line, stringing them from post to post until the whole yard glows with warm, golden light.
We make a menu for the party—burgers, hot dogs, grilled vegetables, potato salad, coleslaw, and a massive sheet cake from the bakery down the street. Julie insists on making her famous lemonade, and I insist on buying enough beer to stock a small bar.
"We're only inviting like twenty people," she says, eyeing the cases of beer I've stacked in the garage.
"Better to have too much than not enough."
"Ryan, this is enough to supply a frat party."
"Exactly. We're covered."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
The night before the party, we're standing in the backyard, looking around at everything we've done.
The chairs are arranged in a circle around the fire pit.
The Edison bulbs cast a soft glow over the yard.
The flower pots are bursting with color, and the grill is gleaming in the fading light. It's perfect.
"Everything looks amazing," I say, slipping my arm around Julie's waist.
She leans into me, but there's a little furrow between her brows. "Yeah. It does."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. It's just..." She trails off, looking around. "There's something missing."
"Missing?" I glance around, trying to figure out what she's talking about. "Do you want more flowers? I can run to the store?—"
"No, it's not that."
"A different table? We could swap out the picnic table for something else?—"
"No." She shakes her head, that furrow deepening. "It's not the furniture or the decorations. It's something else."
I turn to face her fully. "Okay. What is it?"
She bites her lip, thinking. Then her face lights up. "Hold on. I know what it is."
Before I can ask, she's jogging back toward the house. I watch her go, confused but amused. A minute later, she comes back, holding a piece of paper.
"What's that?" I ask.
She doesn't answer. She just walks up to me and hands it over.
I look down at it, and my heart stops. It's a change of address form.
The kind you get at the post office. And it's already filled out.
My name with my current address listed as old.
And Julie's address listed as new. I read it twice to make sure I understand.
Jesus. My throat is tight and my chest aches in the best possible way.
"Julie," I manage.
"That's what was missing," she says softly. "You. Living here. With me. This isn't just my house, Ryan. It's ours. And I want it to be official."
I look up at her, and she's watching me with those big, beautiful eyes, her expression open and vulnerable and so full of love it makes me want to drop to my knees. "Are you sure?" I ask, my voice rough.
"Without a doubt."
"Buttercup—"
"I love you," she says. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. And I know we've only been together for six months, but it feels right. You feel right. And I don't want to wait anymore. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to come home to you every night. I want this to be ours."
I can't speak. I can't even breathe. So I do the only thing I can think of.
I drop the paper, cup her face in my hands, and kiss her.
She melts into me, her arms wrapping around my neck, and I pour everything I'm feeling into that kiss—all the love, all the gratitude, all the overwhelming joy of knowing that this woman, this incredible, beautiful, resilient woman, wants to build a life with me.
When we finally pull apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Is that a yes?" she asks, her voice teasing but her eyes serious.
"That's a hell yes," I say. "I'll start packing tomorrow."
She laughs, and the sound is pure happiness. "Good. Because I already cleared out half the closet for you."
"You did?"
"I did. And I bought you a toothbrush holder for the bathroom. It's shaped like a dinosaur."
I laugh so hard I have to lean against her. "A dinosaur?"
She giggles. “I knew it would make you laugh.”
"It's perfect. You're perfect."
She kisses me again, softer this time. "We're perfect."
"Yeah," I say, resting my forehead against hers. "We are."
I carry her inside. She laughs and protests, saying she can walk, but I don't care. I want to carry her over the threshold like we're newlyweds, because in a way, we are. We're starting something new. Something real.I take her upstairs to the bedroom—our bedroom—and lay her down on the bed.
"Ryan," she whispers as I climb onto the bed beside her.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For waiting. For being patient. For loving me even when I was a mess."
I brush a strand of hair from her face. "You were never a mess. You were healing. And I would've waited forever if that's what you needed."
Her eyes fill with tears. "I don't deserve you."
"That's bullshit. You deserve everything."
I kiss her then, slow and deep, and she sighs into my mouth. Her hands slide under my shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of my back, and I shiver at her touch.
We take our time undressing each other, savoring every moment. There's no rush, no urgency. Just the two of us, learning each other, loving each other. When I finally slide inside her, she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Okay?" I ask, stilling.
"More than okay," she breathes. "Perfect."
I move slowly at first, watching her face, memorizing the way she looks when she's lost in pleasure. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips part, and she arches into me, meeting me thrust for thrust.
"I love you," I say, my voice rough.
"I love you too."
The rhythm builds, and I can feel her tightening around me, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Ryan," she moans. "I'm?—"
"I know. I've got you."
She comes with my name on her lips, her body trembling beneath me, and I follow a moment later, burying my face in her neck as the pleasure crashes over me.
We lie there afterward, tangled together, our hearts pounding in sync.
"That was..." she trails off.
"Yeah."
She turns to face me, her eyes soft. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too, Buttercup. Me too."