45. The Long Game #2
The rumbling stops, and his gaze meets mine. I follow every step as he climbs up the fire escape until he’s right in front of me, caging me against the stairs just like Richard Gere in my favorite movie.
“What happened after he climbed up the tower and rescued her?”
“She rescues him right back.”
His palm cradles my cheek in that familiar, tender way, his expression softening as he scans my face.
“What are you doing?”
“I just needed to look at you.” His thumb drags across my bottom lip.
The part of me that broke when Noah walked away wants to hold back my forgiveness, but there’s another much louder part that longs to give him a chance. And right now, that part wants something else, too—more than anything—and since it’s my birthday, I give in.
“Kiss me, Noah.”
It’s soft and unhurried as his lips capture mine. His tongue dances along the seam and I open for him, my body melting against his as the seconds tick by. Something inside of me expands like a bubble ready to burst, and I’m smiling when he finally pulls away.
“God, I missed that smile,” he says roughly.
He reaches into his back pocket and places another envelope in my hand.
I briefly wonder what memory I’ll find tucked beneath the folds, but when I pull out the sketch, it’s not a scene I recognize.
It’s not a sketch at all, but a beautiful watercolor painting of a white house, a lush green lawn, and a dog running around the yard.
Two figures are perched on the front porch while another is pushed on a rope swing attached to a treehouse.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
NOAH
I pull up to the curb outside of the house on Darling Street and help Clio off the back of my bike, lacing my fingers through hers. It’s near sunset now, the sky casting the entire landscape in a golden glow.
A few paces up the newly laid walkway, I pause and hold up the painting like a split screen with the real house and the painted one in her line of sight.
She squints between the two. “It’s beautiful, but what does it mean?”
“This is the house I grew up in. The house that made me who I am. It’s also the house I want to start the next chapter of my life in.” I slip the paper back into my pocket and take her hands. “With you.”
“What about everything you said?”
“I was wrong. I can’t rewrite the past, nor do I want to.
I heard what you said at the hospital. I don’t want to start over.
I want to try again. Everything we’ve been through led us here, and the Noah who broke your heart is not the same man standing in front of you right now.
I want us to plant those roots together. ”
A wisp of copper hair catches on the breeze, kissing her collarbone. She’s so goddamn beautiful I can’t breathe. I swallow hard.
“You once said I had the capacity to love deeply, and as terrified as that made me, you were right. My love for you runs impossibly deep, and it only grows more with each second that passes. You’re the reason I smile.
You and that kid you’ve raised who has somehow become one of my favorite people in the world. Do you know who tops that list?”
Tears gather along her lashes, and she shakes her head with the slightest movement.
I run my thumb along her cheekbone. “You, Clio Marsden. You’re my favorite person in the entire world.
You… with your strawberry shit and your obscene collection of pennies and the light that radiates off you like you have the power to wield sunlight.
I love you, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to spend the rest of my life making sure you know it. ”
She blows out a heavy breath, blinking back tears.
Each second that passes makes me doubt myself more.
Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe it’s not enough.
I failed to plan for what happens if she walks away.
There’s no plan B short of getting down on my knees and begging. I consider it as the silence drags on.
“You’re an asshole, Noah Weston,” she rasps. “And I love you. I never stopped loving you.”
“Thank fuck.”
I kiss her hard, and she returns it with just as much intensity. All tenderness flees, replaced by frantic need and months of pent-up longing. She tastes faintly of birthday cake and cherry lip gloss, but most of all she tastes like the love of my life.
Minutes pass, and I somehow muster the wherewithal to let her go, both of us struggling to catch our breath. “Happy birthday, princess.”
“It’s about time,” she says, smiling from ear to ear. I never stood a goddamn chance against that smile. “I’ve been waiting all day.”
“I was playing the long game.”
“Clearly.”
She gestures around the yard, at the fresh landscaping with newly planted flowers in vibrant colors I knew she’d love surrounding us. As long as we’ve been standing here, I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed what’s beneath our feet. “Look down, baby.”
Her eyes lower to the walkway and she gasps. “Is that—”
“Pennies. I thought we could try again with a little luck on our side.”
“I don’t need luck. I just need you.”
Her eyes narrow like she’s thinking hard about something. “Wait. Was that a dog in the painting?”
“Yes.”
“You and a dog.”
“Sounds perfect, princess.”