I love that you want this.
I love that you want us.
I want it all too.
My face is awash with tears as I stand, peering out onto the deck. A sliver of moonlight shines on the wood. Leo steps out of the shadows from the beach, his brown eyes brimming with hope.
“I’ll give you all the kisses in the world, all the paintings in the world. I’ll give you all my love. Always. Will you have me?”
No question has ever been easier to answer. I’m exploding with light and joy and all the love I’ve ever wanted. I launch myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck, kissing him madly as I say over and over yes, yes, yes.
I don’t need to quiz him.
I don’t need to know how he’s arrived at this conclusion.
I don’t need the details of how he processed things.
Because he did.
Because he’s here.
And because he kisses me with all his heart, his mind, and his body.
There are no more questions. There is no more past.
We kiss under the moon and the stars until kisses turn into fervent gasps and needy touches. I pull him inside, take him to my room, and show him that I love him heart, mind, and body.
When we’re done, I run my fingers down his chest.
“How did you find me?”
He smiles playfully. “You have very good friends.”
I smile too. “I do. I have everything.”
He takes my hand, links his fingers through mine, and squeezes. “So do I.”
40LULU
One month later
“What breaks and never falls, and what falls and never breaks?”
Leo peers at the ceiling of the train as it rumbles into Grand Central, chugging to a stop. We’ve spent the weekend in Connecticut at a quaint bed and breakfast. He reaches for my hand, slings my bag over his shoulder, then, with a proud glint in his eyes, announces, “Day . . . and night.”
I plant a congratulatory kiss on his cheek. “You’re so smart. Have I ever told you how smart you are? Have I ever told you how sexy that is?”
He taps his chin. “I’m not sure you have. But please, feel free to go on and on about all of those attributes.”
“You’re smart, sexy, devoted, great company, good with opening jars, excellent at reaching the top shelf, and incredibly good at taking the trash out. Which makes you a dream man.”
“Wait till you see how I can hang a new shower curtain.”
I fan my face as we walk off the train then stroll through the terminal. “That might be too much.”
“I’ll do it when you’re not home, then.”
Home.
I’m home when I’m with him. And home is where we’ll live together.
I’m moving in with him in a few weeks. His place is bigger, which translates into more room for colorful throws and pillows. Plus, his state-of-the-art kitchen is orgasm-inducing to this chocolatier who loves to experiment with recipes late at night.
Another benefit? His building is dog-friendly, so I’ve started fostering small pups with a local rescue. So far, we’ve offered a temporary home to Edward, Ferdinand, and a crazy chihuahua named Snapdragon, and they’ve already found their fur-ever homes too.
I love being home with Leo, but we also try to escape from the city as much as we can, when we’re not fostering pups.
Now, we make our way through the station, drinking in the familiar sights from the scavenger hunt, like the constellations above us. “It’s kind of funny. Being in this train station that second day of the hunt made me realize it was time to go for it with you. All those clues from the past helped me see I wanted a chance with you.”
He gazes upward at the stars and planets. “I’d like to thank the Academy and Grand Central Terminal. Also, Kingsley for organizing the scavenger hunt. And the chocolate fountain that made Lulu practically take off her clothes way back when. Also, thank you, llama panties.”
I laugh and dot a kiss to his forehead.
That afternoon, we head to Bryant Park for a quick get-together to celebrate the scavenger hunt and give out trophies, since we never really had a proper finale last month. We stroll in front of the New York Public Library on Library Way—the sidewalk lined with plaques inscribed with quotes from great works of literature.
I point to one from Willa Cather’s O Pioneers! and Leo reads it aloud: “‘There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.’”
