do so. For the most part, I understood that it was fiction, but for the first time in my life, I realized just how much of Jake’s heart went into his writing.
As I turned the page, I saw that there was something written after The End, so I kept reading.
I saw you in this coffee shop a month ago, and since that moment, I’ve been inspired. Not necessarily to write, although you definitely were the inspiration behind that, as well. I once told you that I started writing when I was a teenager, coming up with stories that depicted my life with an alternate ending. I never could’ve come up with a story such as this. Not even fiction could be this incredible.
Hopefully when you read Kora and Donovan, you saw what I’d envisioned. Two people who meet and know from that very first moment that this … was different, that the world wasn’t as cold and dreary as they’d once thought, that they could find themselves when the other was present, be who they were meant to be. You did that for me, Presley. You made me want to be someone different, someone worthy of you.
Unlike Donovan, though, I do know the true depth of my feelings at this very moment. I know what I want, where I want my life to go. I told you that when I’m with you, I feel as though I can do anything. That’s still true. And you asked me where we were to go from there.
“Anywhere we want,” I mumbled, remembering that conversation in the kitchen of my dad’s cabin.
Anywhere we want. And I still believe that.
Do you?
I looked up at Jake to find him staring at me, watching me intently. I glanced down at the notebook and saw that he’d read my note as well.
“Looks like we were on the same page,” I said, unable to keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks.
He didn’t respond, but I could see a wealth of emotion in his eyes.
“So where do we go from here?” I asked, moving my sketchbook toward him.
“Don’t know,” he said softly. “That all depends on you.”
I glanced down at my sketchbook, then opened it. I smiled over at him. “I wrote one more thing that I want to show you.”
I turned the book around so that it was open to the page I’d intended.
Jake leaned over.
My heart pounded hard in my chest as I watched him, hoping he understood me as well as I thought he did.
On the page, I had the words once upon a time … along with a snapshot taped over the original drawing I’d started of him. Below that, three words I’d never said to a man before.
I love you.
Jake’s eyes snapped up to meet mine, but before I could ask him what he thought, he reached for me, pulling me right out of my chair and into his lap. His hands cupped my face, his fingers dipping underneath the hood, his thumbs sliding over my lips.
At that point, words weren’t necessary. I could see everything he was feeling right there in those exquisite emerald-green eyes, and I knew he could see the same in mine.
“Anywhere we want,” I told him. “That’s where I want us to go. You and me.”
Jake nodded and I saw his throat work slowly as he swallowed. I was pretty sure he was as choked up as I was.
When he didn’t move, I whispered, “I love you.”
His lips curled up at the corners. “I love you, too, Presley.”
We stared at one another for a minute before I finally said, “Are you gonna kiss me?”
“Oh, yeah. For a long, long time.”
And that kiss … right there in the coffee shop where we’d met … was the greatest moment of my life.
At least up to that point.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Jake
Friday afternoon
“You can’t move,” Presley insisted, taking my hand and shifting it so that it was where she wanted it to be.
I nodded, but then my phone rang. She lifted her eyes to meet mine and quirked an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” I muttered, then hit the talk button and put the phone to my ear, keeping as still as I could. “Hey, Liz,” I said into the phone.
The sound of Presley’s tattoo gun came to life, and I stared down at my hand while trying to focus on not moving.
“Jacob Wild! Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Not lately you haven’t, no,” I said, watching as Presley started working on my tattoo.