them. “Good.”
“There’s only one more thing we have to resolve, then.”
His eyes search mine. “What is it?”
“If our weird really matches.”
He lets out a bark of laughter, his head falling back. “Oh, it definitely does.”
“How can you be so sure?”
His hand comes up the back of my neck, tangling in my hair and tugging my head back gently. He presses closer. Our mouths are inches apart.
“I’m not perfect,” he says.
I gasp in feigned shock.
“And neither are you.”
“Hey.”
He smiles, a brilliant flash that momentarily blinds me. “You’ll be the spotlight that helps me find and smooth all my jagged edges and bad behaviors. I’ll keep you safe and supported when you feel the urge to flee. I might even rescue you if you ever get caught on a doorknob, in a chandelier, or a . . .” He shrugs. “Giant sombrero.”
I laugh.
He continues. “Together, we are better than perfect. We’re two flawed humans who care about each other.”
I blink back tears. “You might be right.”
He leans in, but instead of kissing me like I want, he slides against me so our cheeks are pressed together. Then he whispers in my ear, “I love you.”
The tears are leaking out now. I couldn’t stop them if I tried.
“I love you, too.”
Then he’s kissing my tears and the only place I ever want to hide again is in the shelter of his arms.
“Y’all about done out here?” Granny calls out. “I could use some help feeding the chickens before dinner.”
I lean around Guy. Granny’s on the front porch, watching us with a pipe in her mouth.
Guy and I exchange a smile, then hand in hand, we head up to the house.
“You’ve got a Michelin-rated chef at your disposal and you want him to feed the chickens?” I ask.
“We don’t need any of that highfalutin’ food around here. My brisket is better than anything you’re gonna find in those fancy city places. And if you young folk think you’re sharing a bed under my roof before you’re married, you better think again,” she grumbles.
Guy pulls me close, whispering in my ear, “I’ll sneak into your room later.”
“I’m counting on it,” I whisper back.
He leans in again. “I brought condoms for you to hide wherever you want.”
I laugh so hard I almost run into the wall.
Yep. Perfect.
The End
Epilogue
All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.
–Charles M. Schulz
I might be dreaming.
The murmur of sounds reaches me from a distance: voices, birds, wind blowing through trees. I’m vaguely aware of the shifting of a body next to me. The warmth of sunlight on my face. A soft blanket under my back. My stomach is full. The air is warm and scented with trees and Guy’s pine-scented cologne.
“Don’t go too far. Stay where I can see you,” Guy’s voice calls, near my head.
The warm length of his arm settles around my midsection.
His voice tickles my ear. “Are you sleeping?”
“Yes. But no dream has ever been this good.”
“What are you dreaming about?”
I turn into him, hiding my face in the crook of his neck. “We’re having a picnic in Central Park. On Great Hill. Near the trees. The girls are playing with bubbles and I’m lying on a blanket with you. It’s a sunny, beautiful day and I have everything I could ever want.”
His lips brush my hair. “It’s not a dream.”
“Thank God.” I lift my head and his mouth presses to mine.
“Ew!” Ava shrieks from somewhere nearby.
We turn toward the noise. Both girls are standing about ten feet away from our picnic spread. Ava’s got her eyes pressed shut. Emma is next to her, grinning. She smacks the bubble stick out of Ava’s hand.
“Emma!” They run off into spring sunshine.
Guy’s arms tighten around me, his eyes meet mine, the green hue lightened by the sun, matching the grass around us. “I was going to ask you—”
His phone rings. He curses but doesn’t let go of me, only removes one arm and wiggles to excavate the phone out of his pocket before pressing it to his ear. “This better be an emergency,” he answers.
Carson’s voice is a murmur on the other end of the line.
I snuggle deeper into Guy’s side and his free arm squeezes me gently.
“Okay. Right. Sounds good. That’s all fine. Now don’t bother me for another hour.”
Carson responds, but all I can make out is a distant waa waa waa, like he’s one of the adults on Charlie Brown.
“I don’t care if the restaurant catches fire—okay fine, call me if someone’s