you to trust new people, Nora, and I know you’re afraid of everything that’s been changing, and I know there might be hard days ahead. But I came here with this tree and these tomatoes because I want you to remember I’m not as new as you think I am. I want you to remember I’ve been waiting to come back to this place—to you—for sixteen years. It just took me awhile to figure it out.”
She had her hands over her heart again, and her eyes on his when she finally was able to speak. “Will,” she said. “Now can I come down?”
He nodded, and her neighbors whooped, and she ran.
Will caught her up in a hug so tight it lifted her feet from the ground, a hug so forceful that he had to spin to take all of her momentum. She’d set free her army of I love yous before she’d even reached his waiting arms, but once they were wrapped around each other she whispered them against his neck, into his ear, along his cheek. She said it against his lips, I love you, I love you, before he kissed her, before he took her words inside him and gave a soft groan of relief that she could feel rumble between them where their chests pressed together. Behind her, she could hear the continued commentary of her neighbors, a goofy smattering of applause that made her smile against his lips until they had to break their kiss.
“Will,” she said, now that she had use of her lips again, “I’m so sorry about this morning. I was—”
“Baby,” he said, smiling down at her, smoothing his thumbs over her wet cheeks, “it’s okay. I shouldn’t have brought up the third-floor thing, or the staircase landings. And I don’t know why I said unit. Jesus. You hate that word.”
She laughed softly and shook her head. “No, you were trying to help. I was on my way to call you. I completely overreacted; I know I did.”
“You didn’t. It’s scary, what’s going on with Jonah, and you didn’t need me doctoring my way through that meeting this morning. But I—look, fixing things for you, I thought that was the best way I could be with you. The safest way, for the both of us.”
She nodded, putting her hands over his and moving them so they could press their palms together and lock their fingers together at their sides. Some of the noise behind them had quieted, so either her neighbors had turned silent in their spectating, or they’d given them some backyard privacy.
“Keeping things the same,” she said. “Obviously, I’ve—that’s how I try to show people how I love them. Nonna, even though she’s gone. Everyone here. And even with us, when I thought you might not feel the same way back . . . I was just trying to keep myself safe, too. To go back to the things I know are a sure thing. I bolted this morning, and I’m sorry.”
“We’ll work on it,” he said. “Both of us. We’ll figure this out.”
She nodded and pressed up to kiss him again.
“I love you,” he said again, when they finally parted. “I should’ve told you the first night we were together. It feels so good to tell you, I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” she said, and then, because she could, and because she was so full to bursting with feeling, she repeated it. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He brought her close again, kissed the words from her mouth like he was hungry for them, then bent to put his lips beside her ear, speaking quietly this time, like he wanted to make sure this was only for them. “You’re the first, you know.”
She shuddered at the feeling of his breath against her neck, at the memory of that first night they’d had together, when he’d told her that their physical connection had felt like a first for him, too. But something about his hold on her hands, something about the way he held his body, signaled her that he was saying something new. She leaned back so she could see him, searched his eyes and found them more serious than she expected.
“The first person you’ve been in love with?” She’d assumed that’s part of what he meant, when he’d told her he’d fallen for her sixteen years ago, but—
He shook his head, and then corrected. “Yes, you’re that, but . . .” He lowered his head, loosening