AT-LONG-LAST EPILOGUE
George
Will poked his head up from under the covers, mouth curved in a proud grin. His hair was all perfectly rumpled and, no lie, if I weren’t such a gentleman I might be tempted to take his picture and share it with a few hundred followers on Snapchat.
Lucky for him, I was a gentleman.
“You alive?” he asked, kissing my chest.
I let my arm slide away from where it had been tossed across my forehead. “No.”
“Good.” He crawled up, kissing my chin. “Mission accomplished.”
I rolled to face him, pulling him close. With no space between our bodies, I could feel the heavy thump-thumping of his heart. Moments like this made me want to stand on the bed and burst into song.
Er, maybe later.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked, kissing me, shaking my shoulder a little so that I’d look at him.
I opened my eyes. His expression was nervous, like it got when I walked out of the bedroom wearing something completely badass and I could tell he wanted to loan me a pair of old jeans and one of his T-shirts instead. His brown eyes had flecks of yellow, and they danced as he flickered his gaze over my face, studying. “I got you something.”
Oh. A very different kind of nervous, then.
He certainly had my attention. “A present?”
Laughing, he rolled away, reaching for something in the drawer of his bedside table. The sheets fell away, and I slid a palm up his back. “Not only do you have the perfect name and the perfect back, you bake, and you tolerate my love for boy bands, but you get me presents? How did I get so lucky?”
Every day I thanked the universe for the subway train that ran late so that:
1. Will Perkins was late for his interview for the manny position with Sara and Max Stella.
2. He was still there when I came by begging a change of clothes because I’d been drenched in filthy curbside water two blocks away and was closer to Sara’s place than mine.
3. They’d introduced us.
4. I laughed and flirted simply because his name was Will.
5. He stared at my shirt clinging to my chest like he’d just found religion.
I always knew it was destiny I’d end up with Will. I had just picked the wrong one the first time around.
And I would have made endless fun of myself for ever believing in love at first sight, but fuck me with your spikiest Louboutins if it’s not real.
Just don’t tell Chloe. She’d pull out a ruler to measure her dick to mine.
Rolling back, Will put a small box in my hand, and the world tilted.
I’d been expecting a fancy lollypop from one of his outings with Iris and Annabel, or maybe a gift certificate to get my favorite shoes resoled because I’d been mourning their imminent death lately, and Will Perkins was thoughtful like that. But this gift fit in the palm of my hand. It had weight. It was black, and soft, and . . . it felt like a meaningful box.
It felt like a box Will Perkins might hand his boyfriend George Mercer on their one-year anniversary before saying something enormous and life altering.
“It’s cuff links, right?” I said.
He grinned, his blond hair falling over his forehead as he leaned back over me. “You don’t wear cuff links.”
“Because I can’t figure them out—not because I’m not fancy enough,” I insisted.
Will laughed, kissing my nose. “You’re definitely fancy enough. But you shouldn’t ever have to worry about things like cuff links, or taking out the trash, or fixing the garbage disposal.”
My eyes went wide with thrill. “You fixed the garbage disposal?”
“No more shoving carrot peelings down there, Peach. That’s what did it.”
I reached up and grabbed a gentle fistful of his hair. Who knew talk of home repair would one day be my thing? “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He stared at me, his brows pulling together. “Do you want me to open the box?”
I looked down at it in my hand between us. On the top in delicate gold script was a single word: Cartier.
“Earrings?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “Your ears aren’t pierced.”
“Fancy earbuds?”
“From Cartier?”
Turning back to meet his face, I felt the tight sting of emotion across the surface of my eyes, the heaviness in my throat. God damn it.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m loud and disorganized and I shove carrot peelings down the drain.”
He shook his head, running his finger across my bottom lip. “I can’t ask if you don’t open it, G.”
The box pried open with a tiny creak. Inside was a heavy titanium band.
“George,” he said quietly, and then kissed me once. I could feel him shaking. I could see my hand shaking, too.
“Yeah?”
“Will you marry me?”
I had to swallow three times before the word would come out with any sound.
But my hoarse “Yes” turned into his elated “Yeah?” which turned into a hundred small kisses and one long one that lasted the entire time he moved over me, his puffs of breath warm on my neck.
I could have stayed curled up like that forever.
I would have traded my new Gucci messenger bag to stay in bed for at least another goddamn hour.
But fucking Sara the Pregnant Monster called five times while my boyfriend—fiancé!—was banging me delirious, and the five missed calls meant she had something pressing to discuss.
With Will’s face resting drowsily on my chest, I put the phone to my ear, listening to her most recent voice mail.
“Will.”
He pressed a kiss right over my beating heart. “Mmm?”
“We’ve got somewhere to be, babe.”