My doorbell rang at 5:14 p.m., three nights after I’d seen Simon from the corner of the rose garden. No one ever rang my doorbell. I was back in my bedroom, changing clothes for soccer practice. “Just a second!” I called from the hallway. I threw my shirt on and hurried to the door.
Jamie.
I didn’t really know who I’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t him. “Oh my gosh! What are you doing here?” I reached up and gave him a hug, which he returned with a broad smile.
“It’s good to see you. Can I come in?”
I stepped out of the way and let him in, then followed him into the living room. “How are you? How’s California?” We sat on opposite ends of the couch. He had a bag with him, like a gift bag but simple. Brown, unmarked.
“California’s great. Things are . . . Things are good.”
“I’m really glad. That’s really, really good.” Internally, I cringed. Maybe I should’ve said “really” a few more times.
“Are you playing soccer?”
I looked down at my jersey. “Oh. I’m coaching. Carlos’s daughter, Javie, is on an indoor team, and I’m helping out.”
He nodded. “That’s great.”
“Yeah. It’s been good for me, I think.”
“So I, um . . .” He reached for the bag. “I found something. At Simon’s house. And I think you should have it.”
I sat up a little straighter. When Jamie pulled out the copy of Cien Años de Soledad, my hand flew to my chest, a reflex to try to still the crazy pounding of my heart. He held the book, looking at it for a long moment before handing it to me. “This was always meant to be yours, Lane. There’s a card inside the front cover. Sorry. I know it wasn’t meant for me, but when I found it, I didn’t know what it was. So I read it.”
I read over the inscription one more time—the words that had floated through my mind countless times since I’d first read them. It is enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment. I swallowed. “Did he—”
“Did he write the inscription?” Jamie asked.
I nodded.
“I asked him. He did. What’s it from?”
“It’s a line from the novel,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
My hands shook as I pulled out the card. I looked up at Jamie. “I’m not sure I can read this.”
“You can,” Jamie said softly. “And you really should.”
I shook my head. For him to be the one giving me this felt all kinds of wrong. “But for you—”
He cut me off. “Lane. I’m fine. Just read it.”
I took a deep, steadying breath, then opened the card, the seal of the envelope already broken. It was simple paper, folded in half, the date—November 30, two days after Thanksgiving—inscribed at the top.
Lane,
There are a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t give you this note. I have tried with all I have in me to keep from doing so. Respect for my brother and for you and the feelings you share have compelled me to remain silent. But I can’t do it anymore.
Longfellow, a poet I know you love, loved his wife for six years before she accepted his proposal. At one point in that painful span of time, Longfellow tried to rid himself of his affection, to put off what he believed was fruitless, pointless, and never to be returned. Like Longfellow, I have tried. Told myself it can go nowhere. Which may be true, even now that I’m telling you the truth. But I am compelled to tell you anyway. The story I told at dinner about first falling in love with you is true. I loved you that day in your office, and I love you now, still. Every minute I spend in your company sends me from one extreme to the other. Exquisite joy for how much I love to be around you, followed by sharp pain that you aren’t mine to love.
I thought it would be enough. To influence and suggest. To help Jamie see you as I see you. But I realize now I have made a mess where no one can win without someone else getting hurt. For that, I will always be sorry. If it’s too late and my words are unwelcome, I’m sorry for adding this burden of knowledge to your shoulders. In the end, I want only your happiness.
Always, Simon
I read the letter, then read it again. And again. It read like poetry. Like it belonged in a nineteenth-century novel. I wiped the tears from my eyes.
“You didn’t know?” Jamie asked.
I shook my head no. “I . . .” My voice cracked, so I swallowed and started again. “I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure. We never talked about it.”
“I should have seen it sooner,” Jamie said. “He noticed things. Knew things about you that I never picked up on. In hindsight, it makes so much sense.” He huffed a laugh. “Honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out. I feel like a jerk. Sending him to spend the weekend with you. Asking him to pretend when really he was in love with you the whole time.” Jamie shook his head, self-incrimination emanating from his face.
He didn’t seem worried, but I didn’t want him to think he’d been betrayed by me or his brother. “Jamie, nothing happened that weekend. We kissed under the mistletoe because my family was watching, but that was it. It didn’t have anything to do with why you and I broke up.”
“I know.” He reached over and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Simon told me. Not about the kiss. He left that part out. But he told me nothing happened, and I believed him.” Jamie took a deep breath. “I trust him, Lane. He didn’t give you that letter because I told him I was going to propose and he is a man who will never take the last Pop-Tart.”
I sniffled a laugh.
“He will always think of others before he thinks of himself,” Jamie said.
“You’re family. It was the right thing to do.”
“Maybe. But it isn’t the right thing anymore.”
“Jamie, you’re being really gracious about all of this.”
He chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ve made peace with our breakup. You were right. About everything.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Turns out I’ve met someone.”
I smiled. “Really?”
“She’s great. Different. Different from anyone I’ve ever dated. She knows nothing about soccer. Nothing.”
“That does sound different from what you’re used to.”
“She’s into horses. Owns them. Rides them. Shows them. I don’t know what it’s all about. But I’m loving learning about her world and what she’s passionate about. We’re having fun.”
I raised my eyebrows and gave him a stern look.
“But not just having fun,” he amended. “We’re talking too. About everything. We even had a fight last week.”
I smiled. “That’s good. I bet she’s really great.”
He reached for my other hand so he held both of mine in his, then tugged gently until I was sitting straight up, turned sideways on the couch so we were facing each other. “Lane,” he said, his tone serious. “My brother is a good man. I always say he’s the best of us, and I mean it. I really want him to be happy, and based on the conversation he and I just had, I’m pretty sure he could have written that letter yesterday and every word would still be true.”
I closed my eyes, my grip on his hands tightening.
“By any chance . . . I don’t know . . . It’s probably a long shot . . . but did you maybe happen to fall in love with him too?”
I started to laugh. And cry. And generally make a mess of myself. Through my tears and more snot than I would have preferred, I managed to nod my head yes. “I did. I really, really did.”
Jamie smiled. “Should we go find him?”
“Right now?”
“I mean, you might want to wipe your nose first and change out of your soccer jersey, but yeah. Let’s go.”
I tossed a pillow at his head. He caught it, a playful grin on his face. “Come on,” he said. “I know where he is. This is going to be fun.”
I texted Carlos to tell him I wasn’t going to make it to practice after all, then spent ten minutes cleaning myself up before following Jamie to his jeep. I was reeling. My heart racing. My mind buzzing. I was going to see Simon. Talk to him. Tell him the truth. I held the book and letter in my lap. Clutched it, really. Like it was a lifeline I hadn’t known I’d needed until I’d had it in my hands.
Jamie got on the highway heading toward Raleigh.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Into the city,” he replied. “Simon had a dinner meeting with a client. But . . .” He glanced at his watch. “He should be finishing up about the time we get there.”
“I’m not crashing his meeting.”
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”
“Jamie.”
He grinned. “Fine. We can wait for him outside the restaurant.” He rolled his eyes. “If you want to be boring.”
I shook my head at his theatrics. “How’s Cooper?”
“He’s good. Really good. His letters are great, and he seems like he’s doing well.”
“And Dave?” I realized how much I’d missed hanging out with the brothers. With their entire family.
“Oh! He and Katie are expecting a baby.”
“Really? So soon?”
“Well, they say it only takes once.”
“Well, yeah, but . . .”
“It was a total surprise. A first-class accident, I’ve been told, but they’re still excited.”
“Are they settled in San Diego? They like California too?”
“Yep. They’re doing great.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a parking garage in downtown Raleigh. Jamie got out and motioned for me to join him. “Come this way.”
“I told you I’m not storming the restaurant. This is crazy!”
“I know what you told me. But if we sit in the car, he could finish and leave and we’d never see him. We have to at least get into position, where we can see what’s happening.”
“Fine. But so help me, Jamie, if you’re leading me into a trap . . .”
We exited the garage on foot and rounded the corner. “No traps,” Jamie said. “Look. That’s the restaurant. He’s in there, which means he’s eventually going to come out that door.”
“How do you know he’s not going to be meeting all night?”
“I guess I don’t, really. But this is Simon we’re talking about. He’s not exactly a party animal.”
“What if his client is a woman and she’s beautiful and they end up talking for hours?”
He rolled his eyes. “His client’s name is Frederick Gordon. Sound like a beautiful woman to you?”
I huffed. “You never know.”
Five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen, then twenty. There was a bench on the sidewalk with a great view of the restaurant’s door, but it was too cold to sit still. Or maybe I was just too worked up to sit still.
“Lane, if you don’t stop pacing, I’m tying you to this bench with your shoelaces.”
“I’m wearing boots. I don’t have shoelaces.”
“Then I’ll use my shoelaces. Come and sit. Please.”
I froze. “There he is.”
Jamie stood. “Which direction is he going? Does he see us?”
“I don’t think so. He’s still talking to his client. Oh gosh, this was a bad idea.”
“Stop it. It’s not a bad idea.” Jamie turned me to face him. “Hey, I’m going to get out of here.”
“You’re not staying?”
“Do you really want me to stay and witness whatever moment this is going to be for the two of you?”
Good point. “No. I guess not.”
He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I’m happy for you, Lane. For both of you.” He disappeared into the parking garage, and I turned back to find Simon. He stood at the corner, waiting for the light to change so he could cross the street. I took a step back into the shadow of the building behind me, willing my nerves to calm the heck down.
When he made it across the street, I stepped forward and called his name. “Simon.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Lane? What are you doing here?”
I had no words. Rare for me, but everything I thought to say sounded too shallow, too silly for how intensely I felt. He was there in front of me, and for the first time, there was nothing to stop me from making him mine. I did the only thing I could think of—the only thing that felt right: I walked toward him, driven by momentum and will and love, and kissed him, pulling him close against me, holding his face with my hands.
In a second, his arms were around me, anchoring me to him, his lips returning the kiss with a fervor that made me glad I had him to lean on. When we finally parted, breaking the kiss, he kept his arms in place, holding me tight.
“Hi,” he said, his voice soft.
“Hi.” I pulled the book out of the oversized pocket of my coat, the open letter on top. “Oh, wow,” he whispered. “I guess you’ve been talking to Jamie.”
“It is enough,” I whispered, “for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.”
He leaned his forehead against mine. “That’s my favorite line from the book.”
“Well, now it’s mine too.”
He grinned. “Man, I love my brother right now.”
I laughed. “Me too. But not as much as I love you.”
Simon leaned in and kissed me again.
And then again.
And then again.