FIFTEEN

JESSE

She doesn’t look okay. Her hair is windswept—more tousled than usual, her face flushed, like she ran all the way here. I can’t read her expression, but a wild sparkle lights her eyes, so when she smiles I am determined to believe her.

“Okay, then I have a surprise for you,” I say, closing the door and locking us in.

“A surprise,” she repeats.

“It’s in my room, and it’s probably getting cold, actually.”

As she follows me up the stairs I try not to think about the times Sean did this exact same thing as I scowled from my place on the couch—try not to think of all the times I turned my music up in my earbuds so I wouldn’t have to hear the low tones or the giggling behind our shared wall.

When we reach the top: “You have to close your eyes,” I tell her.

She smiles. “You’re serious.”

“It adds that extra element, you know, the closing of the eyes.”

“If you insist.”

She shuts her eyes tightly as I take her hand in mine and lead her to my bedroom door.

“No peeking.”

“I’m not peeking, I swear!”

I turn the knob and push open the door. She breathes in the air.

“Smells sweet and sugary. Like a bakery.”

“You’re close. On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three.”

She steps into the room and takes it all in: the pizza-sized pancake, the toppings—an assortment of plastic containers with whipped cream and chocolate chips and strawberries and blueberries and coconut.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. She brings her fingers to her lips and laughs.

“It’s huge, right?”

Her eyes glimmer as she smiles through something that might be tears. “Oh my God. You weren’t kidding!”

I debated all week whether or not to stay the night in Haleford, but when Claire texted and mentioned getting together for lunch, I knew for certain I was going to make the trip in a day, and I knew exactly what we were going to eat. I got up early and hit the road, made it to each of my late morning and afternoon meetings, signed some paperwork with HR, then stopped by the diner on campus on my way out of town. I arrived home in time to stick it in the oven for a few minutes before Claire texted, and, judging by the expression on her face, the drive had been worth it.

I grab a plate and plastic fork and hand it to her. “Dig in.”

* * *

“Can I be honest for a second?” she asks.

We are sitting at the head of the bed, propped up by pillows, too full to eat another bite. I’ve promised to drive her home when she needs to leave, but she assures me that Nolan is sleeping and that her parents will listen out for him and that she’s not ready to go anywhere just yet.

“Sure.”

She hesitates, picking at a thread on my comforter. “I’m not sure how to say this,” she begins.

And my spine stiffens because I know this is it. This is where she tells me that she appreciates me and values my friendship, but she’s not looking for anything serious right now. She can’t handle a relationship on top of her other responsibilities. Not with David. Not with me. Because she doesn’t want to ruin what we have. I’m Sean’s brother, after all. Nolan’s uncle. It can’t be like that between us. And I don’t want to hear this from her—I don’t think I can handle it—so I cut her off, saying: “I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, Claire. I just—we talked about the pancake and I wanted to do something nice for you. I’m not expecting anything from you, I swear.”

She looks over at me, blinking rapidly, seeming surprised. “Okay,” she finally says. “But that’s not quite the direction I was going.”

“Oh. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“No. It’s just . . . I’ve um, really missed you. All week. I’ve missed seeing you and getting your text messages. I’ve missed the sound of your voice and laughing with you. I don’t know what it is and I’ve tried to ignore it—to tell myself it’s nothing—but it’s like . . . there’s this hole when you’re not around, and it only fills when I’m with you, or talking to you, or thinking about you. I don’t know. I can’t explain it, except that everything feels right when you’re here.”

This isn’t what I was expecting—not even close—and my heart trips over itself, inching to my throat. Never mind I’ve waited eight years to hear something like this—that I matter to her—and now that she’s said the words I’m too scared to open my mouth, scared that this isn’t real or that I’ll ruin everything.

The silence lengthens between us.

“Please say something,” she insists. “I’m starting to feel really stupid.”

I don’t want her to get the wrong idea—that I don’t feel the same way she does, because the truth is I fell in love with her all the way back in the seventh grade and I never stopped loving her. And now that she might be falling for me. . . .

“No, it’s not that,” I assure her. “It’s just . . . I’m a little scared,” I admit. “I’m scared that this—you and Nolan—is all too good to be true. I’m scared that I’m thinking about and feeling and wishing for things that could never happen. I’m afraid that I’ll move away and the days will turn into weeks and the weeks will turn into months and I’m not an idiot, Claire. If not David, someone like David is going to come along and sweep you off your feet and you’re going to take Nolan with you and I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out how to make this work, or at least make loving you not hurt so damn much.”

“You love me?” she asks, seeming surprised.

“I have loved you since the moment I first saw you and despite everything that’s happened I haven’t stopped loving you. Maybe I thought I had while I was away. I sure as hell tried to forget you, but it’s my turn to be honest and say you are the only girl who’s ever mattered to me, Claire.” I laugh. “I mean, God. No one else stood a chance, not when I could only compare them to the one perfect girl I could never have.”

An impish smile lights her face. “You think I’m perfect?”

Our eyes connect, hers searching mine, dazzling in their intensity.

“I do.”

Her gaze travels to my lips, studying them, before returning to my eyes and in the next moment she is closing the distance between us, leaning into me. The kiss is gentle, at first. Sweet. Her lips soft against mine. And though I have imagined this moment on more than a million occasions, the reality is like nothing I ever expected—a surge of electricity, like she has breathed life back into me. Her lips part and in the next moment our tongues are dancing and my hand is against her cheek, keeping her as close to me as possible.

She doesn’t pull away until we are both desperate for air, exhaling short, shallow breaths between us. My lips tingling, hers red and swollen, hearts drumming to the same beat.

“I don’t want you to disappear again,” she whispers, staring at me from beneath her lashes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. I brush another gentle kiss across her lips. Run my thumb along her cheekbone. She seems to melt beneath me, eyes closing, forehead resting against mine.

And when they re-open and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip I think, for the first time, that she might want this as much as I do, so I kiss her again. For as long as she lets me I will kiss her, losing myself in the moment just in case it’s the only one I ever get. Just in case this is as close to perfection as I will ever experience.

My hand slips beneath her shirt, feeling her smooth skin. And I wait for her to back away, to tell me to stop, but she lets out a tiny gasp, instead, and her mouth opens. Her fingers rake my hair, pulling me closer, and I am nearly undone.

In the next moment we are a tangle of arms and shirts, and when her ponytail gets caught on her collar she yanks the elastic out, her wild blonde hair falling past her shoulders, spilling across my pillow as we bury ourselves deeper in my bed.

My hands search her soft body, kisses trailing her neck, fingers following the curve of her satin bra.

She shudders beneath me in what might be anticipation, and while I know we aren’t virgins, a kind of nervous energy radiates between us—something reminiscent of a first time. And I want to pinch myself to be sure I’m not dreaming, to know that this is happening—my fantasies coming true almost exactly as I imagined—Claire beneath me, pulling me into her, demanding more.

“Claire. Are you—”

“Yes,” she breathes. “I’m sure. I’ve never been this sure about anything.”

I search my nightstand drawer, feeling for a strip of condoms I am thanking the universe I didn’t toss while I was cleaning out, while Claire slides her leggings off. She unbuttons my shorts and in a moment barely anything is left between us. She straddles my lap and I feel her. She is warm and wet and my eyes follow the line from her lips to her neck to her breasts to the silvery lines on her rounded stomach where a baby once grew. And shit if I don’t want her even more in that instant—if she isn’t the strongest woman I have ever fucking known. I grow harder beneath her, my mind flashing forward to some distant future moment where we are we and that stomach is more pronounced and she is carrying our baby. A little brother for Nolan. A little girl with Claire’s blonde hair. She surprises us both with curls and we can’t figure out which side of the family it comes from. And I am a witness to every moment—holding on to Claire as she brings our baby into this world, struggling to keep my own emotions in check as Claire sobs with relief as he or she utters that first little cry, as the nurse places them on her chest.

And something new and different ignites inside. A love so beyond what I have ever felt, and, with it, the knowledge that I’m going to do whatever I can to keep Claire and Nolan safe. That I’m going to do whatever I can to make their lives better. I will work for them. I will sleep for them. I will wake up every morning for them. I will die for them if I have to, without a single regret. I am done being broken. I am done fighting. And Claire and Nolan and whatever future we may have together becomes the only thing that matters.

* * *

When I return from the bathroom in a pair of fresh boxers, Claire is curled up on my bed, the sheet pulled all the way to her chin—the most beautiful vision I’ve ever seen.

I settle beside her, drape my arm around her, pulling her close to me. Her head rests in the crook of my arm, body tangled with mine.

And I don’t know what to say. I still want her. The sex didn’t satisfy anything—it only made me more desperate. It made me want her in my life forever. And shit if I am not every movie cliché ever, wanting to ask her to marry me at that moment. Wanting to promise her the world. To make her mine.

“So that was. . . .” I trail off, unable to choose the right word. Unexpected. Unbelievable. Mind-blowing. Worth the wait.

“Incredible,” she finishes for me.

“That, too.”

She smiles.

“You’re not going to regret this tomorrow, are you?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “Are you?”

“No.”

“Even though we just seriously complicated things?” she asks.

“That was the most amazing complication I have ever experienced.”

She laughs. It’s a happy laugh. She is relaxed and content and I wonder how long it’s been since she’s been loved like this.

“So . . . not to ruin this moment, but is there any chance I can talk you into staying here? Permanently?” she asks.

“God. I want to, Claire. You have no idea. But I don’t know how I can turn down this internship. I’m trying to think long-term. I want to do what’s right by everyone,” I confess, leaving out that I want to do what’s right by her and Nolan, and that this opportunity has the potential to set me up for a future where I can take care of them and be with them, if that’s what Claire wants.

“I know,” she says. “And I’m only partly kidding. I’m just, you know, not ready to say goodbye to you, yet. I just got you back.”

“It’s not goodbye, and it’s only for six months.”

“But you said you could be offered a permanent position.”

“That’s a long shot. Each new class has like, thirty people.”

“But what if?” she presses.

“Then I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. The internship alone is all I need. Once I have that on my résumé, and once I have the recommendations, I could go almost anywhere.” A length of silence falls between us. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to come to Haleford with me, could I?”

She smiles. “With school and work? There’s no way.”

“You could take some time off. The Porter wedding commission is enough to give you a break for a while.”

“But I like my job, and there’s Nolan to think about. His school. Karate. And my parents are here. . . .”

“Why do I feel like this is crashing down around me before it even begins?” I ask.

“No, it’s okay. Things are . . . different now. We don’t have to drift apart. We won’t go days or weeks without talking. We’ll make plans. Phone calls and video chats. You can come and visit on weekends or holidays. The guest room is yours any time you want. And maybe Nolan and I can make some trips to the city. Or we can do a day trip. Meet halfway.”

“You have no idea how hard it’s going to be to leave you,” I admit.

“We can make this work,” she insists, taking my hand in hers, intertwining our fingers.

And I hope, more than anything, that she’s right. Because I’ve waited too long for this to happen, and now that it is I’ll do whatever it takes to keep from losing it.