I think, maybe, my soul chose hers long before my heart or my head ever could.
“Did I lose you?” She turns my face with her hand so my glossy eyes find hers.
“I’m here, baby,” I rasp.
“I can be patient when it comes to Drew. But I need you to do me a favor.”
Her deep brown eyes suck me into their hypnotic trance. I’ll do anything for her and I hope she knows that.
“When all that history you share with my brother has you worried about losing him, I need you to remember that we,” she takes our clasped hands, tapping them against my chest and then her own, “you and me…we have a history too.”
I kiss her fast because I’m afraid of what I’ll say if I don’t. I’m bound to tell her I love her less than a day after asking her to be my girlfriend.
“I can do that,” I say when we pull back. “And for the record, you’re still my favorite.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re obsessed with me. Old news. Now, respectfully, can you stop making this day about you and help me pick out which shoes to wear?” She plants a loud smack on my cheek as she hops to her feet and prances to the closet.
“Now who’s the buzzkill,” I holler after her.
She pops her head out, a look of pure mock outrage on her face. “Hey, that’s my line.”
I could do this forever.
Chapter Thirty-Five
ONE HAPPY THING
Gretchen
The driveback to Flagstaff is a stark contrast to yesterday—I only had to ask Connor to make one bathroom stop. I’m still awash with nerves, but not those of anxiety and uncertainty. It’s eagerness, excitement and anticipation that thump a steady rhythm in my veins.
Connor parks on the far side of Cheyenne’s driveway, the house blocking the front door from view. With his hand firmly in my death grip, he unbuckles, turns off the car and shifts to face me. “Ready?”
The air rushes out of my lungs as silence falls. I don’t move.
“We’re a few minutes early.” He turns the car back on. “Maybe we just sit here for a bit.”
His thumb continuously strokes my hand atop my leg that nervously bounces beneath it. He sits with me, never pushing me to move faster, never showing a morsel of impatience. Many nervous minutes later, I’m finally ready. “I think I should go by myself at first.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want to blindside her. We didn’t tell her anybody else was coming.”
He squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, Fish. I’m here however you need me to be.”
I breathe through the pins and needles in my chest and pull the visor down to use the mirror. “How do I look?” I use my pinky finger to wipe away a dot of rogue mascara in the corner of my eye and turn to face him.
He smiles softly. “Beautiful.”
I get one leg out of the car before I turn back, kissing him hard and quick. “Thank you for being here.”
With a fast, featherlight kiss to the tip of my nose, he answers, “Thank you for being mine,” before I climb out of the car.
When I finally reach the front door, a fresh dose of nerves shudder through me, but I vow to rip the band-aid despite them. With one deep breath, I steel my resolve and ring the bell.
I hear activity behind the door almost immediately and the door swings open a few seconds later.
An adopted kid imagines this moment a million times in their lifetime in probably a million different scenarios. I’ve tried to envision what it would be like to see her for the first time and I never doubted that I would cry—because, well…hello, it’s me—but I thought we’d at least exchange some words first.
