Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
But where to start?
I guess, “I’m sorry,” is as good a place as any.
I’m about to launch into my best bid for forgiveness when Makena blurts out, “I hope you don’t feel ambushed.”
I shake my head, rushing to assure her, “No, not at all.”
“I didn’t plan on bringing Dad back with me. But we had such a good talk. Then he took off work so we could keep talking and walk around the lake, and it just felt wrong to send him back to his house alone. And we were both starving again by the time we finished up, so…”
“Really, it’s fine.” I follow her as she paces across the grass toward the garden. “It’s awesome, actually. I don’t know what you said to him, but whatever it was, it worked.”
“I just told him the truth.” She turns to face me not far from the gopher hole. I’m about to warn her about it—and promise to call the exterminators first thing tomorrow—when she adds, “I told him that I’m in love with you.”
All thoughts of gophers go straight out the window.
My heart lurches, so dizzy with gratitude, I’m pretty sure it’s crashing around in my intestines by the time she adds, “I told him that you were my boyfriend, that we’re moving in together for real, and I hope you never give me an excuse to move out. I also told him that from now on, if he wants to be a part of my life, respect for my partner is non-negotiable.” She stands up a little straighter as she adds, “And that goes double when it comes to respect for me.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “Badass. You are so badass.”
Her lips twitch with a mixture of pride and anxiety I don’t fully understand until she says, “Thanks, but I’m not that badass. I mean, I’m fine with saying the ‘L’ word first, but if you don’t say it back to me pretty soon, I’m going to hurl myself into the garden and cry all over the tomatoes.”
“Just don’t cry on the zucchini,” I say as I drift toward her, reaching for her hands. “You know where they’ve been.”
“Don’t joke,” she murmurs. “Not now. Not yet.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, threading my fingers through hers as I drop to both knees in the grass. “I love you, Makena DeWitt. Of course, I fucking do.”
“You have to stop kneeling all the time,” she says, shaking her head even as a relieved laugh bursts from her chest. “You’re injured, dumbass.”
“I am a dumbass,” I agree, gazing up into her flushed face. “I should have told you I loved you that night on the beach in Mobile. Or at the crawfish festival, the second you got off stage after the mating call contest.” I hesitate only a beat before I add, “Or that time, when I was twelve, when we jumped on the trampoline until the stars came out. Then laid down in the dark and stared at the sky and talked for hours about all the things we were going to do when we grew up. Because I’m pretty sure that’s the moment I knew for sure.”
Her brow furrows, but before she can speak, I hurry to add, “And no, that wasn’t this kind of love. But it was love. It was friend love, like those two girls in that show we binged at your dad’s place the day it rained too hard to go to the water park.”
“Anne and Diana,” Makena whispers, fresh tears shining in her eyes. “From Anne of Green Gables. They were bosom friends.”
I smile, my eyes starting to sting a little now, too. “Yep, that’s it. You were always my bosom friend. And now, I get to touch your bosom, and I honestly couldn’t be any happier. I’m so sorry I fucked up yesterday. I never should have sent my bosom friend away, and I promise I never will again.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Yeah? You promise?”
I nod, squeezing her fingers tighter as I vow, “Cross my heart and hope to die. From now on, we stick like glue, even when it’s hard. Even when we disagree and things are stressful or shitty or uncomfortable.”
She nods, seeming comforted by the promise. “Yes. Because sometimes we’ll have to fight. All people fight, even people who love each other.”
“Yeah, they do,” I agree, rising to my feet.
She nods harder as she helps me up. “And we will, too, but it will be fine. We’ll fight, get through it, and then, we’ll get to have make-up sex.”
“And make-up sex is great,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Or, so I’ve heard. I’ve never had make-up sex before, but I want to start. I want to have all the sex with you.”
“Me, too,” she says, before adding with an absolutely straight face, “including zucchini sex. Right here in the garden.”