Page 183 of One Wrong Move

“You’re enjoying this?” he asks.

I turn to face him. His eyes widen, clocking the tears on my face, but I smile. “Yes. I’m feeling overwhelmed with gratitude right now.”

“Oh?”

I pull him closer, locking my hands behind his neck. His skin is tan from weeks in the sun, his hair longer than it usually is. A tendril falls over his strong forehead and across his concerned eyes.

“Two years ago, I was afraid of my career path, unsure about everything, hurt and trying to heal, and… scared about turning thirty. Or rather, about being twenty-eight and starting over.”

His lips tilt upward. “Because twenty-eight is ancient?”

“It’s not. All my fears were ridiculous. But that’s the thing with fears, you know? They don’t go away just because you know intellectually that you’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says and runs a hand along my waist. “Trust me, I do.”

“And now, look at where I am two years later. Where we are…” I shake my head and smile. Emotion makes my voice shake. “Imagine if I hadn’t moved to London. If I got a position in Boston or DC or Paris instead.”

He shakes his head, a tiny movement. “I don’t want to imagine it.”

“Me neither. One wrong move, and you and I might never have happened.”

“But we did,” he says.

“But we did,” I echo. “And I’m so grateful for that, too. With a million possibilities, and billions of people on this planet… I’m so glad I was at that bar that night. Even with the detour I took to get here, where I belong.”

Nate’s eyes are warm. “I love you, Harp.”

“I love you, too. So much.” I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses me back with soft, slow brushes of the lips while his hands glide to my lower back. And then, he starts to sway.

Oh.

Our dance. I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes.

“The final thing on your list,” he murmurs. “And with only an hour to spare before midnight.”

“Efficient,” I whisper back.

He chuckles and runs a hand down my bare arm, raising goose bumps along my skin. In his arms, is my favorite place. Doesn’t matter the country, the time, or the circumstance.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers.

“You’re early.”

“I’ve always been early when it comes to you.” His voice is a bit hoarse, and he presses his lips to my temple. “And I’m looking forward to spending your thirties together.”

I smile against his skin. There is one thing I wanted to tell him. One thing we’d spoken about over the last few months. Something he told me to tell him. Let me know when you’re ready.

I reach into the pocket of my linen dress. Pull out the folded list.

He smiles down at it, worn now at the edges. “Time to cross out the last one?”

“I added an extra item at the bottom, to really round out the list,” I say. “Even if it happened before I ever wrote anything down.”

He unfurls the paper. Narrows his eyes before a smile curls his lips. “Meet the love of my life,” he reads.

“Mm-hmm. Sorry. Was that cheesy?”

His smile widens. “I love cheese, baby, you know that. List officially complete, then.”

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