Page 57 of Puck & Make Up

“A telegram?” I giggle.

His face goes soft, and he settles his forehead against mine. “I wasn’t going to let you go,” he whispers. “But I’m fucking glad I don’t have to chase you down.”

He sounds tired. Exhausted.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “And I wasn’t trying to avoid your calls the whole time. I…” I sigh and pull my phone from my pocket, showing him the darkened screen. “I forgot to bring a charger.”

He tugs at a strand of my hair, rests his forehead against mine. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He stops and I frown. “What?”

An exhale. “You scared me.”

More guilt. “I’m sor?—”

“No more apologies.” He presses his lips to mine. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

“I—”

I got the apology part, covered the I love you, but I haven’t explained?—

And I don’t get to.

Because he scoops me up and carries me into the house.

And then he makes sure I’m so limp with pleasure that I can’t even begin to think of leaving.

The best part?

I don’t want to.

Epilogue

Dessie

“And then,” I say, pointing at the computer screen that has my uncle squinting at the simple spreadsheet like it’s the most complicated software code on the planet, “if you fill in this cell here?—”

His bushy eyebrows drag together. “What’s a cell again?”

“The little box here. See how my cursor— No, scratch that,” I say, editing myself as I see the confusion creep into his eyes again. “See how the box has a darker outline around it?”

His scowl deepens but he leans in, squinting. Then he nods, says gruffly, “Yeah.”

“So, you click there, put the numbers in, and hit this button…” I show him the ENTER button on the keyboard. “And that’s it, the program will do the rest of it for you. Wanna try?”

I’m up in River’s Bend, playing tech support again.

Read—I’m fixing the inventory spreadsheet and teaching my uncle how to not fuck it up again.

I shift back to give him a chance, supervise as he pecks at the keyboard, hits the ENTER key and we both watch as the inventory log updates.

“And,” I add, leaning in and helping him move the mouse, “if you click here”—I navigate the cursor, my hand over his, to the next tab which I’ve set up so that he knows exactly what he needs to order. “Once you have your numbers, you can call your vendor, oreven,” I say with a flourish, waving my arm out to the side, “email it to them. Then they’ll invoice you, you pay that, andwham bam, thank you, ma’am,you’ve got your supplies.”

He’s silent for a long moment, still scowling at the computer screen as though waiting for the other shoe to fall.

When it doesn’t, his expression clears and he turns the chair, standing, and facing me. He squeezes me on the shoulder, his face softening. “When did you get so smart, Dessie girl?”

I grin, pat his hand, and joke, “Probably about the time you fired me.”

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