Page 42 of The Best You've Ever Had

My stomach drops as if he’s just thrown me out the window, panic rising at the suggestion. “To San Francisco?”

He nods, his gaze steady, gauging my reaction as his thumb brushes across the plane of my cheek.

“Wouldn’t it be a little too soon? I don’t want you to move only for me. What if you hate it? You’ll resent me for it later.”

“I’ve wanted out of Havenbrook for a long time. Before Mick’s illness, I had been applying to fire departments in almost every major city.” He kisses my cheek and pulls me into his chest. I burrow as close as humanly possible, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against my temple. “You wouldn’t be forcing me, and I would never resent you for anything. I’m an adult, and I’m responsible for all of my decisions at the end of the day.”

Saying yes feels like flinging myself off a cliff. But when he frames it like that, how could Inotsay no? The thought of solid commitment terrifies me slightly less than I had imagined. And the only reason why is because it’s with him. The one person who knows me through and through. My strengths. My hang-ups. My flaws. The way I can often be too blunt. Or how I’ll fight like hell over the simplest things.

My brain screams at me to say no. It’s not worth the risk. That we’ll end up exactly like my parents—either bitterness or unfaithfulness ripping us apart before we know it.

But my heart, my heart is unquestionably screaming yes.

Take the leap.

Run the risk.

Because the potential is worth it. Because we’re not my parents. Because the magic might be right beyond my comfort zone.

“Let’s do it. Move to the city with me.” His smile widens, as I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him. “Separate apartments for at least a year though, okay?”

“Deal.”

However, the look in his eyes mirrors my own. Both of us are silently aware of how full of shit we are. By spring, we’ll probably be living together under the guise of saving money. He’s like me, overanalyzing every single detail. And once the analysis is done and the venture deemed acceptable, we jump in with both feet, never looking back.

This is single-handedly the craziest, yet easiest, decision I’ve ever made.

The feeling in the pit of my stomach, rolling with excitement for the future, for the first time in years, tells me I won’t regret it.

On Christmas morning, we head straight to his parents’ house for presents and what can only be described as an all-day eating marathon. It’s tradition for them to open gifts with mimosas in hand, while grazing on the Pinterest-worthy charcuterie board Brandy prepares. My mom and Paul arrive right as we pull in, stepping out in perfectly coordinated holiday outfits—his red and green plaid button-up matching the pattern of her dress. If I wasn’t so head over heels in my own relationship, I’d probably roll my eyes at their adorably coordinated getup. They’re disgustingly in love, and honestly, I’m thrilled for my mom to have that kind of cheesy, deep-seated affection. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the heated passenger seat, silently thanking my starsthat the only thing Ben and I are matching on today are the orgasms we had in the kitchen right before leaving.

The Brooks’ holiday tradition involves drawing names out of a hat, so you only buy for one person. A few weeks ago, by what was likely no coincidence, we found out Ben and I were each other’s secret Santas. I have a feeling it was some behind-the-scenes joke to see what the two kids, who at the time couldn’t stand each other, would come up with.

Placing my perfectly wrapped gift under the colorful tree, it looks like it came straight from a Macy’s department store. His gift to me, however, is a different story. Wrapped in paper barely held together by a piece of utility line rope, it’s the first time I’m laying eyes on it. He was ridiculously secretive about what it could be, but now I’m starting to think the abysmal wrapping job was half the mystery.

“Please tell me that’s not an actual rope,” I laugh.

He scratches the back of his head. “Um, nope. Definitely not.” When I throw him a pointed look, he grins, clearly caught. “Okay, yes. I couldn’t find tape or any ribbon. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s perfect.” I rise on my toes, kissing his cheek.

Dante moves through the room, passing out tall glasses of bubbly mimosas while we share our favorite memories of Mick. The stories flow naturally, each one bittersweet, yet overwhelmingly filled with love. Brandy smiles as she recalls riding in the fire engine with her dad, the excitement of being at his side, while Dante chuckles at the memory of Mick’s attempt to intimidate him when they first met—only to end the night as best friends. My mom’s voice softens as she talks about coming home from a long shift as a newly single mom, only to find Mick in the driveway, quietly changing her oil or fixing the leaky valve on the garden hose, never needing to be asked, just always there, reliable and steady.

That was Mick in a nutshell. Always helping, never expecting anything in return. One of a kind.

After our toast, our parents quickly become distracted by the football game starting on television. Ben hands me his gift. A rectangle wrapped in crumpled red paper with a green braided rope knotted and tied perfectly in the center. His expression is amused as he watches me inspect the gift. Untying the makeshift bow, I gently unfold the paper and find a framed picture of our pre-teen selves. The one our moms forced us to take in our ugly Christmas sweaters years ago. I look annoyed to be there, and he looks distracted. But I had never noticed until now that he looked distracted because ofme. And although I’m rolling my eyes, there’s a happiness to us both that I don’t remember.

I clasp a hand over my mouth. “This is amazing. Where did you even find this?”

Standing behind me, he leans over, kissing my shoulder as he looks at the picture too. “Believe it or not, Mick’s house. When he moved into my parents’, we cleaned out his place and found it tucked away in a photo album.”

“Wow. I can’t believe he kept it all those years.”

“I had asked him why he still had it. All he said was that he had a gut feeling. I had no idea what that meant at the time. But now I think I do. I think he knew before we did.”

“Knew what?”

“That despite our bickering, we’d be together one way or another throughout life.”

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