Page 155 of Forever Then

We spentthe rest of yesterday tangled up in each other, making love as many times as Gretchen’s sore body could handle. Only stopping to nap or eat, we were too consumed with one another to care about watching the fireworks.

Gretchen thrums her fingers on the dining table as she waits for her computer to boot up. I step up beside her and bend low for a kiss.

The selfish part of me wishes I was going with her to talk to her parents, but my brave girl knows her strength and wants to do it on her own, so I put my desire to hold her hand through it aside. Her family deserves this time to themselves to unpack and process everything she’s about to tell them.

“Text me before you leave so I know you’re on the road,” I say with another soft kiss.

“Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up on Sunday?”

She nods against my lips before sweeping back in. When she angles her body toward me to deepen the kiss, I let her because I’m just that weak around her.

“Don’t go to work,” she whines with a pout. “Stay here with me.”

If she didn’t have a pre-interview video-call in ten minutes and I didn’t have an important meeting with my boss first thing at the office, I’d stay in a second.

I bop her on the nose. “I have to go to work”—I flick my eyes to her computer screen—“and so do you.”

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Whatever. Fine. Buzzkill.”

I swipe my phone and keys from the counter, grab her chin between my fingers, and plant a loud, smacking kiss on her lips. “Beautiful.”

Chapter Fifty

SHE’S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU

Connor

I knowthe serpentine curve of the Fishers driveway like the back of my hand. That little bump where the gravel ends and my tires meet the paved concrete as the house draws closer hits like a wave of high school nostalgia.

Tucked back about a hundred yards from the main road, this house always felt like my second home. I’ve eaten meals here. Me and my teammates used the sprawling front yard for pick-up football games. I’ve raided their fridge, swam in their pool and bummed their internet. I know where they keep the coffee mugs, the extra towels.

Yet, on this sunny Sunday afternoon, it all feels foreign. I’m not only their son’s best friend when I walk through the door; I’m their daughter’s boyfriend. The same boyfriend they witnessed having the riot act read to him only a few short days ago.

Gretchen and I have called and texted all weekend. She kept me in the loop about how the conversation went with her family. Drew even made the trip home yesterday to be a part of it. Despite thefact that he won’t respond to my messages, he showed up for Gretchen and that’s what matters most.

He just needs time.

Her family was, understandably, surprised by her news, but they listened to the whole story with an open mind. Tears were shed, happy and sad. Gretchen showed them the scrapbook along with all the pictures we took. And before Drew headed back to Chicago last night, they all face-timed with Cheyenne, Miguel and the kids.

As I approach the front door, I take in a deep breath.

Should I knock? I haven’t knocked since I was fifteen. Things are different now, though. Right? I should knock. Yeah, knocking is good.

When Paul Fisher opens the door, he spears me with a confused look before stepping aside for me to come in. “Can’t remember the last time you knocked, son.”

I run a nervous hand through the hair under my ball cap. “Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t sure if I should?—”

“Is that Connor?” Kelly hollers from the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s me!”

She appears in the kitchen doorway, same curious eye as her husband. “Why’d you knock? I thought you were another Jehovah’s Witness.”

Nervous feet carry me to the kitchen on Paul’s heels. Through the window ahead, I spot Gretchen out by the pool. Back to me, she sits on the edge, legs dangling in the water.

With another deep pull of air into my lungs, I turn to her parents. “How are you guys?”

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