Page 78 of The Promises We Broke
"This?" she asked, gesturing between us.
"This. You. Us." I reached across the table and took her hand, marveling at how right it felt. "The fact that you're actually here, having lunch with me, letting me hold your hand in public."
"It is pretty surreal," she agreed, but her smile was soft and warm. "Good surreal, though."
"The best surreal."
She laughed, and the sound made my chest tight with happiness. "So tell me about your morning. How was your therapy session with Bullet?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You know about that?"
"Gage, half the town knows about that. Blake mentioned it to Marie, who mentioned it to Delaney, who mentioned it to me." She squeezed my hand. "I think it's sweet."
"Sweet?"
"That you found a way to process your feelings. That you didn't just bottle everything up like you used to. It's also nice to see that the whole ethos behind the rehab center actually works. That people get the benefit Booker always knew they would."
The observation was so astute, so perfectly her, that I felt my heart skip. This was the Billie I'd fallen in love with as a kid. The one who saw straight through people's defenses to the truth underneath, who offered understanding instead of judgment.
"He's a good listener," I said. "Better than most humans I've known."
"What did you talk about today?"
"You," I said honestly. "Us. How terrified and grateful I am that you're giving me another chance."
"Just another chance?" she asked, and there was something playful in her voice.
"The chance," I corrected. "The only one that matters."
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she looked down at our joined hands. "I'm scared too, you know. This morning I changed outfits three times and then stood in front of my bathroom mirror giving myself a pep talk about how it's just lunch with Gage, nothing to panic about."
"And yet here you are."
"Here I am," she agreed. "Panicking internally but trying to look calm and collected."
"You look beautiful," I said quietly. "You always look beautiful, but today especially."
"Gage..."
"I mean it," I said, bringing her hand to my lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "You take my breath away."
The café around us faded into background noise as we looked at each other across the small table. I could see the flutter of her pulse in her throat, could see the way her lips parted slightly when I kissed her hand. The air between us felt charged with possibility and the promise of all the conversations, all the moments, all the quiet intimacies we were building toward.
"We should probably order," she said softly, but she didn't pull her hand away.
"We should," I agreed, making no move to pick up my menu.
"People are starting to stare."
"Let them stare." I traced my thumb over her knuckles, watching the way her breath caught. "I want everyone to see that Billie Schulster is mine."
"Am I?" she asked, and there was something vulnerable in her voice. "Yours?"
The question hung between us, loaded with meaning and memory and the weight of everything we'd been through.
"You were always mine, Billie," I said quietly. "Just like I'll always be yours."
"What does that mean, exactly? Being yours?"
