Page 158 of Merry Me
Easton smirked. “I know.”
He leaned in slightly, his voice dipping. “Picture it—snow falling, soft music, you standing under the lights trying to pretend you didn’t put effort into your outfit when you very obviously did. And me, about to completely ruin your life in the best way.”
I felt myself swooning.Actually swooning. In public. But I obviously didn’t care.
“I had a speech, too,” he added, and there was a sudden seriousness in his tone that made my chest squeeze.
My breath caught. “Do I get to hear this speech of yours?”
He glanced at the crowd, still hovering, still watching. Then he looked back at me, and the rest of the world may as well have vanished.
“You really want me to give youthespeech right here?” he asked, his voice just for me. “With half of Los Angeles filming it and someone in the back crying like this is the season finale ofThe Bachelor?”
I snorted—not the most romantic sound. But fitting. And very us.
“Yeah,” I whispered, smiling through the sudden lump in my throat. “I’m holding a glitter sign in front of a hundred strangers. I think the bar for dignity’s already gone. Give me the speech, Hollywood.”
He laughed once, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
Then he inhaled, his chest rising like the moment had finally settled into him.
“You once told me love was just a chemical reaction,” Easton said, his voice low and steady. “That it faded or burned out or exploded. That it wouldn’t last.”
My throat went tight. My heart was beating far too fast.
Because I remembered saying that. I remembered believing it.
“And maybe back then,” he continued, “you were too young to believe in forever. Maybe you needed to protect your heart more than I needed to convince you otherwise. So I let you believe it.”
His hand reached out, slow and reverent, and his fingers brushed the silver chain at my neck—the tiny constellation pendant now resting over my heart.
My breath caught.
“But, Nat,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the stars, “if love really is a reaction, then you’ve been the spark in every single one of mine. Every laugh. Every fight. Every godforsaken moment I’ve missed you.”
He took a shaky breath, and when his eyes met mine, they held galaxies.
“I used to wish for this,” he said quietly. “When I thought I’d lost you for good. I’d lie awake and picture you—older, somewhere out in the world—and wonder if you still remembered that night in the truck.”
My throat tightened. Because of course I remembered. Every second.
“You looked up at the stars like they were the only thing thatmade sense,” he went on. “And when I told you I thought you were my one…you didn’t say anything.”
His smile flickered. Familiar and aching. With something deeper than memory.
“But I meant it. I still mean it. And I don’t need stars or fate or anything else to tell me. I just need you.”
The lights, the noise, the crowd—gone. Just him and me and the echo of everything we’d survived to get here.
He took one step closer, his eyes steady. “Just in case you’re still wondering whether soulmates exist after all this time…I know they do. But not in the perfect, easy way people talk about. I think they’re rare. Messy. Stubborn as hell.”
His voice softened, tugging at something deep inside me.
“They fight. They break. They find their way back, sometimes more than once.” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re my soulmate, Natalie Bennett.”
A pause. A breath.
