Page 115 of Until the Storm Breaks
“Oh my god, Calvin Midnight!” A woman grabs at my sleeve. “The sexy professor! Can you sign my?—”
“Sorry,” I say, sidestepping her, still moving. “I need to find someone.”
But I’m already heading deeper into the convention center, water dripping from my hair onto the polished floors. More people recognize me now. The author who knocked out that other author and read that viral poem. Who’s currently soaking wet and clearly desperate. Phones come out.
I check the session schedule board. Three panels happening simultaneously. “Women’s Voices in Contemporary Fiction.” “The Memoir of Place.” “Publishing in the Digital Age.” She could be in any of them. Or the book fair. Or the café. Or already gone, deciding I’m not worth waiting for.
The book fair is closest and biggest. I head there first, pushing through the double doors into a massive hall filled with publishers’ booths and tables stacked with books. The smell of new paper and ink hits me as I move through the aisles, scanning every face, every corner.
She’s here somewhere. She has to be.
Row after row of books and bodies. People stop to stare atthe drenched author walking too fast, looking too frantic, clearly searching for something or someone. I ignore them all. Nothing matters except finding her.
I’m halfway through the hall, starting to panic that maybe she left, maybe I’m too late again, always too late, when I see her.
She’s at a booth near the back, talking to someone about submission guidelines. Her hair is down, still damp from the rain. She’s wearing that sweater and holding a business card like it’s something precious. She looks beautiful and whole and like she belongs here completely.
My heart feels like it might actually burst. Everything in me screams to call out, to run to her, to drop to my knees and beg her to forgive me for being such a coward.
I start moving toward her, no longer running but walking fast, drawn to her like I always have been. Like I always will be.
MAREN
I’m tucking a literary magazine editor’s card into my notebook, imagining actually submitting my work, when I hear someone call my name.
“Maren.”
I turn, and there he is.
Calvin’s walking toward me through the crowded book fair, and he looks like something straight out of a movie. He’s taller than almost everyone here, his dark hair wet from the rain, water droplets on his tan skin. His shirt is damp and clinging to him, and he’s impossibly beautiful. My heart stops, then starts racing.
He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can see hischest rising and falling hard from running. The crowd parts around us, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
“I read your poem,” he says, his voice steady despite being out of breath. “Sat with it for hours. I wanted to come straight here, but I also wanted you to have your time at the festival.”
Rain drips from his hair onto his collar. He doesn’t wipe it away.
“But I couldn’t wait any longer. I’m done overthinking this. Done needing space. I want to be with you, Maren.”
People around us are starting to notice, recognizing him, but he doesn’t seem to care. I realize I don’t care either. All I can really see is him.
“I know we both made mistakes,” he continues. “The tattoo, me leaving, all of it. But sitting in that apartment reading your words, I realized none of that matters as much as this. I love you. And I want to figure out the rest as we go.”
My eyes are filling with tears now. “You’re sure?” I need to hear it.
“I’m sure. We both owned our mistakes. Now let’s move forward.”
“Together?”
“Together,” he confirms, reaching for my hand. “I want you. The woman who’s funnier and smarter than anyone I know. Who sees through all my bullshit and calls me on it.” His voice gets rough. “I want all of it. Morning coffee, debating books, reading every word you write. I want to spend my whole life discovering new things about you. All of it, if you’ll have me.”
The tears are falling now, and I can’t stop them. My heart feels like it might burst.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m in love with you. Completely.”
“I love you too,” I manage, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is overwhelming in the best way. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and every nerve ending in my body lights up at once. I melt into him, my hands fisting in hisdamp shirt, holding on like I might float away if I let go. He tastes like rain and coffee and home. Like all the mornings we should have had, all the nights we lost, all the future we might still have.
