Page 130 of Booked for the Holidays
I reach over and untie the blindfold, silk fluttering to her lap. Her eyes squint, vision adjusting to the light for the first time in hours. She peers through the fogged windshield and into the gray, dim outside world. Blinking, her mouth parts as she processes where we are.
“Theo,” she whispers.
“Merry Christmas, Bridget. Here’s your white Christmas.”
“You’re not serious. This cannot be real.”
“Look at your shirt.”
Her chin drops as she slowly reads the words out loud, voice turning choked and stilted as she struggles to get through the sentence. “H-how long have you been planning this?”
“Since the night you first mentioned it. Sap on my hands, pine needles in my hair, and a beautiful woman next to me, pouring her heart out to a guy who couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to sit beside her.”
Bridget unbuckles her seatbelt and launches herself at me, diving straight for my lap. I laugh and pull her into my arms. Her hands wrap around my neck, palms running up my back in small circles then down again. I feel the tremor in her touch, the emotions she’s trying to steady. It’s a losing battle she’s fighting, a fresh batch of tears forming in her eyes.
“Don’t cry, angel.”
“I can’t help it.” She sniffs and wipes her cheeks. “This is wonderful. I’m so freaking happy. I waited so long for someone who got me, Theo. And you do. You understand me. You know how my brain works and what I need to feel fulfilled in life. Thank you so much, sweetheart.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “We talked about a lot of things that day. It was when I really saw how wonderful you were. I liked being with you. I liked my arm around your shoulder. My heart skipped a beat when you said nice things to me. It was the beginning of us, I think. Do you remember earlier in the night when you asked me about my favorite story? I told you I didn’t have an answer for you.”
“Yes,” she whispers. Her voice trembles and I adjust our position to bring her closer.
“I finally figured it out. It’s ours. Our story is my favorite. In every realm, on every page, I’m yours. The chapters with you are my favorite, and it’s a tale I could read over and over again, never growing tired of it. You are the love of my life, Bridget Boylston. The reason I went through years of suffering, because whatever higher power out there knew I needed you, specifically, to be complete. And, fuck, are you not my perfect other half.”
A sob, happy and thankful, rattles her shoulders. A laugh gets tangled in the sound, too, barreling dangerously close to hyperventilation. “I love you, Theo Gardner. I want to make blueberry muffins with you by my side for the rest of my life. I want to watch you try to find your glasses until you give up and ask for my help. I want to share a bed with you and too many animals. I want to fight with you and then kiss you senseless five minutes later, because you know I can’t stay mad at you. I hate that you had to suffer, but I’m so glad the universe led me to you.”
“That reminds me. There’s one more thing. Close your eyes.”
Her eyes flutter shut, tear drops clinging to the fan of dark eyelashes. I lift her gently, enough to dig into my other pocket. I pull out my wallet and turn her palm face up, placing the leather in her hands. Her eyebrows furrow and her thumb rubs over the weathered material.
“Why am I holding your wallet?”
“We might as well keep walking down memory lane. Remember the night I told you I was going to grab my wallet and you panicked, thinking there was going to be a ring after six minutes of knowing each other? Maybe you should check again.”
“You didn’t,” Bridget whispers, eyes flying open.
“Guess you’ll have to open it to find out.”
She unfolds the accessory, rifling through the photos I keep tucked inside. The two of us in matching Santa hats from last Christmas. Mac and Bridget on our front porch swing, three dogs at their feet while they read a book. Mac in her soccer uniform, ball tucked under her arm. Reaching the end of the keepsakes, she pauses.
“Holy shit,” she exhales. Extracting the ring, her hand shakes as she examines the diamond. A princess cut on a white gold band Chandler helped me pick out. It’s nothing gaudy, just bold enough to let the world know she’s mine.
And I’m hers.
As if the idiotic grin on my face doesn’t say enough.
“I love you, Bridget. I can’t wait to eat blueberry muffins with you for the rest of our lives.”
I slide the ring onto her finger, over the snowmen painted on her nails and past the knuckles I’ve kissed thousands of times. Her hand–fuck, I love the feel of the metal against my skin–moves to my cheek and rests there, a boat anchored to the shore.
“I love you too, Theo.”
I kiss her, and it’s the first kiss of forever. Of a new part of our lives, and I savor it. I put every ounce of myself behind the press of my mouth against hers. The drag of her tongue against mine. The sharp bite of teeth sinking into my lower lip, and the chuckle I give her in response.
“We need to stop, angel. We have an audience.”
I pull away reluctantly and adjust her jacket, dragging the zipper up toward her neck to hide the two hickeys I left on her throat last night. A mistake in the heat of the moment, but one I’m not mad about.
