Page 102 of Last Love

Epilogue

Presley

Three Months Later…

“You cannot hang up a neon car sign in the upstairs loft,” I argue, trying to distract myself from the fact that I’m blindfolded.

In the car.

Going somewhere unknown.

I mean, I know it’s not my death, but still a little unsettling.

“Why not?” my boyfriend laughs from the driver’s seat. “My study space. My decorations.”

“Because it’s bright and tacky and I don’t wanna feel like we suddenly live in a frat house just because you’re in school!”

Louder laughter has me shaking my head in amusement.

While him enrolling in a higher education program was always part of Ry’s plan, the fact his father left him millions to do it took away all hesitation he was holding onto regarding the subject. He starts in January, which gives Big Roscoe plenty of time to adjust his hours to accommodate. Plus, Ry’s expressed wanting to possibly co-own the second shop and his current boss loves the idea of sharing the cost versus having all the debt in his name. His current class schedule is mainly focused on getting his mechanic certification; however, he is also taking business classes in addition to it.

I’m so fucking proud of him.

For doing it.

Committing to it.

And for including me as much as everyone else in the decision-making process.

Having him move into the townhouse was something we were already planning, the delay being how to coordinate with Merrick so that he’s not fucked paying full rent, but the large lump sum solved that problem too. He promised to keep paying rent while Merrick took his time finding a replacement.

Not entirely sure what stops him and Jovi from just living together, but I get the feeling it might have something to do with her father.

Officially living together has been…fucking incredible.

I love it.

Has it solved all of our problems?

Definitely not.

We still struggle to communicate at times, especially when one of us seems gung-ho about solving something on our own, but we’re working on it.

Katherine – who we just had over for dinner last week – says it’s totally normal.

You know.

Right after making notes for her to use in this follow up book that she’s been working on.

She also told us during our couple’s beach weekend getaway that there have been requests for her to do a popular daytime talk show as well as be an adviser on some documentary. Why she doesn’t immediately say yes is beyond me. Nonetheless, we’re both very excited for her.

“Changing subjects,” Ry slyly insists. “So, I’m scheduled ten-hour shifts Monday through Wednesday, and we’re closed Thanksgiving-”

“I already told my parents we’re only stopping by for just a couple hours to play Uno and Two For Your Mama because we’re doing the full shebang with yours, but that Christmas is all theirs.”

There’s a happy hum out of him that leads me to believe he’s smiling. “I took off the whole weekend and Monday so that I could help grab the school’s Christmas decorations from storage with Merrick-”

“Yay!”

“And so that we could pick out our own.”

It’s impossible not to grin. “You wanna go Christmas shopping together?”

“Yeah.” His hand suddenly lands on mine. “This one is kinda extra special, ya feel me? It’s our first one together since we reconnected. Our first one together in our first place, which is technically yours for now, but mine too.”

Excitement has me enthusiastically nodding.

“Careful now,” he playfully scolds. “Don’t try to wiggle that blindfold loose.”

In spite of the blockade, I throw him a good-natured glare.

“Chill, baby,” Ry arrogantly snickers. “We’re almost there.”

Several minutes later – post parking, a winding walk through what I think is a busy office building, and up an elevator, which is actually quite terrifying when you can’t see what you’re doing – I’m finally released from my vision prison.

Ry offers me back my glasses, and I quickly put them back on. Relieved at the simple sight of him, I softly sigh, “Hi you…”

“Hey you…”

He gives me a minute to look around at the hotel event room decorated in haphazardly hung Christmas light and over the top Paris décor. Confusion kicks me at first yet the second I hear a boyband crooning over the speaker, I instantly giggle, memories of the moment this is referring to quickly kicking in.

“Over ten years ago, you were standing right here when you decided to walk out of my life.”

Sadness swiftly slips onto my peach-colored jacket covered shoulders.

“This is where you stood when you told me that I had lost you.”

The heartache increases.

“That the only person I ever loved, the only person I ever really wanted to love, was leaving me forever.”

An undeniable lump begins to grow in my throat.

“It was the most horrible moment of my entire fucking life.”

Reliving it right now isn’t exactly a picnic for me.

“I don’t remember what the theme was that year. And I don’t wanna remember it. I took away the most important thing and that was that I had fucked up beyond repair.”

My mouth twitches to say something – although I’m not completely sure what – when he lifts a gentle hand to stop me.

“This, however,” he whirls a finger around in the air, “was the theme of the year before. The year when we were still in love.”

Fondness for the change prompts a smile.

“And love is the theme I wanted tied to this moment.”

Curiosity has me quirking an eyebrow.

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