Page 173 of Deep End

I bury my head into the familiar warmth of his throat. Feel his pulse, steady against my cheeks. “The US Olympic trials are next week,” I say.

He nods. “Should we go? It’s up to you.”

Thatwe. “I think I’d like to, yeah.” I wrap my arms tight aroundhis shoulders. “It would be nice if I qualified. I could go to Melbourne with you.”

“You should come whether you qualify or not.” His hand slides up my back. “I don’t think I want to let you out of my sight again this summer.”

There is no space between him and me. No air between the hot tension spilling in my stomach and the shift of his muscles under my hands. “I can’t be like Pen.”

“You never have been.”

“What I mean is, I don’t think I’d be able to ever live apart. And I’m . . . greedy. I wouldn’t be able to be with other people, or handle an open relationship, or take breaks—”

“That’s good. Because I know you think that I’m not capable of jealousy, and maybe I thought that, too. But if you were to ask me for any of those things . . . it would gut me, Scarlett. It would absolutely end me. And if it were nonnegotiable, if it were a condition to be with you, I’m still not sure I’d be able to say no.”

His stubble scratches my cheek. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to say it before, but . . .”

“But?”

I take a deep breath. Turn until my mouth is against the shell of his ear. Kiss him underneath it before I say, “I love you. So, so much. All the things you talked about in Amsterdam, on the balcony . . . I want them, too. With you. For the next million years.”

“Million? Hyperbole?”

“Not this time.”

His smile is easy. Quick. Wide. I don’t see it, but it blooms against my skin. “Wow.”

I pull back, puzzled. “Wow?” I just told him that I love him and he—

“You know what we call this?”

I shake my head. His fingers close around my waist, and he’s picking me up, lifting me high, and it’s my turn to bend down and kiss him, but before I manage, he whispers against my lips, “A Midsommar miracle.”

EPILOGUE

A FEW YEARS LATER

Lukas Blomqvist, MD, PhD

HE HASN’T SEEN HER IN TWO DAYS. SPOTTING HER ON THEother side of the hospital cafeteria doesn’t count. Neither does waking up and finding her in his arms, eyes closed and breathing soft, too exhausted to even stir as he gets ready for his shift.

Sometimes, when she’s in deep sleep, a thoughtful little frown furls on her brow. Lukas cannot physically get out of bed until he has smoothed it over with his lips.

He used to want to prove to himself that he could thrive, even without her.

He has given up on that. Now he just wantsher.

SCARLETT:I hate bones.

LUKAS:I hate bones, too.

SCARLETT:Why do you hate bones? Shouldn’t you hate brains?

LUKAS:Bones steal you away from me. Brains keep me entertained when you’re gone.

Carl XVI Gustaf starts rubbing against his shins the second he steps inside the kitchen, so Lukas glances at the magnetic board on the fridge.

Katten åt, it reads.The cat ate.

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