Page 125 of Battle of the Bookstores

“Just give me this moment, Ryan. Give me tonight before…” Her voice cracks and it breaks my heart in two.

“Josie, I…”

She swallows my words whole, her kiss hungry and urgent. It feels like a goodbye—and a flash of terror hits me. I never want to say goodbye.

We discard the rest of our clothes and fall into bed together. If she doesn’t want to talk, I’ll just have to show her how I feel. As I press my lips to her jaw and down her neck, I hope she knows I’m saying,You’re everything I want.And as I skim my hand down the curve of her waist, I hope she hears,You’re beautiful.

My other hand sliding into her hair is me saying,I never want to lose you, and my lips pressing right above her heart mean,I’ll do anything for you.

Somehow, I think she understands, because she’s opening up to me like a flower, relaxing and unfurling as I touch and taste and stroke. And by the time she’s rolling on the condom, her expression is open and her eyes are fixed on mine, unguarded and trusting and so beautiful my own eyes fill with tears.

I roll her on her back and she parts her legs for me, eager and ready, and as I press inside her I hope she knows I’m saying,I love you, even though I haven’t dared to say it out loud yet. We move together and I can’t tell where I end and she begins—we’re one body, warm skin and mingled sighs.

And even though she doesn’t want my words, I need to say them anyway.

“Josie.” My voice is rough, and I interlace our fingers, holding her in place. “Josie, look at me.”

She does, and goes completely still.

Gazing into her bottomless eyes, I say the words I hope she’s ready to hear. “No matter where I go, if I’m two hours or two thousand miles away, I’m yours.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks away.

“Josie,” I say again, and she slowly lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I’m yours. Always.”

The tears roll down her cheeks, but this time, she doesn’t look away.

“Always,” I whisper.

She doesn’t speak, but I see her lips form the word:Always.

—

After, when Josie’sasleep in my bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

I thought I was doing the right thing, the brave thing, putting her needs and wants over mine. I thought I was sacrificingforher. But what if I’m sacrificingher? Us. The future we could’ve had together.

I look down and watch her sleeping. She’s curled on her side, her hair a cascade of chestnut-brown waves across my pillow. How did I ever consider moving more than a hundred miles away from this woman? It’s madness. Sure, we could try to make long-distance work, but why would I even want to?

I thought it might be good to give Josie space and time, like my mom suggested. But maybe that’s not what Josie needs. Maybe she needs to know—really know, down to her core—that I’m not going anywhere, so she can trust her heart with me.

Josie stirs in her sleep and says something that sounds like my name.

“I’m here,” I whisper.

She exhales, her eyes still closed, and mumbles, “Oh, good.”

I hold my breath, hoping she’ll say more. That she’ll tell mewhat I can do to make this right. But she’s asleep again, and I know it’s unfair of me to expect her to fix this. I made this mess—because I’ve been terrified the girl I love wouldn’t be able to love me if I was the one who stole her dream.

For years, I’ve been happy to facilitate love stories for customers or read love stories about fictional characters. But all along, I’ve been trying to protect myself. Wanting the guaranteed happy ending without any of the risk.

This is a decision point, like Nora said. I can choose to let circumstances or fears come between us, pulling us in different directions, allowing us to slowly drift apart despite our best efforts to stay connected.

Or I can choose to fight forus.I don’t want our story to end like those tragic novels Josie loves, where the author tries to console the reader by insisting that sorrow and despair are more profound and meaningful than joy. I want a different kind of ending, the kind that’s like another beginning, a story that will hopefully continue for the rest of our lives.

I’m tempted to grab my phone and text Gretchen that I can’t take the job after all, but I won’t make another rash decision without talking to Josie. I’ll find another job in Boston, beg Xander to reconsider—anything. I owe it to Josie to try. I owe it tomyself, too.

I yawn, suddenly feeling bone tired, and slip my arm around Josie, who sighs and curls closer.

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