Page 92 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Epilogue

ALEC

The front door of my apartment building opens, sending a brisk chill across the room and making me shiver. I don’t normally get the mail in only my undershirt and boxers, but I also don’t normally lack the energy to put on clothes when I know that once I get back to my place they won’t be on for very long.

My neighbor from 3F smirks at me as I wave with the hand that’s gripping my mail. When he takes the elevator, I bound up the stairs, determined to get there before he does.

When I get to my floor, soft music is floating down the hall. The sound has me racing to my apartment.

My girl’s playing the piano.

Theresa startles a little when I open the door, but it doesn’t affect the melody she starts adding into the song. She’s not using sheet music, not that she needs to, and she’s playing with only a blanket wrapped around her waist. The sight and sound mixed together makes my mouth run dry, and I miss the counter completely as I drop the handful of mail.

“You do love me,” I say in a hushed, reverent tone. She smiles before turning her attention back to the keyboard and tumbling her talented fingers into a glissando.

I cross the room, taking the spot next to her near the bass end. She told me that her favorite spot is underneath me; well, mine is right here.

“I did say I’d play for you if you did the auction for me,” she says, leaning in to tap her forehead against mine. Her fingers don’t break from the notes once, and I shake my head, in total awe at how second-nature this talent is for her.

I don’t want her to stop, but I can’t help but touch her wrist, feel the tendons as she works the music. My lips find her bare shoulder, grazing over her skin and causing her to play an imperfect note, her first.

An amused chuckle shakes me, and I move my mouth to her neck, kissing and caressing and whispering near her skin. The more I tease her, the more mistaken flats and sharps enter her playing. She starts growling, the vibrations making my lips tremble as they come in contact with her soft, precious skin.

“You are not going to get a stellar concert if you keep that up.”

“It sounds good to me,” I say, and nip at her ear.

“Liar.” She turns her head, her hands pausing on the keys. Her full lips meet mine, and she sends me to heaven and back in no time at all. I place a hand on her neck, my thumb resting against her lovely jawline just to keep her close for a little longer.

“Play with me?” she asks, locking her fingers with mine and pulling them down to the keys. My hands aren’t as practiced as hers, and most of the time we play together I’ll taper off and let her do the finale of whatever song we choose. I plan to do that this time, until she starts the intro to the song she wrote for me.

I grin, silently laughing at her song of choice before hitting the bass notes, and then moving up into the melody as she plays the accompaniment with her own Theresa flair. She loops her arm under mine to reach some of the notes, our forearms grazing, the music in perfect cadence with our relationship. When the notes reach the chorus, I sing it to her,forher, low and soft and completely humbled that she’s chosen me to be the other half of her life’s duet.

“I love you,” she whispers. The joy that envelops my pounding heart obliterates any pain it’s ever felt. I take her precious hand and press my lips to her knuckles, kissing each and every one.

“Marry me.”

She lifts her head from my shoulder, her eyes wide but not surprised. Which is ironic, because I sure as hell am. I have no ring, no plan, no elaborate gesture that displays my deepest affections. Yet I’m not going to take it back. I’ve known from the moment I fell in love with her that if I was ever lucky enough to have that love reciprocated, I’d hold on to it forever.

Her beautiful eyes close, eyelashes sweeping the tops of her cheeks as a smile slowly stretches across her pink lips.

“Of course.”

The last piece of the cement surrounding my heart chips off. She leans in for another kiss and I smile against her lips.

“You can use that three grand on us after all,” I tease, which gets me a much-deserved punch in the shoulder. I cup her cheeks and press our mouths together, turning us from playful to passionate in seconds.

It’s true what they say—you can’t be friends with someone you’re in love with. But the person you’re in love with should be your friend.

And so I pick up my best friend and carry her off, letting our friendship turn into a forever.

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