Page 113 of The Fate Factor

“Yes.” I peel myself out from under his chin and push to my toes, kissing him with each, “Yes. Yes. Yes.” I knew he would, but when he parts his lips and kisses me back, I finally go warm with relief. Jamie’s hands go to my waist, lifting me for a better fit, and it’s familiar and safe, and the nerves disappear. He’s choosing me back and I already know I can trust him.

“I said no, by the way,” he says against my mouth, and I pull away just enough to see him. “To NEBev. To Wes. I’m not selling Fortune.”

My breath rushes out and I sink against him.

He laughs. “Relieved?”

I want to admit that I’ve been hoping and praying he would say this, but instead I play it cool. This has always been his decision even if he kept trying to give other people a say. Even me. Especially me. “Areyourelieved?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Then I am too.”

“Can I take you out on a date?” he asks, valiantly trying to keep up this game in between the kissing and touching. “I’m getting an award in a few days. There’s a dinner.”

I wipe my hand under my nose and sniff. “Sounds impressive.”

“I’m kind of a big deal around here,” he says. He gives me the Jamie Smile, complete with a wink. My legs turn to jelly. “Hope that doesn’t scare you off.”

I laugh, delighted. “I would love to go to dinner with you.”

He rolls his hips against my stomach mischievously, but it’s the look on his face that melts me—relief, love. “Fuck, I missed you, Noe.”

“You just met me.”

He laughs and squeezes me tighter. “I think I’ve been missing you my whole life.”

Six Months Later

Noel

Jamiesaidoncethatopportunities get bigger the more of them you take, and it turns out so do the nerves. Big, dinosaur-sized butterflies nest in my stomach as I stare out the kitchen window. The peony stalks in Nana’s—my—garden are six inches high, and a trio of chickadees hop around the grass in front of them searching for worms. It’s spring, and today is the mural unveiling at Cara Bean. I have to present my first professional commission to the world, or at least the city, and there’s been a slight tremble in my fingers since I woke up before the sun did.

I hear the bedroom door open, then the wood floors creak as Jamie steps into the kitchen behind me. He hasn’t slept at his apartment since we crashed there after going out on New Year’s Eve. He’s becoming a little bit of a homebody, actually.

“You have to get ready soon,” he says.

“I know.”

His lips sweep my cheek on his way to the fridge for an energy drink. He’s still in pajama pants and bare feet, bed head raging. He’s clearly in no hurry, but that’s because I have to leave before he does.

I stretch my arms over my head and gaze at the new tattoo on his back. The iris I drew months ago centered between his shoulder blades. He had me recreate it on paper, and he got it permanently done a few weeks ago.

“What time will you be there?” I ask, chewing my lip. I’ve kept my promise to be braver over the past few months. I’m already contracted for another mural job. It’s at the second Fortune location that Jamie and Wes are opening this fall in Kennebunkport, so I had a bit of a leg up in the process, but I’ve also been doing watercolor tutorials on my website, and I finally gave Vi an official three month notice so I could focus on my Etsy store.

Still, when the nerves do start in, it’s him I seek out. Because he’s always there. And he always makes it better.

Jamie likes to say our nervous systems are perfect partners. When mine is an anxious mess—like during that call to Vi or the day my mother texted to say she’d lost her passport while in the Philippines—he reaches into his devil-may-care heart and transfuses his calm into my veins.

And when his is fried and unfocused, I lend him my executive functions until he can resurface. Jamie’s busier than ever, even though he’s only behind the bar in the event of a staff shortage. Getting his second location up and running iswork.But we have nights, and all winter we’ve had weekends until the festival season ramps up again. And we take care of each other instinctually, our jagged parts fitting into each other like puzzle pieces.

I’ve come to believe that is what a soulmate really is.

Now, he steps behind me, kissing my shoulder. “I’ll be there before anyone else.”

I nod and take a deep breath, transfusion complete. “Okay. I’d better get ready.”

The ceremony goes off without a hitch. There’s a mimosa bar and Cara made all of the pastries herself. When it’s time to cut the oversized ribbon she ordered to wrap around all three buildings, Cara makes a speech. She says it’s like I read her mind with my design. Like I saw inside her head and painted her thoughts. I don’t actually know if Cara is aware of my brief psychic powers (it hasn’t happened again) or if it was a wild coincidence that she chose to phrase it that way, but it felt like the past and the future tying together in a pretty bow.

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