Page 233 of Make the Play

And I can’t help it. I laugh.

Because somehow, I’m in love with a man who licked my shoulder in public and made it romantic. Who dedicated a celly song about age gaps to me just to piss me off.

Who tapedmy nameover his own jersey, and sends me white carnations every week now to match the one he tattooed on himself.

Who isn’t even a little afraid of how devastatingly in love he is with me.

And I’m not fixing that. Not polishing it, or packaging it, or forcing it to make sense.

I’m keeping it. That stupid, beautiful face who loves me through the wreckage.

And I’m going to love him for the rest of my fucking life.

Epilogue

You're blushing, Mrs Walton

Zoe – 4 months later

The aisle is lined with petals. Cream and blush and even a soft, dusky pink I used to say I hated, but somehow don’t anymore. They flutter gently in the spring breeze, catching on the edges of white folding chairs pulled into vague rows.

The backyard is quiet. Not in a weird way, more expectant. Paper streamers twist gently from the branches of the large oak tree, reminding me of similar decorations we saw at Enigma all those months ago.

I’m standing out of view with Lulu, waiting for the music to start. I exhale a slow and shaky breath, then smooth a hand over my dress. It’s not fancy, just a crisp white. Low neckline, spaghetti straps. Nothing sparkly or frilly or princessy.

Somewhere, music finally starts to play. Low and elegant, the kind of instrumental swell that makes your heart start to pound before your brain has caught up.

“You ready?” Lulu asks, stepping in beside me to fix the hem of my dress. She’s in pale sage-green, hair pinned back in that perfectly imperfect way only she can pull off.

“No,” I mutter. “I feel like I’m walking into a cult.”

She beams. “A cult with snacks and a dress code, so suck it up, buttercup.”

I shoot her a look, then glance down the aisle and catch the edge of his shoes at the end of the aisle. I amnotabout to make eye contact with him right now.

“You look kinda pale,” she adds.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

I shrug, my heart doing something it absolutely should not be doing, given the situation.

“I just—whatever. It’s stupid.”

“It’s adorable,” she corrects. “Also, I think he’s nervous too.”

“Who?” I ask, not trusting my voice to do anything but betray me.

Rolling her eyes she nudges me forward. “Who do you think?”

I don’t look right away, I can’t. Because I know Chase is standing at the end of the aisle. Ifeelhim standing there watching, waiting. And if I let myself look, I’m going to forget how to walk in a straight line.

Lulu squeezes my arm. “You’re gonna make him cry.”

“Good.”

I mean it as a joke, but the truth is my chest aches a little. This whole thing is ridiculous. The sun filtering through the trees, the petals. The murmuring hush that’s fallen over everyone as the music shifts and someone signals the start of the procession.

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