Page 164 of I Think They Love You

Clumsily, Denz strides forward. He tugs Braylon down untiltheir foreheads press together. Until Braylon can taste the salty tears on his lips when he whispers, “Yes.”

He kisses Braylon. Soft and achy. Quiet like a thunderstorm passing. Loud like Julia Roberts’s laugh in every rom-com. Memorable like Athens and London and Atlanta.

Like everywhere they’ve been, together or apart.

Denz has never cared about the place. The destination.

Because this is them.

This ishome.

Epilogue

Seven Months Later

“I hope you know,” Jordan is saying via FaceTime, his voice low and earnest, “I’m risking my life getting you this info. This is treason.”

“It’soneingredient,” Denz argues.

“That Auntie Leena hasn’t shared withanyone!”

“But she clearly shared it with your mom.”

Jordan and Auntie Cheryl might not be exactly alike—mainly because Jordan cankeep a secret—but their ability to extract classified information from a reliable source is god-tier.

“Cuz,” Denz says, lifting his phone from where it was propped against a mug with a Union Jack design, making sure Jordan has a clear view of his face, “remember when you were fourteen? At the Sedwicks’ first wedding? When you—”

“Don’t you finish that story.” Jordan’s warm brown cheeks are glowing. “Extortion? Seriously, who are you?”

Denz grins arrogantly. “I’m a Carter.”

Jordan lets out a long, low breath. “Lemon extract.”

“Sorry, what?”

“The secret ingredient to your mom’s sweet potato pie is—” Jordan pauses. His eyes dance around his surroundings, as if there might be trained mercenaries hiding in the shadows, waiting to kidnap and subject him to sleep deprivation or waterboarding for uttering two words again. “—lemon extract.”

“You’re fucking kidding. That’sit?”

Denz is offended. Years and years of failed pies. Cheap replicas of his mom’s greatest bake. A lifetime of secrets for…lemon extract?

“If you narc on me,” Jordan warns, pulling at the collar of his Ralph Lauren wool sweater like he can already imagine Leena’s hands around his neck, “I’ll lie. I’ll disavow. I’ll—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Denz returns his phone to its former position on the quartz kitchen countertop. Afternoon sunbeams flood through the apartment’s windows. It’s a sharp contrast to the green sofa in Jordan’s background.

Heknowsthat sofa.

“Gotta go, cuz,” Jordan says. “I have—um. Things to, yeah.”

Denz squints, waiting for Jordan to elaborate.

Instead, Jordan shouts, “Bye, Braylon!”

Off camera, to Denz’s left, comes an enthusiastic “See you soon, Jordan!”

Denz rolls his eyes. He says, “Jordan? Tell Jamie he owes me a text.” The face on the other side of the screen freezes: wide-eyed, mouth hanging open. “And for the love of God, please don’t fuck in my old bed.”

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