Page 105 of Love is an Open Book
“It’s killing you not to.”
“And you’re loving it,” I grumble, but he puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“We’re here.” I fight the urge to tug off the blindfold, rewarded when he does it for me, loosening the knot with a gentle tug until the fabric slips free.
I’m startled to find we’re standing in the middle of a garden.
“Don’t be too harsh,” he says. “It’s a work in progress.”
I know a thing or two about those, but it doesn’t look like the early stages of a project. An arched entry swoops overhead, painted letters in bold hues proclaiming FIFTH STREET COMMUNITY GARDEN LIBRARY, and below, ALL ARE WELCOME.
The overgrown lot I pass by on my coffee-shop commute is now a beautiful garden with wrought iron benches placed under freshly planted trees along the paved paths. Flowering bushes frame the boundary, with a sprawling fountain made out of river rocks as the focal point.
“Gavin, it’s gorgeous.” A clear-front cabinet near the entrance catches my eye, and I walk over, peering inside at shelves lined with books. Some have well-loved covers, the colors faded, spines creased. Others look brand-new. I look around and see several more enclosed shelves along the path.
Overcome, I turn and find Gavin standing with hands in his pockets, bashful. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Thinking of it?” He bites his lip. “A long time. You helped me fall in love with reading, and I wanted to honor that by making a space where the community could gather and enjoy books.”
“So you’ve had this in the works for a while.” Legs feelingwobbly, I sit on a nearby bench and take it all in, unable to believe what he’s done in just a few days.
He palms his neck, looking shy. “Yes, long before I realized I was in love with you. But I think a part of me has always known.”
If I had to craft the perfect declaration of love, and I do, many times over, I couldn’t have come up with anything so perfect. But I don’t need to create this grand gesture, because Gavin already has, for me. I hold his words in my heart. Let them sink in and take root.
He comes closer and sits next to me. “I wanted to believe that what we had was just friendship. But with you, it’s both. I can’t separate how much I love spending time with you from how much I want to kiss you. Hold you. Make you mine. Once upon a time, my dad told me to never marry my best friend, but I never expected my best friend would be you.”
And that’s when I know with absolute certainty that I don’t want to settle for just okay. I want to be with the man who’s loved me in every season. Who’s always been a midnight text away.
Unable to bear even the smallest space between us, I scoot closer to him, awed by the beauty around us, the unrealized potential he brought to life. “I thought I needed to know how things would end to fall in love, but it turns out all I needed was to be on the journey with you.”
I’m surprised to feel so at ease confessing my feelings, but then again, I’ve never felt the need to censor myself around Gavin. Turning to him, I say, “I love you, Gavin, and I’m ridiculously happy every moment I’m with you.”
“Except when we’re telling the characters in rom-coms to just kiss already.”
“You’re right,” I tell him. “That’s downright blissful.”
He laughs and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I love you, Mia.”
“As a friend?” I can’t resist teasing, but his expression turns solemn, full of love and promise.
“As everything.”
Epilogue
Mia
The hammock sways as Gavin pivots the laptop to face me. Leaves rustle overhead, butterflies flitting between fragrant blossoms by the new greenhouse he put up this spring. “All you have to do is fire up the number generator.” After years of hearing me complain about the chore of naming characters, he finally suggested I make a list and choose one at random.
My arm is wedged beneath his, so I press my cheek against his shoulder. “You do the honors.” Obligingly, he navigates to the browser and inputs a number range of one to forty-three but doesn’t click the button.
“I can’t be the one to do it,” he says. “Don’t want to be responsible.”
“Oof, fine.” I leverage myself up, the woven rope of the hammock digging into my elbow as I tap the button and watch the spinning circle that’s about to decide the name of my next hero. “Twenty-five.” Falling back, I cover my eyes with my arm. “Please don’t let it be Legolas.” The elf’s name was Gavin’s sole, entirely unhelpful contribution to the list.
“If it’s Legolas, you’re using it. That’s the deal.”
“My publisher would veto.”
