Page 100 of Pick Me
When we both finally came in a tangle of limbs and staggered breaths, I felt all of my stress and worry finally settle.
It didn’t go away—I wasn’t fool enough to think there was an easy fix for it, and I knew I needed to continue to take my mental health seriously—but I knew I would have someone on my side as I battled it in the future.
“You know,” I murmured sleepily. “I practiced a whole speech on the way here.”
“You practiced?” Gage sounded delighted.
“Naturally. I wanted it to sound right. I wanted it to be…”
“Efficient?” he teased.
“Convincing.”
“Baby.” He lifted his head and kissed me. “I was already convinced.”
“Mmm.” I kissed him back. “Convenient, that.”
“But, you know, you shouldn’t let your speech go to waste.” He stacked his hands on my chest and rested his chin there. “I find myself with free time and open ears.”
I snickered. “Well. First, I was going to talk about all the ways you make me a happier person. A better person. A less afraid person. About how your joy is contagious. About how it doesn’t matter that I’m older than you because I learn things from you every damn day. About how amazing it is—literally, Gage, I’m amazed—that you know I’m a grumpy, anxious ass and you like me anyway—”
He laughed.
“And then, I was going to tell you that I like how I can talk to you about things I can’t say to anyone else. And how you showed me that my job isn’t my purpose in life. And how you introduced me to the concept of the trust bubble, and I want to be back inside it.”
Gage shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “You never left it.”
“But really, the main point I wanted to make was that I love you. And I don’t want to spend a single day without you. So we can go to Boston or New York if you want that. You can redecorate my condo, or we’ll buy a new one. I’ll pick out all your suits. Maybe I’ll do some consulting—”
“Consulting?”
“Yeah. I…” I swallowed because it was still hard to say the words even though I knew they were right. “I’m not going back to Bormon Klein Jacovic. I loved that job, but… it’s not a job I can do well if I want to have time for other things in my life. Like handling the books at Sunday Orchard. Like staying connected to my family. Like helping my boyfriend build his multi-kabillion-dollar Pipsy empire while he takes over Rubicon single-handedly. Like building a life together with him.”
Gage huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “God, baby. But I don’t want the Rubicon job. I’m calling to cancel the interview. I want to stay in the Hollow. Because I finally figured out that I can learn all I need to learn righthere. But I don’t want you to give up your dream either.”
“What is it you told me not twenty minutes ago?” I asked lazily. “Something along the lines of ‘Youarethe dream’?”
“Probably. Sounds intelligent.”
“Well, I feel exactly the same. I’ll pick you every time.”
“And I pick Little Pippin Hollow,” he informed me, this man I loved with my whole heart, who loved me back in equal measure, and I felt the rightness ofthatchoice settle into me, too. “This is where we belong.”
I pushed back his tangled mop from his face and leaned up to kiss him. “Then this is where we’ll stay. For good.”
Epilogue
Gage
~about four months later~
Beale:Hey, everyone! Sorry to hijack the group chat, but I’ve got a little limpkin over here who needs some extra love this weekend. Anyone wanna volunteer to help me out?
When my brother’s text hit my phone, I was already sitting outside The Bugle, Little Pippin Hollow’s most beloved town bar, with my breath fogging in the air as I tried to get a cell signal. Since all my family and friends got together for football games every Saturday (and Sunday, plus the occasional Monday and Thursday), text chatting or FaceTiming at halftime meant I could talk to all of them at once, which was handy. Since Ernest, the owner of The Bugle, happened to serve the best collection of hard cider in all of New England, this meant I could be adequately prepared to converse with the strange collection of personalities on the Key, which was even handier.
Still, when I read Beale’s text, I had to wonder if the half glass I’d drunk before coming outside was a little stronger than usual, because I couldn’t fathom what the hell he was talking about.
It turned out I was not the only one.
