Page 132 of Her Goal
“I wrote you an email as recently as this month.”
“You were asking about advice for your friend.” I wink.
“That’s also me.”
“I know.”
Her lips part. “Once, when you replied to me, you wrote those very words. So you did know it was me?”
“To be honest, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. I know you, Leah, and you’re not truly hateful. You were hurt.”
Liquid brims in her eyes.
“Can I hug you?” I ask.
“In front of my family? No. They’ll take photos.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
She shrugs. “One step at a time.” Then she tips her head from side to side and leans in, wrapping her arms around me.
I draw her close, flush against my chest, enveloping her in my arms and making a space just for her, a place where she fits, feels at home, safe, and loved. Her curves meld to my muscles and a question about how well two people can fit together—that I never had—is answered.
We just do.
I whisper, “The only letters I want now are from my not-so-secret admirer. At least one a month.”
“It’s more of a spontaneous thing.”
We both laugh, but given the smirk on her face, I have a feeling she’s going to be channeling her hate for me into something else.
After dessert, which includes plenty ofpolvorosas,everyone says goodnight … slowly. It takes at least three more hours. This family knows how to party and I am here for it.
After I thank everyone for their hospitality and learn that there were four doctors and seven nurses present in case anyone was poisoned, I find Leah in the front yard wrapped in toilet paper like a mummy and chasing a gaggle of little cousins.
She comes to a stop when she sees me and starts balling up the toilet paper. “Don’t be too still. They’re small but stronger than they look and they’ll get you.”
I don’t doubt it if they’re related to Leah. She’s got me, all right.
I assume, as per tradition, she’s not staying at my house, so I ask, “Do you need a ride somewhere or?—?”
“I’m sleeping here tonight.”
I nod, preparing to say goodnight. “Is there anything else I should know? Deep dark secrets?”
“No. How about you?”
“No skeletons in my closet. How are you feeling?”
She shrugs.
“Actually, there’s one. More of a current problem than a past one.”
She looks up at me, her eyes shining under the street light.
“You’re not wearing an engagement ring. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I’m willing to take the hit if you don’t want to marry?—”
She rapidly shakes her head. “I do want to marry you, Hudson.”
