Page 95 of After Everything
"We will." His voice was certain. "We will, Emma. I promise."
I let myself believe him. Just for this moment. Just for right now.
"You really turned down two million dollars," I said.
He laughed, and the sound was so genuine, so full of relief and joy that it made my chest ache. "I really did."
"You're an idiot."
"Probably." He kissed me again, soft and sweet. "But I'm your idiot. If you'll have me."
I thought about all the reasons this was a terrible idea. All the ways this could gowrong. All the hurt and betrayal and broken trust we'd have to work through.
And then I thought about the way he'd looked at me four days ago in the clinic. The way he'd turned down New York without even telling me about it. The way he'd saidI'm staying herelike it was the easiest decision he'd ever made.
"One day at a time," I said.
"One day at a time," he agreed.
I kissed him again. Because I could. Because he was here, and I was here, and maybe—just maybe—we could find our way back to each other.
Slowly. Carefully. One day at a time.
But we'd try.
And for now, that was enough.
EPILOGUE: EMMA
ONE YEAR LATER
"You're going to be late for your own celebration," David called from the kitchen.
"Two minutes!" I fastened my earrings—the vintage silver ones he'd found at a flea market last month, just because—and grabbed my heels. "And it's notmycelebration."
"You just got promoted to Director of Clinical Services." He appeared in the doorway, looking unfairly good in jeans and the henley I'd bought him. "That's literally your celebration."
"It's a work party. There's a difference."
He crossed the room and pulled meagainst him. "You're running the entire DV program for three clinics now. Let me be proud of you."
"Fine." I kissed him, meaning for it to be quick, but he deepened it until I forgot about the party entirely. "David?—"
"I know, I know." He pulled back, grinning. "Can't help it. You're hot when you're successful."
"I'm always successful."
"Exactly."
I laughed, grabbing my purse. Our apartment—ourapartment, the two-bedroom we'd chosen together six months ago—was warm and lived-in. David's law books mixed with my medical journals. His coffee maker next to my tea collection. The engagement ring on my finger catching the light.
Yeah. That had happened fast.
Three months ago, he'd proposed in the middle of a Wednesday, while we were cooking dinner. No grand gesture, no big speech. Just "I want to marry you again. Better this time. Will you let me?" while holding a vintage sapphire ring he'd savedfor months to buy—nothing like the first one.
I'd said yes before he finished asking.
"Jess texted," David said, helping me into my coat. "She's already at the bar with Marcus, and she says if we're late to your own celebration, she's giving your table to someone else."
