Page 147 of The Rebound
He tightens his grip, burrowing his face into my hair.
“Are we really going to do this?” I ask.
“We can try,” he murmurs. “Speaking in practical terms, you’re the only person I trust to do it with.”
“I am very good with plans,” I agree.
Luke pulls away just enough to look at me, wiping my cheek with his thumb.
“Jess says I’m an ugly crier,” I tell him.
“You’re a beautiful crier.”
“Liar.”
He smirks, dipping his head to kiss me softly. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “And smart and ambitious and brave and I love you. I want to wake up to you every morning and talk to you every day. I want to take you to dinner and meet your friends and teach you to drive. I wantyou, Abby Reynolds. All of you. For as long as you want me.”
My tears have stopped now, though they still make my vision swim as I gaze up at Luke, at everything he promises. And now I’m really getting a headache from all my crying and a stomachache from all my worrying but I don’t care. After so many weeks of not knowing who I was, or where I belonged, I’ve never felt more sure of anything than of this moment and of all the ones to come.
I rise on my toes, kissing him again as his arms slide around my back, holding me to him.
I love him and he loves me and we’re going to do this.
Together.
EPILOGUE
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
“I thought we left Canada to escape the snow,” Luke grumbles, peering out of the airport. He’s been in a bad mood ever since we boarded the plane, delayed for three hours due to the weather. The Irish weather. The Irish weather, which I’m pretty sure every Canadian I know would either laugh or cry at if they could see it now.
“I don’t think they’d call this snow.” I raise a hand to catch the soft flakes but he quickly grabs it, holding it to his side. “I was trying to have a Hallmark moment.”
“You’ll be complaining about how cold you are in two minutes.”
“But you love warming me,” I tease. I don’t pull away. I like it when he holds my hand, even when he’s grumpy.
“They’re not here,” he says. “Let’s go inside before you turn blue.”
I let him tug me back into the arrivals hall, his free hand pushing our luggage cart as we find a space over by a Sunglass Hut.
The airport is decked out for Christmas, with large twinkling trees and strands of tinsel and baubles everywhere you look. On the opposite side of the floor, a choir of schoolchildren sings their way through carols, making up for each off-key note with sheer exuberance, and a surprising number of people, including their pets, have dressed up in festive outfits for maximum embarrassment of arriving relatives. I look upon it all with a huge smile. Last year, we’d only been in Toronto a few months when Christmas came around and Luke was only a fewweeksinto his job at the sports clinic. We agreed it would be better if we stayed and got settled, meaning this is my first Christmas home in seven years, meaning I’m allowed to be a little indulgent.
“Do you see them?” Luke asks, scanning the hall. Before I can answer a cheer rises from the crowd as the next round of passengers emerges from baggage claim.
We watch a woman scream as she rushes into the arms of a man wearing reindeer ears.
Luke shakes his head. “People are weird at Christmas.”
“I think it’s nice.”
“Of course you do. If you had your way, we’d be wearing matching pajama sets to bed.”
“If I had my way, we wouldn’t be wearing anything to bed.”
I look up just in time to catch his smile. “Cheer up,” I say, nudging him.
“I’m sorry.” He sighs. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”
