Page 140 of It's Always Been You
“I’ve missed your voice, too.” Grinning shyly, I shimmy back to rest against the headboard and kick my boots off. They land on the floor with a gentle thump. “How are you?”
“Did you really call me just to make small talk?”
I fiddle with a loose strand of yarn on the blanket. “No.”
He’s silent for another moment. I hear his bed creak. His sheets shift. “Did you get my flowers?”
“Yes,” I say, touched as I survey the room, overflowing with my favorite blooms.
He’s quiet for another moment. “You read my letter,” he surmises.
“I did,” I whisper, swallowing the emotion suddenly clogging my throat.
“Mmm,” he repeats sleepily, then yawns. I smile. “And?”
“And?”
“What did you think?”
“I thought it was beautifully written,” I tease. “I never fancied you a writer.”
He chuckles. “That was hardlypoetry.”
“No, but it was perfect.”
“Hm. I’m glad you think so.”
“Hey, Brandon?”
“Yeah, Genevieve?”
I’m quiet for a moment, wondering how to proceed. It occurred to me while reading his letter that I’ve never actually said the words he so obviously needs to hear.
“Evie?”
“Yes, I’m here,” I assure him, clearing my throat. “And I just wanted to say . . . that I forgive you. I’m sorry I’ve never said it before. I forgave you a long time ago.”
I hear him swallow. It takes him a second to respond. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“I know. And I love you,” I add.
“I love you more,” he murmurs, his voice pained.
Not possible.“I miss you.”
“I miss you more.”
My insides twist with longing. I press the device closer to my ear, hoping in vain that the closer his voice feels, the less I’ll miss him. “If it’s any consolation, experiencing the city of love kind of sucks when you’re single.”
He chuckles. The sound is deep and throaty and intimate, and my toes curl as a bashful blush warms my face and ears. “We’ll go together one day.”
That simple promise holds a thousand others. The anticipation of a future together—a future that feels closer than ever—makes me feel so weightless that I’m worried I might start levitating above the bed.
“Are you coming home now?” he wonders. He sayshomelike he’s referring to his waiting arms—and I guess that wherever he is, there my heart is, too, and that’s home enough for me.
“Yes. I’m coming home.”
He sighs. “Good.”
