Page 111 of Making It Burn
Beau,
I’ve never been good with words.Not important ones, anyway.I can argue a case in front of a jury, can draft a brief that wins appeals, but when it comes to telling you how I feel, I always seem to fall short.
So, I’m writing this down.All of it.
I love you.
I love the way you make me laugh, even when I’m stressed about work.I love how you take your coffee with exactly two stirs, never three.I love your jokes and your ridiculous optimism and the way you see the best in everyone, even people who don’t deserve it.
I love how brilliant you are—how you can take apart an argument with surgical precision, how you never give up on a case even when it seems impossible.I love how passionate you get about justice, about doing the right thing, about fighting for people who can’t fight for themselves.
I love waking up next to you, and the way you steal the covers and always hit snooze three times.I love making you coffee and watching you come alive as you drink it.I love our quiet mornings and our late-night conversations and every single moment in between.
But more than anything, I love who I am when I’m with you.
You make me braver.You make me want to be better—not just as an attorney, but as a person.You challenge me and support me and somehow make me feel like I can do anything as long as you’re by my side.
I’m sorry it took me so long to say this out loud.I’m sorry I was too scared to claim you, to show the world how lucky I am to have you.I’m sorry for every moment I made you feel like you were something to hide instead of something to celebrate.But I’m done hiding.I’m done being afraid.
You asked me to prove that I’m all in, and I promise you—I am.Completely.Irrevocably.Forever.You are my home, Beau Thatcher.And no matter where life takes us, I will always find my way back to you.
I love you, and always will.
Merry Christmas.
-Mason
By the time Beau finished reading, tears were streaming down his face.
“Mason,” he choked out.“This is—”
“Too much?”
“Perfect.”He set the letter down carefully in its box, then launched himself at me, kissing me hard.“It’s perfect.You’re perfect.I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”I held him tight, feeling his tears wet against my neck.“Merry Christmas, baby.”
“This is the best Christmas ever,” he whispered.
Epilogue
Beau- One Year Later
Mason squeezed my hand as we walked up the front steps of my parent’s house, and I squeezed back.
“Ready?”he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”I straightened his tie—a nervous habit I’d picked up over the past year.“You sure you want to do this?We could just turn around and go home.Order pizza.Paint another room in the new house.”
Mason laughed.“Tempting.But your mother would never forgive us.”
“My mother doesn’t forgive anything, anyway.”
“Good point.”He kissed me quickly.“But we’re celebrating.Partnership.The house.Us.And if we have to suffer through a dinner party to do it, then we suffer together.”
“Together,” I agreed.
Before I could knock, the door swung open.Gracie stood there, her ancient face creasing into what might have been a smile.
