Page 132 of Booked on You
“Yeah? Why?”
“Because what if you don’t like the ending?”
“I’m sure I’m going to love it,” he encourages. “As long as it was happy.”
“It always ends happily,” I tell him. “I don’t write tragedies.”
“You don’t have to live them, either,” he says, brushing his fingers on the outside of my arm. We settle back into comfortable silence, wrapped up in each other and the afterglow of what we just shared. Every touch feels electric. We stay in bed for a while longer, just holding each other and existing in this perfect bubble. My eyes grow tired, and I drift off with him.
I don’t know how long I’m out, but when I wake up, he’s watching me. “Was I snoring?”
“Like a princess,” he says with a laugh. “How was your nap?”
“Great. I’ve never slept so well with anyone else. You’re so comfy,” I tell him.
By the time we’re dressed and back in the living room, the sun is hanging lazily on the horizon. I stand on the deck and look out at the ocean, feeling something shift inside me.
I turn to find Ezra watching me from the doorway.
He crosses to me and wraps his arms around me from behind. “What are you thinking about?”
“I don’t want to stay here anymore.”
He laughs. “You actually want to leave?”
“I want to enjoy my time in Charleston. I love that town.” I turn in his arms to face him. “I finished my book, and I’m done hiding at the beach like we did something wrong. I want to explore Charleston with you.”
His eyes search mine. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I feel fiercer saying it out loud. “We posted those photos because we wanted to be honest about ourselves. Let them take pictures. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Mm. Claiming me?”
“Damn straight.” I smile against his lips.
“We can leave first thing tomorrow morning,” he promises me, tucking my hair behind my ears.
We spend the rest of the evening drinking wine.
Later, we fall asleep tangled together, and I dream about Charleston.
When morning comes, I wake up before him and just watch him sleep. His hair is messy, there’s stubble along his jaw, and he looks so peaceful that I almost don’t want to wake him.
“Mm.” I brush hair off his forehead.
He shifts, and his eyes flutter open. “Morning.”
My hands roam down his body, and I feel how hard he is. “I want you,” I whisper.
“I need you,” he says.
We make love before we leave. Afterward, we load the car, and then he locks up. I take one last look at the deck whereI wrote the final chapters of my book and feel grateful for this solitude.
The drive back to Charleston feels different from the drive here. The windows are down, music is playing, and I have my hand out the window, letting the wind rush through my fingers. Everything seems brighter, like I’m seeing the world in HD instead of the fog I’ve been living in.
His hand finds mine, and he brings it to his lips. “You’re so pretty.”
“You are, too.”
