Page 118 of Forbidden Fruit
“Please,” I whisper, like it’s a prayer. “Blair, ask me.”
A beat. A breath.
Then, quietly, “Would you choose me?”
I take another step forward, and then another, until she’s right there. Close enough to feel her breath. Close enough to fall to my knees if I have to.
“Yes,” I say. “I would choose you.”
I cup her face, trembling.
“I’d choose you at that ball, and every day before it. I’d choose you in every version of my life, the broken ones, theones where I’m still figuring out, the ones where I don’t even deserve you, I’d still find you. I’d still want you.”
She doesn’t move. But I see the way her lips part, just slightly. As if I’m making it hard for her to breathe.
“I’d choose you when it’s easy and when it’s hard. When the world is against us, or when it’s just us in the quiet. I’d choose you when I’m angry, when I’m stubborn, when I’m lost. I’d choose you when you’re crying on the kitchen floor or laughing in the sun. I’d choose you in my next life, and the one after that, and the one after that.”
I rest my forehead against hers.
“I’d choose you in the smallest ways, like making sure you eat, memorizing all of your favorite lines in Barbie. Knowing when you need silence instead of words. And in the biggest ways, like changing my whole damn life to be worthy of standing next to you. Fighting for you. Standing in front of you if I have to. Because I should’ve said this that night, Blair, but I see it now: you were never the question.” I kiss her knuckles. “You’ve always been the answer.”
She stares at me like I’ve just cracked open something she’s spent months trying to bury. Then she lets out a shaky breath, eyes glinting through the tears.
“Fuck, Cal,” she says hoarsely. “When did you become such a poet?”
I don’t hesitate.
“When I realized I’d lost my muse.”
Her breath catches.
My hand slides to her waist, fingers flexing slightly like I’m reminding myself she’s real. Here. With me.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she tilts her head just enough for her hair to fall over her shoulder, and I can smell the familiar warmth of her skin. Her breathing’s uneven now and shallow
Her fingers brush against my chest, hesitant but lingering.
“Admit it,” I whisper, my voice dipping lower, darker. A promise and a dare all at once. “You missed me.”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
Her silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we haven’t said.
And then, finally, finally, she exhales a soft, resigned laugh, one hand fisting gently in my shirt like she’s trying not to fall but knows she already has.
“You drive me crazy,” she whispers, so quietly it barely exists.
I grin, leaning in just enough that she can feel the heat coming off my skin, just enough that if she moved half an inch, our mouths would touch.
“Good,” I breathe. “Because you drive me insane.”
She closes her eyes for a second, just one. When she opens them, she’s already gone for me, and we both know it.
“Tell me again,” she whispers. “Tell me you’d choose me.”
I press my forehead to hers again, every word I say stitched with a vow I’ll spend forever proving:
