Page 214 of True Blue

“You keep biting that lip, you’re going to make me do something drastic,” I rumble quietly to Indie once I’m close enough.

Her worried face softens and she storms toward me and then she’s in my arms, hers wrapped around my neck, mine around her waist, pulling her flush against me.

“What happened?”

Pulling back, I keep one arm around her waist, and the other cradles her face, tilting it up so that she can meet my eyes.

“I told the truth.”

“The whole truth?”

I wink. “And nothing but the truth—that you are the love of my life. That Nana adored you. That you are my Indie, the greatest woman I’ve ever known.”

“Biased,” she whispers.

“Maybe,” I shrug. “Still doesn’t make it any less true, baby.”

I press my lips to hers, savoring the softness of her mouth and the scent of her skin. For one brief second, everything disappears, and all I know is Indie.

“Thank you, Teddy.”

“I’d do anything for you, Indie.”

She leans back and looks at me for a long moment.

Then she smiles.

“I believe that.”

42

INDIE

MARCH

“What was that bird you called me?”

My mouth curves into a smile as I’m instantly transported back to that day in September. Both of us in this same little café, our fourteenth not-date that we were absolutely counting as such.

It was one of the best days of my life. The first time Teddy showed me his art, the first time we kissed, the first time we said I love you.

It’s strange thinking back to that version of myself, because I loved him then. I adored him then. But sitting here now, across from this Teddy, I realize I love this version of him even more.

Not because he was weak then. I don’t think Teddy was ever truly weak; I think he was just scared of so many things.

He’s not scared in that same way any longer. There is a steadiness to him now that wasn’t there before, a strength he earned by doing the hard thing again and again, even when it hurt.

Now he’s allowed to be Teddy—my Teddy bear—and that’s good enough.

“An albatross,” I chuckle, sipping my half-iced tea, half-lemonade.

Like last time, I mixed the drinks together in our cups, Arnold Palmer style. When I passed Teddy his, his eyes went soft and fond, both of us falling into the same memory.

“Your mind has always fascinated me,” Teddy says, smiling as he slides his hand across the small table.

I place mine in his and squeeze, loving the feel of his callused artist’s hands around mine. He was thankfully able to take some time off from school, and his teachers were very understanding when he explained why he needed the week. His illustration teacher, Mr. Monty, even said that as long as Teddy keeps sketching throughout the week and brings everything back to show him, he’ll count it as a grade.

“You know something else about albatrosses?”