Page 111 of You Again

I should jump for joy, scoop her up, then ask what all this means—but I can’t. I’m too afraid to move. So, I sit still and silent. My body frozen, her words replaying in my head.

“I think,” she says with a swallow, “that sometime in the last six years, I probably learned to make a move.”

I shift, lifting one brow, trying to decipher what she means.

Rosalie slides her chair back, standing, her skirt wafting in a breeze. I scoot out from beneath the table, ready to follow her. But Rosalie walks over and stands right in front of me, peering down, her bright blue eyes shining like beacons. Turning slightly, she sits on my lap. I wrap one arm around her back, keeping her upright and steady. She cups one hand to my cheek, those beckoning eyes searching mine before she closes the gap between us and presses her lips to mine.

I tug her closer and concentrate on the softness of her lips and the sweetness of her breath. Rosalie. My Rosalie.

“I don’t remember,” she says, her lips brushing mine, the warmth from her breath drifting over my skin. “But my heart longs for yours. You weren’t the only one waiting. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“I’d wait for you again and again.” Truly, there’s nothing to forgive. And I’ll tell her as much.

Right after I kiss her.

Epilogue

Six Months Later

Rosalie lies on my couch, her feet in my lap. She reads her book and I read mine. It’s called the perfect evening.

A small hum escapes her, and I glance over from my page. She’s more interesting anyway.

“Do you remember when we drove five hundred miles in one weekend—up the California coast and back? Just the two of us.”

I stare at her. Is she kidding? Did she really just ask that?

I wrap one hand around her ankle and gently squeeze. It’s enough to get her to look at me. “I remember. Do you?”

Her eyes widen. “No. Duh.”

“Then—”

“Fran told me,” she says. “Would you hate doing that again? I want to do that.”

I hold out a hand toward her, and when she slips her fingers into mine, I pull her up and into my lap. “Of course I wouldn’t hate doing that again. I’d love it.” I peck her lips and wait for her to tell me more.

“I’m just not sure when we can go.” She sighs. “I can’t wait to watch you play this weekend.”

“Yeah,” I say, unable to keep the anxiousness from my tone. “First game back.”

“It’s going to be great. You’re fantastic.”

“Says the woman who has no memory of watching me play.” I brush my fingers over the bottom of her bare feet.

She squirms, her legs pulling in at the knees. “Hey!” She laughs. “There are some things a girl just knows.” She rests her legs back down and sighs. “When will your schedule let up?”

“I’ll have a weekend open in a couple weeks. Could you take a day off school? I know state testing is coming up. All those Tesoro third graders need to be ready.”

“Oh, they’re ready. That sounds perfect.” She falls back so that she’s lying down once more. “I think that would be a wonderful time for you to propose.” She lifts her eyes from the upside-down novel in her hands. “Unless you want me to propose this time. I know you said that I made you ask a few times before… It is probably my turn.”

Probably her turn? My mouth is slack and my brows cinched. I keep waiting for her to laugh at the joke or to wake me.

“What do you think?” she says, blue eyes glancing up from the book she isn’t reading.

I reach for her wrist and tug her back up. “Did you just say that you’d like to propose to me?”

“I said it might be my turn. If you want to do it⁠—”