Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(113)

She took a deep breath, her exhale so shaky, Stevie just wanted to kiss her, quiet her, but she knew Iris needed to get this out.

“I spent a lot of time,” Iris went on, “convincing myself I wasn’t built to last, wasn’t built for romance, for love. But maybe . . .” Tears bloomed into her eyes. “Maybe I was just built for you.”

Stevie’s heart swelled—that’s what it felt like, her chest expanding, making more room—and she smiled. She held Iris’s face and kissed her once . . . twice . . . then whispered against her mouth. “What offense, sweet Beatrice?”

Iris laughed, pulled Stevie closer, tighter, one arm around her waist and the other holding her hand, the tulip now tangled in both of their fingers. She danced Stevie in a circle, pressing her mouth to her ear and whispering, “You have stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I love thee.”

“And do it with all thy heart,” Stevie said, sliding her nose along Iris’s throat.

Iris arched her neck, giving Stevie more access, but then she straightened, took Stevie’s face in her hands, locked their gazes in a way that made Stevie’s breath catch, made her heart settle and soar all at once.

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest,” Iris said.

And as they danced, held each other and laughed, whispered and kissed and touched, right there in the middle of a Brooklyn sidewalk, Stevie knew Iris Kelly was finally telling the truth.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT





Six Months Later





THE EVERWOOD INN at springtime was a riot of color. Red, pink, and yellow tulips flourished, bordering the walkway to the front door, while fuchsia rhododendrons and wildflowers encircled the backyard where a gauzy tent laced with fairy lights arched under the oaks.

Iris felt herself exhale as she walked into Claire and Delilah’s wedding space—underneath the tent, it was golden and green, candles already lit on the ten circular wooden tables. The event would be small, but perfect, Iris had no doubt, as Astrid Parker stood near the center of the tent with her iPad, dressed in a black tea dress, ruling the world.

Iris watched her for a second, this first in-person glimpse of her friend since she moved to Brooklyn four months ago like a cooling sip of water on a July afternoon.

“She looks good,” Stevie said, her fingers tangled with Iris’s.

Iris smiled. “She always does.”

“Don’t you want to say hi?”

Iris nodded but didn’t move. In all honesty, her heart felt huge in her chest, her eyes stinging slightly. God, she’d missed Astrid. She’d missed them all, but she knew that was part of the deal when she decided to move across the country to be with Stevie. It was the right choice. Iris loved New York, loved Brooklyn in particular, and there was nothing like waking up next to Stevie Scott every morning, kissing her to sleep every night.

Iris was happy, hard at work on her third novel, partnered with the most beautiful person in the world.

But god, it was nice to be home.

“You okay?” Stevie asked, sliding a hand down Iris’s hair.

Iris nodded, pressed her nose to her girlfriend’s neck. Even six months after their reconciliation outside of Stevie’s apartment in Brooklyn, after the long discussion they had afterward about next steps, after two arduous months where they did long distance before Iris moved to New York, she still couldn’t believe she got to kiss this woman every day. Touch her, hold hands while walking down the street. Even more, she couldn’t believe how much she loved doing it—all the relationship things she’d convinced herself for too long she wasn’t built for, didn’t want.

Turned out, Stevie Scott had transformed Iris into a partner, and Iris was grateful for every second.

“Just happy to be here,” Iris said against Stevie’s skin. Stevie’s arm circled her waist, pulled her close, and they stood like that for a second, Iris mentally preparing herself for this wedding. About two months ago, Claire and Delilah had set up a Zoom call with Astrid and Iris to go over some wedding details, at the end of which the brides had requested that Iris and Astrid walk them down the aisle, all four of them at once. Iris had been floored, honored beyond measure, and then spent the rest of the evening in tears with her head in Stevie’s lap, missing her friends so much there was a physical ache in her chest.

“Me too,” Stevie said now into Iris’s hair. “Why don’t we go say—”

“Iris!”

Claire’s voice cut Stevie off, as bride number one strolled into the tent, her hair already done up in a gorgeous twist, her makeup perfect. She wore a button-down and denim shorts, and she looked beautiful.

Iris’s eyes welled—she couldn’t help it, they filled on their own, tears already tracking down her cheeks as Stevie released her and she made her way toward her best friend. They collided, arms and hands and laughter, trying to squeeze four months’ worth of hugs into a single embrace.

“Claire, don’t you dare cry,” Astrid said as she headed their way.

Iris pulled back, but only so she could gulp Astrid into her arms as well.

“Iris is!” Claire said, laughing.

“Yeah, but I’m not a blushing bride,” Iris said, still holding on to Astrid while she reached out and wiped gently at Claire’s cheeks, then cupped her face. “You look fucking hot.”