“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m really sorry.”
“For what?” He can’t stop kissing me.
“All of it. I should’ve always chosen you. I should’ve never turned my back on you. Even when Mom died.”
“Good thing I know how you can make it up to me.” He picks me up by the backs of my thighs, laces my legs around his waist, and carries me away from the wharf.
Clipboard Guy is yelling after him that his shift has just started, but Joe and I both know that he is handing in his resignation before the day is over.
“How do I make it up to you?” I murmur into his mouth.
“Never leave again.”
EPILOGUE
One year later.
“Don’t be nervous.” I press my cheek against Joe’s back, embracing him from behind. He fumbles with the nicotine gum pack in his hand before popping two into his mouth.
“What the hell is nervous, anyway? The word sounds familiar. Alas . . .”
This is the biggest lie he’s ever told me. The only one he may have told me in our lifetime. Because in a few short minutes, we are both going to leave this hotel room, take the elevator down to the Vine, a swanky restaurant in one of New York’s most prestigious hotels, and celebrate his book release with an official dinner.
For Ever will be published tomorrow—Tuesday—and available in all major retailers. It has a new title, a gorgeous cover, and front-to-back superlatives from the biggest newspapers.
“Of course you’re not.” I turn him around, making him look me in the eye. “I’m just projecting.”
“That you are.” He kisses me softly as he collects my face in his big palms. He tastes of nicotine gum. “Shit. I hate not smoking.”
“And I hate the idea of you dying on me from cancer.” I tug at his tie playfully, biting on his lower lip. “So deal.”
It was on the second anniversary of Dom’s death that Joe decided to quit smoking to honor his brother’s fight against cancer. It’s been three months now, and Joe is still bitter about the whole thing.
I pick up the book sitting on the nightstand next to us. For Ever is literary fiction with a dash of mystery, a few twists and turns, and a lot of self-search. Joe changed the hero’s name to Ever—Everett—but every time I think about the new title, I know that it was a nod to me. We helped each other create when birthing something new seemed as wild as learning how to fly.
I run my palm over the hardcover. It’s blue and red, with the New Orleans landscape in the background. “I love everything about this book.”
“Of course you do.” Joe kisses my cheek, then takes the book and shoves it into a drawer. He is still embarrassed to call himself an author. “It is an elaborate love letter to you.”
“It’s about a guy who has one year to live, and he fucks the entire world in the process.” I frown.
“Yeah, well.” Joe waves a hand. “All the rest of it.”
We go down in the elevators. A ma?tre d’ greets us at the front of the Vine. A black-and-gold room with elevator music and utensil-clicking sounds. Joe’s fingers float over the small of my back, which is exposed through a backless black dress. The hostess shows us to a long table, where, already waiting, are Gemma, Brad, Dad, Donna, Renn, Sarah, her husband, Rich, Nora （happily married）， Colt （obviously ditto）， and Pippa, who brought along a brand-new boyfriend whose name I refuse to remember until he passes the three-week test.
There is also Joe’s agent, Bianca, and a suit from his publishing house, who came with his wife and a monstrous stack of books for Joe to sign.
When they see my boyfriend, they all stand up and clap. Our table draws curious glances from other diners. I take Joe’s hand and raise it in the air in triumph, because it is a huge win that he managed to get his book published. He has already signed another book deal with the same publisher.
The New York Minute called For Ever “evocative and wild.” The Flying Pen said, “Joseph Graves is a master storyteller,” and Books Tribune called the novel “exhilarating and unforgettable.” Joe may be too humble to see himself as a successful author, but I, an （almost） objective observer, can tell he is already there.
“I still can’t believe I’m sleeping with a literary god,” I murmur into Joe’s ear as we proceed to our place at the table. He is shaking hands with people and whispers back through a tightly woven smile, “I can’t believe it either. Who are you cheating on me with?”