Sydney: Yes. I should have told you. I just wanted the two of you to have the chance to speak before I brought it up, but I drove to her house on Sunday. Not to start drama, I swear. I just had some things I needed to say to her. I’m sorry, Ridge.
I look back up at her, and everything about her is on edge now. She’s worried, rubbing the back of her neck now, refusing to pull her eyes away from her phone until I text her back.
I hold up my phone and snap a picture of her, then text it to her. It takes a moment for the picture to come through on her end, but as soon as it does, she spins around. Our eyes lock.
I shake my head, just barely, but not because I’m upset with her in any way, shape, or form. I shake my head in slight disbelief that this woman would take it upon herself to drive to my ex-girlfriend’s house because she wanted to make things better between us.
I have never felt this amount of appreciation for anyone or anything in my entire life.
I begin to walk toward her. She pushes off the bookshelf when I get closer and she stands, stiff, anticipating my next move. When I reach her, I don’t say or sign a single word. I don’t have to. She knows exactly what I’m thinking, because with Sydney, all she has to do is be near me for us to communicate. She looks up at me and I look down at her, and as if we’re in perfect sync, she takes two steps back and I take two steps forward, so that we’re hidden between two walls of books.
I love you.
I don’t say or sign those words. I only feel them, but she hears it.
I lift my hands and run the backs of my fingers down her cheeks. I try to touch her with the same softness that she uses to touch me. I run my thumbs over her lips, admiring her mouth and every gentle word that comes out of it. I slide my hands down to her neck and press my thumbs against her throat. I can feel her rapid pulse beneath my fingertips.
I lower my forehead to hers, and I close my eyes. I just want to feel her heartbeat against my thumbs. I want to feel her breath against my lips. I take a moment and do these things while I silently thank her, our foreheads still pressed together.
I wish we weren’t in public right now. I would thank her in so many more ways, and without using a single word.
I keep my hands on her throat and press myself against her to turn and position her against the bookshelves behind her. When her back meets the books, I keep her face tilted up toward mine, while drawing our mouths closer together, barely connecting mine to hers. I can feel her rapid breaths crashing against my lips, so I hold still and swallow a few of them before I slip my tongue inside her mouth and coax even more of those rapid breaths out of her. Her mouth is warmer and more inviting than it’s ever been.
She brings her hands to my chest, slapping the paper and the marker against my shirt while she steadies herself. The paper falls to the floor. She tilts her head up to mine even more and opens her mouth a little wider, wanting more of our kiss. I curve my right hand around the back of her head as I close my mouth over hers and inhale.
I kiss her. I love her.
I love her. I kiss her.
I kiss her.
I am so very in love with her.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do when I pull away from her mouth. Her hands are clenched in fists around my shirt. Her eyes are still closed when I pull back, so I stare down at her for a moment, convinced that Karma might actually know what she’s doing after all. Maybe there was a reason so many shitty things had to happen in my life. It wouldn’t have been a balanced life if I’d had a beautiful childhood, only to grow up and share a life like the one I know I’m going to share with Sydney. I think my childhood was the balance I needed so that I could have her. She is so good and so perfect, maybe I was made to suffer first before earning a reward of this magnitude.
I slide my hands to hers, which are still clenching my shirt. The paper she was holding has long since fallen to the floor, but the marker is still in her fist. I pry it from her fingers and she opens her eyes, just as I slip my fingers beneath the collar of her shirt. I pull it down, exposing the skin over her heart. I pull the cap off the marker with my teeth and then press the marker to her chest. I write four letters directly over her heart.
MINE
I put the cap back on the marker, and then I kiss her one last time before I turn and walk away.
It’s the most we’ve ever communicated and the least we’ve ever said.
I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Ridge’s car, staring out the window. My right hand is touching my chest, lightly fingering the word he wrote over my heart Tuesday night. Mine. It’s faded now because it’s been four days since he wrote it, but luckily it was a permanent marker, and I’ve avoided scrubbing it off in the shower.