“Well,” I say, stalking toward her, “tough shit.”
I make it to her in two more strides, and she grips me tightly to her as I lift her off her feet. We hug for several seconds, and I keep her suspended as she pulls away, her palms on my shoulders, beaming as a tear skates down her cheek. “I warned you,” she says. “Wow…Nate.” She shakes her head in disbelief.
“I know…but you should know you aren’t alone,” I say, easing her back to her feet. “You should go introduce yourself to Addie. Bungalow 12. She’s anxious to meet you and hasn’t been able to leave the room yet, because she’s in the same state. Though she’ll be hard-pressed to admit it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really,” I grin. “Believe it or not, I married a woman more ornery than you.”
“Ohhhh, in that case,” she playfully rubs her hands together. “Then I definitely will. Maybe I’ll grab a bottle of something strong we can share.”
I chuckle. “That’s a very good idea, and at the same time, fucking terrifying.”
She laughs, and the sound hits me with a shot of nostalgia. We take a few seconds to soak in the moment, lost in our individual recollections.
“See you in a little while?” She asks, giving us both an out.
“See you there,” I say with a wink before turning and taking the stairs up to the bungalow.
“Nate?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Stella’s already at the foot of the stairs, her eyes lowered. Her fearful expression has me walking back down to stand in front of her.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t believe this happened—this is happening, has been happening.” She lifts her grey eyes to mine, and in them, I see a glimpse of the girl who kicked open my office door with sharpie lyric scribbled Converse before roller-skating her way into my heart.
“Yeah, it’s pretty surreal,” I agree.
“Fate really did its thing, didn’t it?”
“Sure,” I say, rolling my eyes up.
“Oh, please,” she scolds playfully. “Fate is why you became a writer. I’ll always remember the story of how you got started.”
“I know. I read your book.”
Mouth parting, eyes wide, she gapes at me.
“Stella…speechless,” I buff my nails on the breast of my tux. “I’ve definitely still got it.”
“You read it?”
“Yeah, I did,” I say, as our own memories continue to trickle in. Memories of a different life. “A copy materialized on my desk last year.”
“Oh,” she says, her expression clouding with anxiety.
“I’m glad I read it,” I admit.
“Yeah?” She prompts, hope lighting her eyes.
“Yeah, I am,” I say sincerely. “Kind of hard to hold onto any grudge when your ex-fiancée introduces you as a sex God someone forgot about.”
“Pretty sure sex wasn’t the preface—”
“You have your interpretation. I have mine. But…to be honest, I loved your interpretation.”
“Really?”
“Really. It fit.”
“Well, that’s…shit…Nate.” Her eyes water over again as she inhales a deep breath, her voice shaking when she speaks. “Even if this was hard to accept at first, it’s…kind of beautiful, isn’t it? That our love story led to theirs?”
“Yeah, it is, truly,” I agree as we fully relax our guards. “You raised a good man, Stella.”
“I think so, too,” she says with pride. “And Natalie is…she’s absolutely beautiful, Nate. The spitting image of you, too, in every imaginable way.”
“I know,” I smile with my own parental pride as she playfully slaps my chest.
“Ughhh, still an egomaniac.”
“Some things never change,” I muse.
“Good,” she whispers, “and I hope some things never will.”
“They won’t,” I assure, bending and pressing a quick kiss to her temple.
Relief relaxes her features as we silently exchange that we’re both at peace with the place we have in each other’s lives. I don’t want Stella feeling guilty because I meant the words I spoke to my wife. I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t go back. I wouldn’t alter a minute of my life, not a fucking second.
“Now, go fetch my wife from the closet I’m sure she’s hiding in, and please do your best not to corrupt her.”