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I tremble, my nerves dancing all over as he caresses my cheek. His lips hop from mine to my chin to the tip of my nose, planting even sweeter kisses. Oliver puts his forehead against mine as we walk toward my bed across the room. He looks deep into my eyes and I struggle to come up with the right words to express how grateful I am to have found someone like him, too.
Someone kind and generous. Fierce and protective.
Someone to read books with on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
Someone to seize the day with in a hotel bar.
Carpe diem.
Isn’t that what people say?
EPILOGUE
OLIVER
one year later
If I could go back in time and tell my childhood self anything, it’d be to wait just a little bit longer. Work just a little bit harder. Go just a little bit further every single time I felt like giving up.
Because you never know who is watching.
Even if they see you amid your worst failures, you’ll earn their respect by getting right back up again. And who knows? Someday, that person might be the one to offer you a job. Or gift you with a box of clean clothes.
Or steal your heart.
“You still there, Oli?”
I look up from my plate. The Botsford Plaza restaurant surges with life. Servers and hostesses glide around us, seating guests and bussing tables. It’s a busy day in Las Vegas. It’s a good day, too.
And it’s only going to get better.
I glance across our table into the eyes of two of my closest friends: Marla Botsford, the building manager, and Graham Botsford, the CEO. They’re both gawking at me with amused smiles, eagerly awaiting my response.
“What?” I ask.
“I said,” Graham repeats, “are you still there, Oli?”
“Yes,” I say, straightening up. “Sorry, I’m just a little... distracted.”
Distracted. Freaking out. On the brink of a major heart episode.
What’s the difference?
Marla chuckles. “I know where he is,” she says. “He’s thinking about her.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s coming home tonight, right?”
“How long has she been gone this time?” Graham asks.
I sigh. “Three weeks,” I answer.
“Oof,” he says.
“Oof,” I repeat.
“Three weeks is nothing,” Marla says. “Jonah was gone for four months for his last tour. At least you know Paige isn’t standing on a stage surrounded by a thousand Eastern European girls screaming her name and flinging their panties at her head.”
