Page 38 of The Vow

“What?”

“You’re fucking adorable.”

“So, you’re not mad?” she asked, facing me.

There are many times in a man’s life when he feels most alive, but the greatest rush of all is when he’s realized he’s fallen madly in love. “Of course not.” I placed her crucifix on the island. My fingers lingered on it when I said, “You must be my good luck charm.”

“I’m glad you’re not angry. You should call your mother,” she said, draping it around her head.

“It’s late. I’ll call her in the morning.”

“No. She told me to tell you to call her tonight.”

I rubbed away the mascara beneath her eye, then walked to the living room where I sat on the couch. My aching body thanked me. Dialing, I expected to wait a while, but this time, my mother answered on the second ring.

“Thank God! How did it turn out?”

“I won, ma.”

“Good... that’s good... but how was the pasta?”

I looked over towards the stove and didn’t see what little damage there was. I only saw Alex who was wrapping her hair into a makeshift bun. “It was excellent.”

“Brava! I knew she could do it! How are you feeling? Do you need me to bring pastina tomorrow?”

“No. I’m okay. Just a bit bruised. Don’t worry.”

“I’m your mother. I always worry.”

“I know. But everything’s fine, ma. Get some sleep.”

“Okay. You too. Call me tomorrow.”

“I will. Sweet dreams.”

Alex shook her hair loose. I realized she wasn’t trying to fix her hair; it was more of a nervous habit. After ma paid us a surprise visit, she did the same thing. “I told you she’d be waiting up for you. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Did you two have a nice visit?”

“We did. After Church, she invited me over for latte and amaretto cookies. Speaking of food. There’s nothing to eat.”

If I didn’t know differently, I’d think Alex was Italian. When we speak of food, or of feeding someone, it’s an act of love, and to this day, I still eat dinner at the dinner table. Eating in front of the television is insulting the chef whose heart rests on the plate.

“I’m not hungry. But thank you for trying to cook for me. It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Are you sure? How about a sandwich? I can go to the Quickie Mart and get you...”

“Have I ever told you that you’re a handful?”

“Once or twice.”

“You’re a handful, Alex, and I wish... I wish I had eight hands.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked, laughing. “What does even that mean?”

Some boxers say that they live to fight and that their entire existence is measured by how hard they can hit. I’ve never felt that way. To me, boxing is more of a job, and once the fight is over, I can focus on what really matters. “It means I will never be able to get enough of you.”

Taking three long strides towards her, I trapped her head between my hands and devoured her mouth. The kiss was long, and sensual, and it was as if we were speaking to one another’s souls; kindred spirits who could finally connect on a level that is beyond this realm. Ignoring my aching side, I pulled her close. The second I laid eyes on her, I knew that she would one day own my heart, and for the first time in my adult life, I wasn’t afraid of love.