Page 110 of I Saw You First

His eyes widen.

“Please tell me that these are all from Fieldstone at The Galleria,” I continue. “I only accept an exquisite floral experience.”

He laughs, drops my hand, and puts his palms on either side of my face. He kisses me with heat and longing, and I know that I will never kiss anyone else.

“I won’t let go of you again,” he says. It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. “I love you, Abbey Rhodes.” Okay, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.

And then I hear the cheering behind us.

I turn to see so many of my favorite people standing in front of the stage: Sam and Adriana, Eric, Jimmy, Cesar, Tamsa and her hunky bouncer, Brianna, even Marina from the Ridge.

I laugh, pure joy bubbling out of me. “What are they all doing here?”

“I needed a little merchandising help from my friends.” He grins.

“I love you,” I say again.

“Oh, darling.” He pulls me close.

Maybe everything is always working out for me.

EPILOGUE

“GIRLFRIEND” BY MATTHEW SWEET, 1991

ABBEY

Today is exactly thirteen months since that night at The Golden—not HollowPoint, not Ruh-Roh, but the third night at The Golden, the one with all the bouquets. We’ve spent many more nights at The Golden since then.

Today is also my birthday. Wil promised to take me on an epic adventure to celebrate but wouldn’t divulge any details except that I should dress casually and wear comfortable shoes.

It’s “spring training” for the Hometown League, and Wil’s been out of town a lot. I’ve been busy, too, out late a couple of nights a week to see concerts and staying up even later to write about the shows before I lose the magic and inspiration. I love my new job as junior entertainment writer at Sky Blue Waters, and in my spare time, I still write for the psycho logic zine. Tamsa and I share a cubicle, and we snuck in champagne for a quiet celebration when the lawsuit settlement came through. We’re waiting for the payout—way more than that check I kept in my ashtray for so long—but that’s not the important part in all of this. The point is that empowered women empower women, and that skeaze Ryan with his fake tan and his fake diploma won’t ever do this again.

Wil picks me up at 9:30. He leans against his car and holds up a white bakery bag. He’s wearing a long-sleeved gray Henley, worn jeans, and his dark-framed glasses.

“Hey,” he says, the way he’s always greeted me. “Happy birthday. I love you.”

I lean in for a kiss and swipe the bag. He laughs. His hair, as usual, is a luscious mess and as soon as we’re in the car, I lean over, put one hand right in that mess—so soft—and kiss him again, light and tender. I kiss him because I can. Because he’s mine now.

I open the bakery bag to find a greasy, gooey egg, cheese, and bacon bagel sandwich and my stomach growls at the aroma. “This day is perfect so far,” I say happily. “You are the best boyfriend.” I love calling him that. I love that he’s my boyfriend. I love him.

“It’s the easiest job I’ve ever had.”

My heart gets all gooey like the melted cheese on my sandwich. And then my cheeks heat with a thought: What if he didn’t tell me his plans for today because he’s going to propose?

No, that can’t be it. It’s only been a year, give or take. But I would have married him that night at The Golden—any of those first three and any of them since—if he’d asked.

Wil drives us to St. Paul, and I squeal when he turns into the Como Park Zoo and Conservatory. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid!” I bounce up and down like I’m eight years old again.

It’s crowded today, one of the first truly nice days of spring. Wil tucks himself behind me as we maneuver through the exhibits, puts his arm around my waist as we stand, trapped in the crowd, watching the polar bears.

“I love you.” He says it all the time, so many times a day, and I’ll never tire of hearing it. He tightens his hold. “I can’t believe how much. I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here with you.”

I turn in his arms and slip mine around his neck, pulling him close in a hug, and we stand there for long minutes, breathing each other in, while the crowd moves around us.

Eventually, we pull apart and work our way through the rest of the zoo and into the indoor glass greenhouse that’s home to the Sunken Garden, a beautiful, blooming paradise of flowers and water features. Wil sneezes three times.

“Bless you,” I say. “If this is too much, we can skip it.”