Page 162 of Down Bad

My heart stops. “Yeah? Yeah what?”

“Yeah boyfriend.”

The sound of his voice.

Uttering those sweet, perfect words.

Now I’m the one smiling. My heart as light as the breeze over our faces right now. This guy in front of me. This perfect guy.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask him.

Or was about to.

Before he rushes me, pressing his hands to my chest, and the pair of us slam against the side of his porch, lips locked.

Maybe I was lying.

What I missed most was this.

His clumsy, adorable, fumbling shows of affection.

His soft, perfect lips.

His kisses.

“Wyatt,” I whisper. “Your neighbors … they can see us.”

“Let them,” he says back, then dives into our kiss again.

—Epilogue—

The orchid is blooming.

I hate that Diego won’t shut up about it.

Like, one flower.

A single one.

You’d think the man resurrected a rainforest.

It has found the perfect spot in my front kitchen window now. Diego is its king and servant. He knows precisely how much water it needs and when. Studied where the light hits. When to rotate it. I’ve had to listen to him talking about it for months.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m low-key delighted, high-key proud that my boyfriend has mastered the delicate art of keeping a plant alive.

Even if it means, after waking up late one Friday morning, I stumble tiredly into the kitchen to find my dear Diego tending to his orchid before he’s even put on the coffee.

His eye catches something through the window. He waves. It’s one of Nicole’s sons, handsome and full of charm, hanging a pretty blue wind chime on their porch, and he waves cheerily back.

Diego is just in his boxers, by the way.

Oh, how so spectacularly ineffective our attempt at privacy has become.

One of Nicole’s sons is gay, by the way. Just heard it last week through Lottie’s book club ladies, who can’t say which of the Berry brothers is gay, only that one of them most definitely, totally is.

Yep. I’m in the group chat, too, now.