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But he couldn’t contain his laughter. His mirth broke free, and she blushed crimson.
“Oh, you’re a freaking jerk,” she huffed before lying back down on the bed and kissing his mouth between loud, affectionate chuckles.
“Maybe. But you love me.” He laid on top of her again, pressing every muscle in his body against her, determined to never, ever let her run away again.
“I love you, Avery Forrester.”
“I love you, too, Holden Morris.” She struggled to raise herself up on her elbows. “Now, soldier, take off your clothes.”
FROM THE DIARY OF AVERY FORRESTER
That’s it. The very last box is unpacked, and I am officially a military girlfriend living in the grand old city of Brussels.
I mean, I have no idea what anyone is saying most of the time, but some crude hand gestures and “Rude American” stereotypes are helping me get by. At any rate, I’ve taken so many pictures that I’m shocked my camera hasn’t exploded.
When Holden comes home for Christmas, we’re going to take a little tour of Europe—though he quickly shot down my idea of spending all our time in Amsterdam.
It’s been quiet without him, but I do hear from him pretty regularly—and I never hear from his parents—so I’m starting to build a life here that suits me.
As it happens, I’m actually getting along with a few of the military wives. We have a little wine club on Friday nights, and I regale them with stories of my antics while they tell me what to expect from my new life here.
If Myla weren’t so far away, I think everything would be weirdly perfect, actually.
As it is, she moved back with her parents after her breakup and keeps texting me about the marvels of starting fresh. I’m worried, but she’s got her own journal to help her through, so, I guess I just have to watch how things play out.
For now, Rodrigo and I are content. And in love.
And definitely not engaged. Yet.
But maybe soon?
