She felt him smile against her hair.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
“And this might sound sort of funny at the moment, but I’m going to make sure I’m not the only one who says it to you.”
The people in the building behind her, they were already well on their way. Mrs. Salas crossed the finish line a long time ago, probably. Nora was going to make sure Will Sterling never wanted for love again.
“I’ll take that, too,” he whispered, maybe something pleasantly embarrassed in his voice.
“Hey, now!” That was Benny calling, and when Will and Nora turned he was standing by the back door with Jonah’s duffel, all her neighbors around him. “We’re going to go see the chief. Give you two some privacy.”
“Oh, are you two going to—”
“Do not finish that thought, Corrine,” said Marian. “We’re leaving.”
The group filed past, offering knowing smiles or small congratulations, a funny little applause dance from Mrs. Salas before they piled into two cars and went on their way, and then it was only the two of them out in this sunny expanse of backyard, the building suddenly a whole new future behind them.
Will tugged her hand toward it. “Come tell me you love me in a different location,” he said, his smile loose, easy, perfect. Happy.
She smiled back, teasing in the way she stalled him. “Wait a minute. What are we going to do about this tree you brought?”
“I’m going to plant it,” he said simply. “Right where the old one was. When it gets big enough, we can carve our initials into it. Sort of a memorial, right? To the day we almost met.”
Her heart skipped, remembering that day in his apartment, after he’d seen the photograph of his parents. After he’d told her he didn’t want anything serious.
“You’re sure about that?”
He leaned down and kissed her again, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip—brief, hot, full of promise. A forever sort of kiss.
“I’m sure,” he said. “I’ve got a feeling. You and me, we’re those kind of people.”
Epilogue
Two years later
Nora made it onto the balcony first.
She hadn’t been the one to wake first, not today, not with all the restless, nervous energy Will had been carrying with him all week. He first stirred at two, and then three, and then three thirty, each time reaching immediately for his phone, checking the time and holding back a groan of frustration before turning over again, seeking Nora’s warm, soft skin with his hands, pressing his body back against her so he could doze again. She slept on soundly, tired from a couple of late nights this past week, work on site redesign for one of the first major clients she’d taken on as a freelancer.
Like clockwork, though, she started to stir around four, her body waking slowly, little murmurs of wakefulness that Will thought were the best alarm clock in the whole world. When she turned toward him, pressing her lips against his bare chest and stroking her soft fingers along his stomach, all the restless energy that had been keeping him awake transformed, his body turning hard and hungry for her in the way it always did. He dipped his head, nuzzling at her neck, listening as those waking noises turned into wanting noises, Nora’s hands finding him with more focused attention to all the places he liked to be touched best.
When he pulled her over him, she came easily, smoothly, like they’d done this—or some version of this—hundreds of mornings, and after two years he liked to think they had, though he supposed he hadn’t made a habit of counting. But even with the earned familiarity they had with each other’s bodies; even though he knew she would start in this position slow, sliding down his length with delicious, torturous control, and end it fast, rubbing herself against him as he gripped her hips roughly, it still always felt like a first. When she came around him, when he let himself go inside her, he would always feel it like new; he would always tell her he loved her, like he’d wanted to that very first time, back when they were both still hiding their feelings.
“I love you, too,” she breathed, collapsing against his chest, and then she said it again, the way he always wanted her to. He tucked his hand beneath her hair, up to where her hairline met her nape, and relished the dampness there, a telling tale of her pleasure.
He breathed in deep, some of the nervousness gone, and he kissed the top of her head, silently thanking her for the relief she didn’t even know she’d provided. It’d been awful keeping a secret from her this long, and when she climbed over him, giving him another smacking, satisfied, good-morning kiss, he finally allowed himself a few lazy minutes of thinking through the night ahead.
But eventually he, too, got up, sliding on his glasses and stopping by the bathroom before pouring a cup of coffee and joining her outside. He handed over the fresh cup and took hers, already half gone, a familiar routine—he still got most of his coffee midmorning, from Janine. They stood beside each other, waking up slow as the smattering of city-visible stars faded with oncoming daylight.
“It’s going to be a good evening for it,” she said eventually, when she was about halfway through her new cup, and a little pulse of that nervous energy returned.
“Mmm,” he said, reluctant to start talking about it. He didn’t trust his poker face around Nora.
“Oh, I see,” she teased. “Hardly a full year of living together and you’re already done with morning conversation, huh? So much for the golden hour.”
He laughed softly, reaching out to tug her close. “Tired, that’s all,” he lied. “You go first.”
When he’d first moved in to the building, they’d done this from across the way—Will over on what used to be Jonah’s balcony, in the apartment he’d moved into only a few months after Jonah’s accident. He’d eaten shit on his lease, lost his security deposit, but as it’d turned out, the money he’d earned off his first couple of tenants had covered those costs, and even if they hadn’t, it would’ve been worth it. Jonah’s old place worked just fine for him—close to Nora, close to everyone—and Donny’s old place worked perfect for Jonah, a few easy upgrades to make it accessible as he got stronger and stronger. The bonus was winning a bet: one hundred dollars from Donny’s smiling, good-sport attorney, when he’d officially signed over the apartment to Jonah on the very day the will’s yearlong condition had run out.
Nora had fought him and Jonah on it at first, clasped-hands anxiety over whether Will felt like he had to do this, for her, promises that she’d be okay, if Jonah had wanted or needed to go somewhere else. And Will, too, had been anxious—would she think it was too rash, him living so close, so soon? Would it seem too reckless, too selfish? But they’d worked it out, reassurances going both ways, a slow start that they’d worked out across their balconies, golden hours of getting to know each other in ways they hadn’t allowed for before. Even on the nights—the many nights—when they’d slept together, they’d still done it, retreating to their respective spaces, making sure they made things solid both for themselves and for each other before they’d done more.
Ten months ago, on the same night Nora had landed her most lucrative design contract yet, she’d made a gigantic pot of sauce and surprised Will by serving a meal out on the balcony, a new table and two chairs waiting. “Two chairs, Will,” she’d said, sweeping her hand across the set. “If you’d want to join me for good, from now on.”
He’d moved in—officially—a month later.
He shifted behind her, gently caging her between the balcony railing and his body in a way he knew she liked, and listened to her talk about the day ahead, her frustration about the fridge-sharing situation at her coworking space, her lunch date with a couple of the friends she’d made there, a meeting she had with a prospective client. He was glad to have had the memory about the time she’d asked him to move in; it was a good reminder for tonight. Bringing him into her space, into the apartment she’d spent months working so hard on, almost all on her own—that was always going to have been her call, and he was always
going to wait to do what he was about to do until after she’d asked.
He’d waited for the right time, and he knew it was now.
“Will,” she laughed. “I asked you a question.”
He dropped his head to her shoulder, sighing out an apology and fogging up his glasses in the process.
“You scrambled my brain in there,” he said, which was absolutely not a lie, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. She laughed again and subtly pushed herself back into him, a taunt he deserved and enjoyed and definitely responded to.
“Let’s go back in,” he said against her neck.
“It’s pretty late,” she said, but he could feel the skin under his mouth pebbling. He let his thumb tease beneath the hem of her camisole.
“Still early,” he said quietly.
“Mmm.”
“Oh, I see,” he echoed, tickling her side, and she turned to face him, pressing her mouth to his, and he settled again, kissing her deeply. Better this morning, he thought, to avoid conversation.
When she whispered against his mouth that it was, in fact, still early, he wrapped an arm around her waist and carried her inside, giving himself another break from counting the hours until tonight.
“Goodness, this has turned out to be a real disaster.”
Will rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, nodding solemnly at the same sparsely attended party setup that Nora was looking at in near horror. Lanterns hung from the fence, a string of fairy lights on the still-growing tree they’d planted together, chairs lined up in rows, a table in the back laden with unused flower crowns and unclaimed scrolls of poetry.
“It’s a shame,” he said.
“She’s going to be so disappointed. How did this happen?”
Will shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Maybe people got the date wrong?”
“It’s every month, Will,” she said, and now he was starting to feel guilty. He didn’t want Nora to feel this stressed. He’d kept it small tonight, family only, but he supposed he could’ve invited some of their newer friends—
“And this one’s the big one,” she added.
“The big one” referred to the larger-than-average annual summer poetry night tradition that had only started because of his unexpected inheritance in this building.
“Well, maybe a few more people will show,” he said nonchalantly.
She sighed and shook her head. “Marian wants me to go up and get my appetizer now,” she said. “Even though there’s only, like, ten of us here!”
“Sure,” he said, relieved. He sent a grateful look to Marian, who was right on time with her request.
Once Nora had disappeared through the back door, his neighbors descended on him in such a suspicious way that he could only hope Nora didn’t happen to look out the window.
“She doesn’t know a thing,” Mrs. Salas said.
“Corrine, lower your voice,” Mr. Salas cautioned, and Mrs. Salas cupped a hand over her mouth before dropping it again. “I’m just so excited!”
“This is the biggest production I’ve ever seen, Beanpole,” Jonah said. “But I suppose that’s only because I missed your big backyard speech way back when.”
He huffed in annoyance, still carrying a grudge over being the only neighbor to have missed it. Beside him, Kay—his girlfriend from St. Louis, in for another visit—slapped his arm playfully.
“Benny,” Will said, “text Deepa and tell her to come out.”
“Done,” he said, pulling out his phone. Currently, Nora’s best friend was hidden away in Marian and Emily’s place, part of the surprise for tonight. For the next week, she’d be staying up in his old third-floor apartment, the place he and Nora now ran as a short-term rental, and he had a feeling his next few days were going to be filled with a fair number of makeup tutorials and face masks.
“Will,” said Emily quietly, setting a hand on his arm. “Don’t forget to breathe, now.”
He nodded, face flushing, but it was difficult to get too embarrassed around this crowd these days. Over the past two years he’d made his own way with them, separate from his relationship with Nora. First of all, he’d put a towel rod in every unit of this place, and he’d taken up his own share of chores—changing the filters on the HVAC units, clearing out the dryer hoses when they clogged, helping Marian when she finally convinced Nora to get that wallpaper down. He watched ball games with Jonah; he made beer with Benny; he even spent one afternoon a few weeks ago flying a drone with Mr. Salas and a group of people who had a whole club devoted to amateur robotics.
“Thanks, everyone,” he said. “I couldn’t have pulled this much off without you.”
“Oh, now stop that!” Mrs. Salas said. “We’re honored to help. You know we love you.”
He smiled, straightening his glasses. He supposed he’d gotten used to this, too. He supposed he couldn’t remember it any other way.
Behind him, gravel popped, and he breathed a sigh of relief that the final guests for the evening had arrived. He went to the back fence, greeting Gerald and Sally. Sally patted his cheek but practically flew by him to get to his neighbors, whom she maintained were “the greatest group of people you’d ever want to meet.” He watched as she clutched Emily in a hug, moving right on to Marian after.
He and Gerald hung back, and Will was grateful.
“Nervous?” Gerald said.
Will wiped his palms on his jeans. “Hell yes.”
“You think she’ll say no?”
“Jesus, Gerry. No?”
Gerald rocked back on his heels. He was wearing a short-sleeved collared shirt with a bunch of brightly colored pelicans printed all over it, and his gold wedding band gleamed on his finger. Will looked at his face and saw he was doing his version of a smile.
“Funny,” Will said.
“I don’t believe you have anything to be nervous about,” which was a nice vote of confidence.
Will cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be some asshole doing a big public proposal.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Was this a mistake?”
He saw Deepa come out the door, and she waved and winked at him. Despite Nora’s many stories about Deepa’s inability to keep a secret, she’d been an absolute vault about this one. Still, he figured he was about two minutes away from Nora coming outside with a tray of stuffed mushrooms and—once she caught sight of her best friend, and Will’s, to boot—a real good sense of what was about to go down.
“Will,” Gerald said, in that permanent stick-up-his-ass voice that Will had come to love. “I’ll remind you. You have spent two years getting to know Nora, and all the people and things that are important to her, and she’s done the same for you. You’ve planned all this for her because you know the right way to love each other. And you know the right way to ask her this question. Don’t forget that.”
Will nodded, swallowed down a press of emotion. “Thanks, man,” he said.
Gerald looked straight ahead, lowering his brow. “Now, now,” he cautioned. “You certainly know I don’t approve of that kind of nickname.”
And then, as was his habit, he walked away.
Exactly as he’d expected, Nora really did know, as soon as she caught sight of Dee. With her flower crown listing to the side and her arms full of way too many stuffed mushrooms for this small crowd, she gasped and nearly tripped over the long hem of her dress, her eyes bright with moisture already.
“Dee?” she said, but almost immediately her eyes went to Will, beaming a smile that he thought could’ve lit up the whole night sky.
He stepped forward and took the tray from her before she dropped it, and immediately Nora ran to Dee, hugging and exclaiming in joy, and as Will set down the tray, he figured that alone was worth the price of admission, even if she ended up hating the rest of this whole thing.
She greeted Gerald and Sally, too, her hand against her heart. “I’m so—so this is a small poetry night, I guess!”
He walked over to her, set a hand on her back. “I hope you won’t mind.
I’ve been around long enough now that I, too, can use poetry night for my own purposes.”
She smiled and flushed, her hands coming up to press against her cheeks, and he caught Gerald’s eye.
Not a mistake, he thought, and Gerald gave him a nod.
“Why don’t we go ahead and sit?”
She nodded and sat beside him in the front row of chairs, clutching his hand tight, and then the evening he’d been planning for got started.
He hadn’t been lying, that night in the hospital when he’d told Marian Goodnight he’d been getting into poetry. Maybe it’d only been one poem, back then, but by now, he’d made something of a habit of it. He went to all of Marian and Emily’s monthly readings, even the ones Nora couldn’t attend, and in between those, he got Marian’s suggestions and studied them. He signed up for an email that sent him a poem first thing in the morning, and he read each one, even the weird, too-long ones that he wasn’t sure he understood. Upstairs in their apartment, on a new set of shelves he and Nora had put in together, he had a few collections of his own, sitting in a tidy row beside the framed photograph of his parents. Poems he could say from memory, some of them that he’d ended up picking for tonight.
He hadn’t been subtle about it, because that wasn’t poetry night’s style; the first one he’d ever attended had been poems about summer on an early-summer night. So he wanted every poem tonight to be about love, forever love, and before Marian—the natural first reader of the night—was even all the way through hers, Nikki Giovanni’s “You Came, Too,” Nora had leaned over to him and whispered, “You know I’m going to say yes, right?”
He’d nodded calmly, his heart hiccupping, and squeezed her hand.
They listened and laughed throughout the readings—Jonah’s annoyance not to be reading about baseball, and Kay’s accompanying good-natured heckles from the audience. Gerald’s and Sally’s stilted but charming trade-off of lines from Shakespeare; Mrs. Salas’s teary rendition of one of Will’s favorites, a James Weldon Johnson poem about beauty that never got old. Emily’s quiet but moving recitation, barely audible but deeply genuine, and Dee’s follow-up full-throated, contrasting performance.
Love at First Page 30
