She continues, “I love that you keep coming to Romeo, and that you’ve never flaunted your wealth or status. You’re humble and real. You work hard, you take care of your family. You’re loyal. You’re calm and steady, unless you want something badly, then you go after it with all your determination.” She looks at me with a smile. “So I like that you’re you. Everything that makes you you. I like that you like triple espressos in the mornings, and roast beef sandwiches. I like that you work the Europe and Asia hours so you can have the day to yourself. I like that you love books and climbing trees and kissing in the rain. I like that you love small towns and that you believe in the power of a hot cup of tea, a book, and a friend to share both with. I love all that about you.”

My chest expands, filling with her words. I imagine us five years from now, in this bed, warm under a pillowy down comforter, the fire going, a pot of tea on the nightstand, and a pile of books nearby. She’s in my arms in that dream.

“Is that all?” I ask, happiness in my voice. I place a kiss on her mouth.

“One more thing,” she says.

I nod, and while she’s thinking, I position myself over her, nudge open her legs and slide my length into her warmth.

“Yes?” I ask.

She makes a small noise in her throat and runs her hands over my shoulders.

“I like best that when I’m with you, I want to be with you, for the good, for the bad, for the always.”

I think I like that best too.

I kiss her and take us to heaven.

16

Jessie

I crack another egg into the bowl and start to whisk. It’s seven in the morning, Will’s still in bed. I woke up curled into his side, my head on his chest, his arms around me. I smile and start to hum while I whisk up the eggs for omelets.

We stayed up until almost four in the morning talking and making love. There’s not a doubt in my mind—Will is my soul mate. Somehow I misunderstood Miss Erma. Will is mine.

I pour the eggs into the hot buttered skillet and add the ham and cheese while it cooks. I have to be at work by nine, but there’s time for breakfast in bed. Hopefully he likes it. I slide the cooked omelet onto a plate, position it on a tray next to two cups of coffee, buttered toast, blackberry jam, a plate of crispy bacon, and two freshly squeezed orange juices.

“Breakfast? For me?” His voice teases from the entry to the kitchen.

I smile and a happy warmth flows over me. “I was going to bring it up,” I say. I turn around with a grin.