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Back The Companion Project Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Dedication
  2. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  3. ONE
  4. HENRY
  5. TWO
  6. EMMA
  7. THREE
  8. HENRY
  9. FOUR
  10. EMMA
  11. FIVE
  12. EMMA
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. HENRY
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. HENRY
  20. ELEVEN
  21. TWELVE
  22. EMMA
  23. THIRTEEN
  24. HENRY
  25. FOURTEEN
  26. HENRY
  27. FIFTEEN
  28. SIXTEEN
  29. EMMA
  30. SEVENTEEN
  31. HENRY
  32. EIGHTEEN
  33. HENRY
  34. NINETEEN
  35. HENRY
  36. TWENTY
  37. TWENTY-ONE
  38. EMMA
  39. TWENTY-TWO
  40. EMMA
  41. TWENTY-THREE
  42. HENRY
  43. TWENTY-FOUR
  44. EMMA
  45. TWENTY-FIVE
  46. EMMA
  47. TWENTY-SIX
  48. EMMA
  49. TWENTY-SEVEN
  50. HENRY
  51. TWENTY-EIGHT
  52. EMMA
  53. TWENTY-NINE
  54. HENRY
  55. THIRTY
  56. HENRY
  57. THIRTY-ONE
  58. HENRY
  59. THIRTY-TWO
  60. EMMA
  61. THIRTY-THREE
  62. HENRY
  63. THIRTY-FOUR
  64. EMMA
  65. THIRTY-FIVE
  66. EMMA
  67. THIRTY-SIX
  68. HENRY
  69. THIRTY-SEVEN
  70. EMMA
  71. THIRTY-EIGHT
  72. HENRY
  73. THIRTY-NINE
  74. HENRY
  75. FORTY
  76. EMMA
  77. FORTY-ONE
  78. HENRY
  79. FORTY-TWO
  80. FORTY-THREE
  81. EMMA
  82. FORTY-FOUR
  83. EMMA
  84. FORTY-FIVE
  85. HENRY
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I wish I could immortalize this moment forever. Her hand in mine. The smoothness of her palm. The soft music filtering through the walls. A star-filled sky. The tip of her lips in a small smile tugging across her beautiful face. A calm, content joy slowly filling the surrounding space, reaching every nook and crevice. Waves of serenity and finally lapping at my ankles, beckoning me to tread deeper into the waters of complete bliss. Perfect doesn’t do it justice. Perfect doesn’t come close.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Spectacular. Let’s go make some memories together, Sunflower.”

* * *

This woman continues to blow me away. Emma is truly phenomenal, saying hello to second uncles and divorced cousins like she’s been to dozens of Dawson family events in the past. My hand rests on her lower back for the majority of the night while her side presses firmly into mine like we’re stitched together. Two peas in a pod.

Occasionally, she threads her fingers with mine, giving my hand eight squeezes. I picked up on the attempted Morse Code two days ago at dinner when I was embarrassed by my mom sharing deeply personal memories of the blonde woman beside me. Memories no one knows. Memories I might not ever share because I don’t know how to describe them. Memories I’ve thought about for years, unsure of how to voice them.

Together.

Eight letters bringing me joy and peace.

“Doing okay, honey?” I whisper in her ear when we take our seats for dinner thirty minutes later. I’m about to press a kiss to her cheek when she lets out a soft hiss. Looking down, I see a drop of blood forming on her pointer finger, the red matching her nails.

“Shit,” she whispers, looking around frantically.

“Hey. I got you,” I say, reaching into my jacket pocket for a Band-Aid. I peel back the paper and unwrap the bandage.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I hum, carefully holding out her palm and covering the small wound. “Stopping the bleeding. There. Good as new.”

“You have Band-Aids in your pocket?”

“I do.”

“W-why?” Her voice trembles with the question.