I glance her way, drinking her in, and smile faintly. I feel like blown glass. Light and transparent. Breakable in a way I never have been. It’s been a week of lovemaking and dinners in, quiet nights on the couch with books and her art supplies littering my table. So many chances to tell her I love her, but it’s died on my tongue every time, fear knotting my stomach. What if she loses interest? What if the novelty fades? What if I’m not creative enough or playful enough or fun enough? What if, what if, what if.

I can’t listen to those fears anymore. From now on, I’m going to be brave.

“You okay?” she asks.

I blink. She’s getting too good at reading me. “Fine.” Glancing out at the houses across the street, swarmed with trick-or-treating children, I grimace. “Except for the fact that we’re the most skipped-over building on the block.”

“No, we aren’t.” Bea hides the barely touched candy bowl beneath her pincers.

“I told you these costumes were going to scare away the kids. Which might turn out to be fortunate, seeing as you haven’t stopped eating Milky Ways since we parked it out here.”

“I’m on my period, James. This is the one week out of every month you may not give me shit for my sugar addiction. Plus, if kids can’t appreciate the sheer artistry in our costumes, I don’t want them eating our candy.”

“Hyperrealistic crabs the size of an adult are so approachable,” I tease. “I can’t think why the children are terrified.”

“This is a failing of modern society.” She lifts her pincer. “Because I am telling you what, our kids will not be scared of a little papier-mâché.”

Her eyes widen. Mine do, too. She groans and tries unsuccessfully to bury her face in a crab pincer.

My heart bursts with hope and love—sheer, blissful relief. Now. Now is my moment.

· THIRTY-FIVE ·

Bea

I can’t believe I said it. Of all the things to blurt as I sit in a head-to-toe crab costume, looking like an oversized seafood-house logo, it had to be that.

But Jamie’s smiling, his eyes dancing in a way they weren’t just a moment ago. He nudges my pincer out of the way, then kisses me, sliding his nose along mine. “You want my babies,” he whispers. He sounds annoyingly arrogant and so perfectly vulnerable. I want to tickle him until he shrieks, then kiss him some more.

“How many?” he says.

“A couple? Siblings are annoying, but I couldn’t live without mine. What do you think?”

He nuzzles my cheek. “Whatever makes you happy. That’s what I’d want.”