October
Finn
I PARKED my Jeep to the side of the gravel drive at the cemetery and turned o! the ignition. I sat for a moment, thinking about the changes that had taken place in my life over the course of the last year. It had been almost that long since Jamie walked into The Daily Grind and changed my life for the better. And today, on his birthday, I wanted a moment to sit with the memory of the woman who raised him.
I got out of the Jeep and crossed over to the gravesite, grateful that I’d grabbed a jacket before leaving our apart‐ ment. The October air was cool and crisp, and the leaves had begun to turn, as fall descended on the Midwest. It had always been my favorite time of year, but now, would forever remind me of the anniversary of Jamie’s entrance into my life.
At the time, I’d thought the day Jamie had kicked me out of his parent’s house—when his grief was so #erce he’d lashed out at me—would mark a ‘before’ and ‘after’ in my mind, but that wasn’t the case. It had been an awful moment, one that I wouldn’t ever forget, but it had been a nasty bump in the road of our relationship that had been necessary for us to move forward. The true impetus for change in my life—the event that would forever delineate the ‘before’ and ‘after’—was Jamie’s entrance into it.
He’d changed me. He’d shown me that life was worth living. That love was worth !ghting for.
He’d saved me.
I placed the folded towel I’d brought on the damp grass in front of Annie’s gravestone, and knelt in front of it, taking a moment to quiet my mind. Jamie and I planned to come here to visit later, but I wanted a moment with her by myself. The time we would spend here later was for Jamie.
This was for me.
“Hi, Annie,” I said quietly. “I miss you.”
A lump formed in my throat, as it always did when I spoke to her. I had no idea if she could hear me, but I liked the idea of it. Maybe it was delusional, but it comforted me to think she was still watching over us from some great beyond.
“I did it. I published my book today. I intentionally chose Jamie’s birthday for publication because I wanted us to have something to celebrate, and I thought he might have a hard time with it being his !rst birthday without you. At !rst, it felt a little sel!sh to make this day about me instead of him. And you know I hate being the center of attention. But I realized nothing makes Jamie happier than focusing his attention on someone else, on lifting them up, and I thought this might be the perfect diversion for him.
“But I want to celebrate with you too. I couldn’t have done this without you. You were the !rst one to know about my writing. The !rst one to support and encourage me to do
it. I don’t think I would have had the courage to try without you.”
I paused for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to blink back the tears that formed at the corner of my eyes. I swiped at the ones that broke free to trail down my cheeks, sni!ing as I did so.
I took a deep breath and continued. “I wrote a romance, just like we talked about. It’s called The Story of Us and is inspired by my relationship with Jamie. It’s “ction—I didn’t use our exact story—but I used the emotions I felt during the challenges and experiences we faced, to guide me.
“I’m nervous as hell about it, but I’m also kinda proud. I don’t know if anyone will even read the damn thing, but it’s nice to “nally feel like I’ve accomplished something. I mean, not everyone can say they’ve published a book, right?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to read the text that had come through.
JAMIE: Where are you?
ME: Ran an errand. Be home soon.
JAMIE: Rude to leave your boyfriend home alone in bed on his birthday and not tell him where you went…
ME: Calm down Birthday Boy. I’ll make it up to you. 😉
JAMIE: Hurry up…
The last message was accompanied by a picture that made my throat go dry. Jamie was sprawled out in our bed, long hair loose around his face, and chest bare. The angle of the image was low, so that I could see the shadows in the valleys of his abs, and a line of hair that was cut o! by the waistband of his gray sweatpants that rode low on his hips. He had a lazy smile on his face and his free hand was draped casually on his chest. He was beautiful.
And sexy as fuck.
I pocketed my phone and turned my attention back to Annie’s headstone. “I have to run, Annie. I’ll be back later with the birthday boy. I just…I just wanted to say thank you. For giving me Jamie. For raising the kind of son—the kind of man—who loves me the way he does. I love him so damn much, and I promise to do my best to be worthy of him.”
I swiped at my eyes that had started leaking again. Damnit. “I um…I love you too. I don’t think I’ve ever said that to you, and I’m sorry I didn’t know how to say it before you…before. But I just want you to know that I do…love you.”
I took a shaky breath, trying to pull myself together. “Okay. I think that’s it,” I said as I stood, pulling up the towel and shaking it out. “We’ll be back later.”
I crossed to my Jeep and threw the damp towel into the back before climbing into the front. I turned the ignition on, took a cleansing breath, then pulled onto the drive towards home. Towards Jamie.
Jamie
THIRTY MINUTES after I’d sent the picture to Finn, I heard the front door open and close, followed by the sounds of keys hitting the counter and a rustling that I thought might be plastic grocery bags. Footsteps followed, and Finn appeared in the doorway to our bedroom holding a cup of co!ee from The Daily Grind, and a plate with a giant doughnut. The doughnut was covered in chocolate icing and sprinkles, and had a single lit birthday candle in it. I smiled and set my kindle on the side table as he crossed to stand next to the bed, o!ering the doughnut to me. “Make a wish, birthday boy.”
I grinned wider and blew out the candle. Wordlessly, I took the plate and co!ee, and set them on the side table next to my kindle before reaching out and pulling Finn down onto the bed with me.
Taken by surprise, he landed crosswise, half on top of me, laughing as he fell. I got my arms under him and wran‐ gled him up so that we were face to face with most of his bodyweight on top of me. “Hi,” he said, quietly.
“Hi,” I responded, then pulled his head down so I could take his mouth in a kiss. He sighed into me as I lazily stroked his tongue with mine.
We made out like that for a few moments, neither one of us in a hurry to take it further. I reveled in the #avor of him.
Finn. My Finn.
I didn’t think I’d ever get enough kissing him.
I pulled away and he shifted so that he was lying next to me on his side, idly playing with a strand of my hair. “Where’d you go this morning?” I asked.
He ducked his head, shifting his gaze to my chest. “I went to Annie’s gravesite.”
Confused, I asked, “Did you not want to go with me? I thought we were going later.”
He turned his gaze back toward me. “I just wanted a moment with her by myself. I’ll still go with you later.”
“Oh. Well, I get that. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just didn’t want to make a big thing about it. She’s your mom, not mine. I didn’t know if you’d think it was weird for me to go without you.”
“Baby.” I rolled over on my side, mirroring his position so that I could look at him fully. I brushed a hand across his cheek then continued to the back of his neck. “I know how much she means to you. I don’t care if you go see her without me. It doesn’t diminish her role as my mom for her to !ll that role for you too. I only wish you’d had more time with her while she was here.”
“Me too,” he said softly.
I leaned forward and kissed his forehead then pulled back, saying, “I don’t want to be sad today.” I sat up, arranged my legs criss-cross-applesauce, bounced up and down on the mattress, and said, “Can I open my presents?”
He leaned up on his elbow and shook his head at my ridiculousness. He smiled though, so I knew my silliness had done the trick in breaking us out of the melancholy. “How do you know I got you anything? Maybe the doughnut and co”ee are all you get,” he replied with a smirk.
“Uh-uh. I know you got me at least one thing because I saw a box with birthday wrapping paper under the bath‐ room sink. You need to !nd a better hiding spot.”
He rolled his eyes and climbed off the bed, striding across the room. “You’re ridiculous!” he called out from the bathroom where he was presumably retrieving my gift. He then went into the closet, emerging moments later with two more gifts, before coming back over to sit on the bed.
I clapped my hands together like a four year-old. “Ooh. I got three gifts!”
“See, you might have found one hiding spot, but you didn’t know about the rest.”
“Yeah, but now I know you hide things in the closet. You’ll have to !nd a new spot before Christmas.”
He sighed. “Just open them.”
I dove in, grabbing the smallest one !rst, but he placed his hand on mine, stopping me. “That one goes last.”
“Okaaay,” I said, stretching out the word, but setting the gift aside. I picked up a medium-sized box, tearing into the paper and opening it up. Inside, was a pair of shoes I’d been eyeing when we’d been strolling through the Plaza a couple of weeks ago. I’d made a small comment about them as we walked by and I loved that he’d remembered. “I love them! I’ll wear them to dinner tonight,” I said, kissing him on the cheek and setting them aside before moving on to the next box.
The size and shape of this one was giving clothes vibes. I tore into it, gasping when I saw the Patrick Mahomes jersey inside. I was sure it’d cost him a pretty penny. “Baby!” I exclaimed. “This is too much!”
“It’s your birthday. Nothing is too much for you.”
“Look at you with the romantic words. You’re getting good at that,” I teased. He rolled his eyes, but I didn’t miss the “ush that crept up his cheeks at my words. He still had moments of doubt about his relationship ability, but he was so much better at it than he thought.
He’d brought me through the worst of my grief over losing Mom. He’d stuck by me. Hadn’t given up on me, despite my e#orts to push him away. And then, as I started my new teaching job, he’d been my biggest supporter. He never questioned why I sometimes spent late nights at school rearranging my classroom, or sat on the couch late into the evening, surrounded by papers to grade. He quietly brought me a beer or took a dirty plate to the kitchen as I sorted through lesson plans and parent emails. For someone who’d been essentially neglected his entire life, he pretty quickly !gured out what it meant to be present for someone else. He took care of me in ways I didn’t think he even real‐ ized. I was damn lucky.
“Here,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “You can open this one now.”
He held out the smaller gift I’d originally grabbed !rst. He was more hesitant than he’d been moments before, all playfulness gone from his expression. I took it from him cautiously, sensing this moment called for a more serious tone. I was a little nervous, wondering what it could be that would put such an expression on his face.
I unwrapped the gift more carefully than I had the others, and opened the box. I pulled back some tissue paper to !nd a book. The title read The Story of Us by Finn Taylor.
“Baby,” I breathed. I pulled the book out of the box, running my hand reverently over the cover of the paper‐ back. An image of piano keys ran the length of the cover with the words of the title written in blue script across the white keys.
I !nally looked up at him. His cheeks were #ushed and he was biting his lip nervously. “Is this about us?” I asked.
“Um, no. Not exactly. It was sort of inspired by our story, and one of the characters does play the piano, but most of the rest of it is di$erent.”
I thought back over the last nine months, how he spent much of that time writing in his notebook, sometimes for hours. I hadn’t asked what he was writing, but he eventually let it slip over the summer he was working on a novel. I’d been thrilled for him, but when I’d tried asking what it was about, wanting to support him, he’d seemed uncomfortable talking about it, so I hadn’t pushed further.
Lately, he spent more of his time working on the laptop I’d gotten him for his birthday, rather than writing in his notebooks. Now that I knew he’d published, I !gured that time spent on the laptop was probably because he’d been moving his words from paper to computer. I couldn’t believe he’d quietly published a book without telling me, but I was so damn impressed that he’d done it.
“This is amazing!” I leaned over and pulled him into a hug.
“Thanks,” he said, then pulled back. “Read the dedication.”
I looked down at the book I still held in my hand and opened it, “ipping past the !rst couple of pages to the dedication.
For Annie. You believed in me before I believed in myself. And for Jamie. Your love is a gift. I will treasure it, always.
I ran my !ngers over the words, reading them a second time as my eyes burned with tears. I swiped at them before they could drip onto the pages of the book. I looked at him, then. Into the eyes of the man who’d come to mean so much to me. “I don’t know what to say. This is…beautiful, Finn. Really, really beautiful.”
He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it, waiting for my reaction.
I traced my !ngers over Mom’s name one more time and asked,“Did she know?”
“That I was writing a book?”
“Yeah. Did Mom know?”
He nodded in a!rmation. “She was the one who encouraged me to do it. It came up when I took her to that appointment back in January on your “rst day of student teaching.” He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling as he continued. “Somehow, she got me to confess that I enjoyed writing, and next thing I knew, I was working on a novel.”
“That de”nitely sounds like Mom. She had a way of not only prying information out of you, but somehow convincing you to do something without even realizing it was what you’d wanted to do in the “rst place. She was always my biggest cheerleader.”
Finn reached over and grabbed my hand. “I really don’t think I could have done this without her. Or you.”
“Me? I feel bad that you published it and I didn’t even know. I should have paid more attention to what you were doing.” I felt sel”sh. Like I’d been so busy with the start of my teaching career, I hadn’t even noticed he was doing this really big thing.
“That wasn’t your fault. I kept it quiet. It felt like…” he paused a moment, as if he was searching for words. “I guess I was afraid if I talked about it, I might jinx it or something. And there were a couple times I thought about giving up. I’d get blocked and frustrated, and sometimes I wondered if I was even any good at it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me if I couldn’t “nish.”
I shook my head. “Writing is hard. I wouldn’t have been disappointed.”
“Maybe. But I saw how hard you worked to become a teacher, and how hard you’ve worked this year since starting your job. I see how good it makes you feel when your students are thriving because of the time you’ve put in for them. I wanted that. I wanted something to work for. A goal I could feel like I’d accomplished. You inspired me, Jamie.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “I’m really proud of you, baby.” I squeezed his hand. “And Mom would be too.”
I leaned in and kissed him, setting the book aside and pulling him into my lap. He came willingly, if a little awkwardly, sitting in between my legs and wrapping his around my waist. On an emotional scale, it had already been a rollercoaster of a morning, and I needed to feel him. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him to me like a koala hugging a tree. Our chests were pressed together, heartbeat against heartbeat, the pulse of our love a language as old as time.
It said I love you. I’m yours.
You’re mine. Always.
Forever.
“Happy Birthday, Jamie,” Finn said against my lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”