November 9: A Novel (34 page)

9
th

There were 83,456 words in the manuscript I dropped off at her front door last night. There are roughly 23,000 words in the first five chapters, before she would have gotten to the note. She could have easily read 23,000 words in three hours. If she started the manuscript right after I dropped it off, she would have finished the first section by 3 a.m.

But it’s almost midnight. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I saw her pick up the manuscript and close her door. Which means she’s had twenty-one hours to spare and she’s still not here.

Which means, obviously, she isn’t coming.

Most of me believed she wouldn’t show up today, but a small part of me still held out hope. I can’t say that her choice has broken my heart, because that would mean my heart was still whole to be broken.

I’ve been heartbroken for a solid year, so her not showing up feels just as crippling as the last 365 days have felt.

I’m surprised the restaurant has let me wait it out here in this booth for so long. I’ve been here since the crack of dawn this morning in hopes that she stayed up and read the manuscript last night. Now that it’s almost midnight, that’s a good eighteen hours I’ve spent occupying this booth. That’s gonna be one big tip.

At 11:55 p.m., I leave the tip. I don’t want to be here when the clock strikes November 10th. I’d rather wait out the last five minutes in my car.

When I open the door to leave the restaurant, the waitress shoots me a pitiful look. I’m sure she’s never seen anyone wait so long after being stood up, but at least it’ll give her a good story to tell.

It’s 11:56 p.m. when I reach the parking lot.

It’s 11:56 p.m. when I see her open her door and step out of her car.

It’s still 11:56 p.m. when I clasp my hands behind my head and suck in a rush of cool November air just to see if my lungs are working.

She’s standing by her car, the wind blowing strands of hair across her face as she looks at me from across the parking lot. I feel like if I take a step toward her, the earth would crumble beneath my feet from the weight of my heart. We both stand still for several long seconds.

She glances down at the phone in her hands, and then she looks back up at me. “It’s 11:57, Ben. We only have three minutes to do this.”

I stare at her, wondering what she means by that. Is she leaving in three minutes? Is she only giving me three minutes to plead my case with her? Questions are bouncing around in my head when I see the corner of her mouth lift into a smile.

She’s smiling.

As soon as I realize she’s smiling, I’m running. I make it across the parking lot in a matter of seconds. I wrap my arms around her and pull her against me and when I feel her arms go around me, I do the most non-alpha thing I can possibly do.

I cry like a fucking baby.

My arms are squeezing her tight, my hands are wrapped around the back of her head, my face is pressed into her hair. And I hold her for so long, I have no idea if it’s still November 9th anymore or if it’s the 10th now. But the date doesn’t matter, because I’m going to love her through every single one of them.

She loosens her grip and pulls away from my shoulder to look up at me. We’re both smiling now, and I can’t believe this girl found it in her heart to forgive me. But she did, I can see it all over her face. I can see it in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she holds herself. And I can feel it in the way her thumbs brush over my cheeks, wiping my tears away.

“Do fictional boyfriends cry as much as I do?” I ask her.

She laughs. “Only the really great ones.”

I drop my forehead to hers and I squeeze my eyes shut. I want to soak this moment up for as long as I can. Just because she’s here and just because she has forgiven me doesn’t mean she’s here to love me forever. And I have to be prepared to accept that.

“Ben, I have something I want to say.”

I pull back and look down at her. Now there are tears in
her
eyes, so I don’t feel so pathetic. She reaches up and puts her hands on my face, gently stroking my cheek. “I didn’t come here to forgive you.”

I can feel the hardening of my jaw, but I try to relax. I knew this was a possibility. And I have to respect her decision, no matter how hard it will be for me.

“You were sixteen,” she says. “You had been through one of the worst things a child could ever experience. Your actions from that night weren’t because you were a bad person, Ben. It was because you were a scared teenage boy and sometimes people make mistakes. You’ve carried so much guilt for what you did, and for so long. You can’t ask for my forgiveness, because there’s nothing to forgive. If anything, I’m here for
your
forgiveness. Because I know your heart, Ben, and your heart is only capable of love. I should have recognized that last year when I doubted you. I should have given you the chance to explain it then. If I had just listened to you, then we could have avoided an entire year of heartache. So for that . . . I’m sorry. I’m
so
sorry. And I hope you can forgive me.”

She’s looking up at me with genuine hope—like she honestly believes she’s partly at fault for anything we’ve ever been through.

“You aren’t allowed to apologize to me, Fallon.”

She lets out a rush of air and nods. “Then you aren’t allowed to apologize to me.”

“Fine,” I say. “I forgive myself.”

She laughs. “And I forgive
my
self.”

She brings her hands up to my hair and runs her fingers through it, smiling up at me. My eyes fall to a bandage on her left wrist and she notices. “Oh. I almost forgot the most important part. It’s why I’m so late.” She begins to unwrap the bandage from around her wrist. “I got a tattoo.” She holds up her wrist, and there’s a small tattoo of an open book. On each of the two open pages lie a comedy and a tragedy mask. “Books and theater,” she says, explaining the tattoo. “My two favorite things. I just got it about two hours ago when I realized how selflessly in love with you I am.” She looks back up at me, her eyes glistening.

I blow out a quick breath, taking her wrist in my hand. I pick it up and I kiss it. “Fallon,” I say. “Come home with me. I want to make love to you and fall asleep with you. And then in the morning, I want to cook you the breakfast I promised you last year. Well-done bacon and over-easy eggs.”

She smiles, but doesn’t agree to the breakfast. “Actually, I’m having breakfast with my father tomorrow.”

Hearing her say that she’s having breakfast with her father makes me even happier than if she would have agreed to have breakfast with me. I know her father isn’t the ideal parent, but he’s still her father. And I’ve felt so much guilt over the fact that I’m responsible for a lot of the strain in their relationship.

“But I’ll still come home with you,” she says.

“Good,” I tell her. “Tonight you’re mine. I’ll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day
after
tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history.”

She slaps me in the chest. “That was a
huge
spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?”

I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. “Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after.”

And then I kiss her.

And it’s a twelve.

• • •

Not
the end.

Far from it.

First, I want to thank everyone who had a hand in this book. My beta-readers and best friends. In no particular order: Tarryn Fisher, Mollie Kay Harper (my sex-scene guru), Kay Miles, Vannoy Fite, Misha Robinson, Marion Archer, Kathryn Perez, Karen Lawson, Vilma Gonzalez, Kaci Blue-Buckley, Stephanie Cohen, Chelle Lagoski Northcutt, Jennifer Stiltner, Natasha Tomic, Aestas, and Kristin Delcambre.

To the women who help run my chaotic life, from making sure my bills are paid or helping out in my online reader groups: Stephanie Cohen, Brenda Perez, Murphy Hopkins, Chelle Lagoski Northcutt, Pamela Carrion, and Kristin Delcambre.

And even though The Bookworm Box isn’t related to this book, the volunteers have absolutely had a hand in making sure this book was finished. So to all who have helped pack boxes, print labels, and who have donated books, I thank you! But mostly Lin Reynolds, who has dang near single-handedly kept this charity up and running despite our many obstacles.

To my parents, my sisters, Heath and the boys. All of you. I know our lives have changed drastically over the last few years. It means the world to me that every single one of you has been open and receptive to these changes. You don’t argue when I forget to call you back, you don’t get mad when I travel too much and you don’t burn my clothes when I fail to unpack them from my suitcases for weeks at a time. Your patience and understanding is appreciated. You are my foundation, my backbone, my heart. All of you.

To Johanna Castillo, my wonderful, beautiful editor with the killer legs. My happiness comes first for you, and that’s all I could ever ask for.

TO MY PUBLICIST, ARIELE STEWART FREDMAN! I’M PUTTING THIS IN CAPS BECAUSE I’M STILL SO EXCITED I FINALLY GOT YOU! NOT ONLY AS MY PUBLICIST, BUT AS A GREAT, AWESOME FRIEND!

To my publisher, Judith Curr, and the rest of the team at Atria Books, I can’t thank you enough for the support you have given me. From nailing the cover on your first attempt, to inviting me to be a part of this crazy app idea. I can’t wait to see what my future holds with you.

To my agent, Jane Dystel, and the entire Dystel & Goderich Literary Team. I can’t thank you enough for being such a huge part of my career. My dream. My life goal. It wouldn’t be possible without your help.

To X Ambassadors, one of the greatest bands of our time. Thank you for inspiring so much of this book. Thank you for creating music that feeds our souls.

And last but not least, thank you to Cynthia Capshaw, for giving birth to my soul mate.

If I forgot anyone, it’s all Murphy’s fault. Even though she moved on to her own career in editing and is no longer my assistant, I’m still going to blame her for everything that goes wrong. Because she’ll always be my sister.