32. CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 32

“I want you tonight and for the rest of my life”

Rest (with Sasha Alex Sloan) – Dean Lewis, Sasha Alex Sloan

Nathalie

“ G rand gesture?” My words are choppy and raw as I clasp Deon’s hand and he leads us into his home.

We stop right in the entryway and he spins to face me. His throat bobs and he takes a long, deep breath, eyes closed. When they open, they shine like the sea glass, the green so intense that my knees nearly buckle.

“I’m not great with words or grand declarations, but I’m going to try.” He gulps, leading me into the living room and onto the couch. His hands are visibly trembling as he picks up a pink cloth-bound book and flips it open.

On the first page, written in glitter, is the title.

Deon and Nathalie’s Guide to Falling in Love.

“I’ve been reading your love stories, learning about what makes each one special,” he says, voice unsteady. “And this is ours.”

The tears are flowing freely now, streaming down my cheeks as he flips to the first page. It’s a collage of Deon and me; him at a press conference in front of a microphone and me standing in one of the gyms at work. A word bubble sits above Deon’s face reading, Will you be my fake girlfriend? and another above mine with, No! .

A choked laugh tumbles out and he flips to the next page, full of the paparazzi photos taken on our first date, a sticker of tacos and chips, and the selfie we took together. Our first fake date is scrawled at the top.

Next is a page dedicated to my apartment flooding and Deon tackling me.

One for the Halloween party with the photo we took in our costumes.

A page for the night we made our deal. Just sex is written in glitter pen at the top and yeah, right is written at the bottom.

There’s a page for our dating show and dinner with my family. Another for our puzzle and tea time. One for the night at the bar and Christmas. Two pages for his birthday and another for the gala.

Deon flips to the next page and at the top, it says, Deon’s Grand Gesture .

There’s a photo of Henry and Jack posing with power tools and Declan holding a bottle of glitter glue, but the photo that catches my eye is the one of Deon, clearly so nervous that he may piss himself.

In it, he’s working on a friendship bracelet.

He flips to the next page and the photos are of Maren and Sawyer holding a sign in front of me while I sleep in Maren’s guest bed that says, She has no idea that Deon Adams is in love with her.

They share twin smiles of glee and as the words on the sign register in my mind, my head jerks to Deon, who has tears in his eyes, mixed with vulnerability and hope and… love .

“Is that true?”

Please, please, please. Say it’s true.

Deon rises from the couch, hand outstretched. He dodges my question, but I allow him to lead me into the garage, a place I never once stepped foot into while I was living here.

“I thought—For a long time, I believed I was wrong for love.” He lets go of my hand and spins to face me, standing in the center of the garage. “I was drowning, simply skating through life. I didn’t know how to convince myself that I was worthy of giving or receiving love when the person I thought I was going to marry was sleeping with someone else.

“Savannah broke something inside me, but I don’t think I realized that it was broken until I met you. Until you shined a light on what life should look like. How someone who you love should make you feel. With you, I am heard and understood and acknowledged in a way I never knew was possible. I was afraid to date and afraid to feel anything for another person because I was terrified that they would take my love and throw it away.”

A lone tear streaks down his cheek and I grab onto a shelf for stability to keep myself standing. I glance at the shelves.

Are those my storage boxes?

“Deon…” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Please, let me grand gesture the shit out of you.”

Another rough choked laugh tumbles out from me. “Did you turn ‘grand gesture’ into a verb?”

Twin dimples appear as he smiles and my chest ignites. He points at the shelves.

“This is where we’ll keep all of your decorations.” He pulls a box down. “They’re color-coded by holiday. Orange for Halloween. Red for Christmas. Pink for Valentine’s Day. Grey for miscellaneous. There are also labels at the top.”

I’m finding it difficult to breathe, hard to think, and impossible to stand as he shows me the organizational system, pride in his voice.

All labeled with his precious label maker.

With every word, his voice transforms from shaky and nervous to confident and direct.

He guides me into The Lair and stands in front of three brand new bookshelves, the same mahogany wood as the others, except these...they're covered with my things.

My precious collection of rocks. The dozens of romance and fantasy novels I’ve collected. The crochet set of Lord of the Rings characters.

“These are your shelves.” His smile is bashful, “If you want them. You can fill them with all of your trinkets and bobbles and romance novels.”

I nod my head erratically, entirely incapable of forming words. I’m only capable of happy sobs and tears as he leads me out of that room and into the kitchen.

He opens an empty drawer that used to hold all of his pots and pans.

“We can keep the cookware you won here.” Deon opens another drawer. “And the bakeware I bought to match it in this drawer.”

“Deon,” I croak out, needing a moment to comprehend what’s happening. He—He wants me here? With all of my things and mess and crying when I have my period?

That’s what he’s saying, isn’t it?

God, my brain is fuzzy. He clasps my hand and leads me into his bedroom. I notice that his hands have stopped shaking, but mine imitate an earthquake, trembling in his grip.

“You showed me that the life I was living is not the life that I want. The one that I want is one with you and Gordie, and holidays with our friends. I want nights watching dating shows, completing puzzles, and last-minute dates to sketchy taco trucks. I want to point you out in the stands at my games to embarrass you and hold your stomach when you’re in pain, to visit you at work because I missed you, and know that you’re waiting for me at home when I’m away for a game.”

My mouth opens and closes and I flail to say something when he drags me into the closet, one half of the large room empty.

It’s waiting for someone to fill the space.

With a smile full of excitement, Deon reveals three shoe racks against the back wall. He opens one and I gasp as I realize he organized every pair of my shoes and placed them into the organizers.

They’re obviously color-coded.

This is all too much, too overwhelming, too grand and I collapse to the floor, unable to stand beneath the weight of all that he’s saying and not saying.

“My therapist said something to me that has rattled through my mind.” Deon crouches in front of me, meeting my gaze. “She told me that I was potentially throwing away a lifetime with someone I love in fear of getting hurt again. ”

“You’re seeing a therapist?” are the first words I manage to croak out. Not the important question tumbling through my mind, but the only one that I can manage.

He nods.

“There’s still a lot I need to work through—trauma I need to unpack and heal from—but I want that with you.” Deon pauses, forcing my gaze upward. If I hadn’t already collapsed to the floor, I would fall again from the intensity of the look he gave me. “I want a lifetime of love with you.”

“ You do?”

An hour ago, I was convinced that this was over, that what felt real to me was fake for him. But I was wrong.

I’ve never been so thrilled to be wrong in my life.

He still hasn’t said those three little words and I hold onto my heart, waiting for that final confession.

Once he says it, my heart doesn’t belong to me anymore.

But he has to say it.

He’s hinted and inferred and the poster in the photo says he loves me, but I need him to tell me.

I need him to make this real.

“More than anything else in the world,” he says earnestly and my heart attempts to leap out of my chest. “Can I show you the rest?”

“There’s more ?” I ask in disbelief.

Deon laughs, deep and true, and shows me the rest of the house.

Acrylic shelves in the bathroom for my makeup and skincare.

Christmas stockings he hung in the living room and all the decorations he found in the clearance section.

There are empty picture frames on the wall waiting to be filled with photos of us.

As we finish the tour around the house and I’ve cried every tear I have, Deon returns to the couch and picks up a friendship bracelet.

It’s a rainbow of colors.

The knots are uneven and the colors don’t alternate in any explicable pattern, but it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, second only to the smile Deon wears as he extends it.

“I love you.” He says the words simply as if he’s said them every day of his life. “I am madly, wildly, consumingly in love with you.”

I sniffle. I guess I’m not quite out of tears. His eyes flicker around the room, wide as saucers, as I stare at him.

“No takesies backsies. If you mean it,” I murmur, “then you can’t take it back.”

He said it and I need to hear it again, now and tomorrow and every day for the rest of our lives.

Deon cups my cheek, banishing a stray tear, and with conviction, he says, “You brought me back to life. You are the love of my life and if my life measures down to only the love I have for you, then that life will have been enough for me. You’ve filled it with joy and happiness and unforgettable memories.”

He laughs softly when an odd choking-slash-grunt sound escapes my body. I’m in shock. I have no control over my sounds, tears, or heart palpitations right now. Not when Deon is telling me that he loves me and wants me and is choosing me.

“So, I have no plans on taking anything back.”

“Say it again,” I whisper, heart in my throat. “Make it real.”

“It’s always been real,” he admits, holding the bracelet between us, “But I’ll say it every day from now until forever if you let me. I love you.”