39. Lulu

39

LULU

A sound whispers across the tiled floor, a kind of whoosh .

I blink open my eyes, figuring it’s the wind from the ocean. We left the windows open, and my room is closest to the beach.

I sit up. “Cameron? Mariana?”

No one answers, and my skin prickles. This is that moment when girls do something stupid in a horror movie.

“Cameron?”

I call his name louder then flick on the lamp by my bed.

Is that a postcard on the floor?

A dash of hope flutters in my chest. I fling the covers away, and I am that girl in a horror movie.

Only I’m not.

Because this is a different story. It’s a story where the girl chases a Chagall.

I get out of bed, kneel, and pick up the postcard.

It’s an image of the artist’s L’anniversaire , a gorgeous, dreamy painting of two lovers floating above the floor, kissing, enrapt.

The painting Leo said he’d get me next time.

My heart thunders in my chest, wild mustangs stampeding across the earth. Please let next time be now.

I turn it over.

“Next time, I’ll give you a Chagall.” That’s what I told you, and I meant it. And I hope you’ll forgive me.

For what?

I open the door and find a trail of Chagalls across the living room floor, postcard after postcard. I pick up the next one.

I love you.

The next one.

It’s always been you.

And another, as my heart starts to glow.

I tried to stop loving you. I think I succeeded for a while. But you’re you, and you’re wonderful, and I fell in love with you all over again.

One more.

And this time? It’s better. Because I didn’t fall alone. I fell with you.

Tears slip down my face as I grab the next card, following the trail.

I fell madly, joyfully, enthusiastically in love with you, as you fell for me.

I grab the next one as the glow spreads from my chest all the way through me.

I still can’t believe I’m writing this. I can’t quite fathom that I’m not experiencing this solo. Have I mentioned it’s so much better to love you when you love me back?

“I bet it is,” I whisper, grabbing one more.

I don’t think I can compare the two. Loving you from afar was painful and exquisitely torturous. Loving you near is wonderful and exquisitely blissful.

A smile commandeers my face. My whole being. I’m almost at the deck, where a night breeze blows and stars light the sky.

I pick up the last one.

This is new love. I love who you are now. I love your spirit, and your humor, and your wild ideas, and I love your endless, beautiful heart and your profound capacity to love.

I love that you want this.

I love that you want us.

I want it all too.

My face is awash with tears as I stand, peering out onto the deck. A sliver of moonlight shines on the wood. Leo steps out of the shadows from the beach, his brown eyes brimming with hope.

“I’ll give you all the kisses in the world, all the paintings in the world. I’ll give you all my love. Always. Will you have me?”

No question has ever been easier to answer. I’m exploding with light and joy and all the love I’ve ever wanted. I launch myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck, kissing him madly as I say over and over yes, yes, yes .

I don’t need to quiz him.

I don’t need to know how he’s arrived at this conclusion.

I don’t need the details of how he processed things.

Because he did.

Because he’s here.

And because he kisses me with all his heart, his mind, and his body.

There are no more questions. There is no more past.

We kiss under the moon and the stars until kisses turn into fervent gasps and needy touches. I pull him inside, take him to my room, and show him that I love him heart, mind, and body.

When we’re done, I run my fingers down his chest.

“How did you find me?”

He smiles playfully. “You have very good friends.”

I smile too. “I do. I have everything.”

He takes my hand, links his fingers through mine, and squeezes. “So do I.”