Is this what Jude will show me, all the pretty places I’ve been too oblivious to see? Will he help me finally find the beauty in the world that I’ve ignored?
The wooden boards creak beneath our feet, and we pause at the apex, leaning on the railing to watch as Max begins to swing.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I say softly. There are hundreds of reasons why being here with Jude is a bad idea, but I can’t deny the one reason it’s not. He’s lodged in my heart, and I don’t want to ever set him free.
“I’ve been thinking about that, and I think I’ve come up with a solution,” he tells me. I wait for him to share and he reaches back to pull out his wallet. A moment later, he hands me a fortune cookie slip.
“You will get a second chance,” I read, then I laugh. “I thought this got thrown away.”
“I told you that I keep the good ones. I had a feeling it might come in handy.” His fingers graze along my wrist.
Maybe it’s time I adopt the same policy.
“Let’s start over,” he suggests. “I’m Jude.”
“Grace,” I whisper.
“It’s nice to meet you, Grace. In fact, it feels like I’ve been waiting to meet you my whole life.”
I search his eyes, and there I find my truth.
Relaxing my hand, I let the fortune slip from my fingers. The wind catches the scrap of paper, and it flutters to the water below.
“What if I need a second chance?” Jude asks me.
I run my hand down his jaw. “You never will again.”
“I’m pretty good at screwing things up,” he warns me.
“I’ve been taking lessons in forgiveness.”
I was broken when I met Jude. I still am, but with him I’m closer to whole. Together we’re nearly complete. His mouth slants over mine, his strong arms bracketing my shoulder blades as he draws me closer. When his lips seal over mine, I know I’ve found my forever.
Epilogue
“I don’t think it’s level,” Grace says heaving a sigh of frustration as she stands back to survey the picture over the mantel.
We have two nearly full moving vans out front, and she’s busy hanging paintings. I abandon the box I’m carrying and join her in the living room. “I’ll help you with it later,” I promise, grabbing her by the waist, I spin her around to face me.
“I have been dreaming about hanging this painting right there since you gave it to me last Christmas,” she tells me.
“It’s still your second favorite gift then?” I ask, but she shakes her head.
“It’s my favorite present from last Christmas.”
I pull back and stare at her in surprise. “I gave you a house last Christmas. Specifically, the house we’re standing in right now.”
“I know that,” she says, “but that painting makes this our home.”
Dropping my hold on her waist I walk over and adjust its position. “Is this better?”
“Perfect.”
I stop and admire it with her for a moment. It’s my first real attempt at a portrait. I have spontaneously painted Grace on a couple of occasions, but this piece had been inspired by a photograph that Grace’s best friend captured of us last summer. Grace, Max, and I sitting on a large rock looking out at the sea. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to scale the damn thing, but we had managed to, helping Max along the way. I’d hung the photograph on my easel and slowly painted it for months. I still didn’t know if I’d managed to convey how the wind caught her hair or how small Max looked between us. I was pointing to something out on the water, but looking back at that perfectly captured memory it felt as if I was pointing to our future.
The photo had managed to show exactly what I’d felt in my heart for the last two years: this is my family. I had hoped to give Grace the same gift, and looking at her now I know I have. I linger in the living room, soaking in the sensation of home and family for a moment longer before I return to my work.
It had taken me a year and a half to convince Grace to finally move in with me. Then we’d taken another six months to remodel her dream home. The house had come on the market only a few days after she’d finally said yes to the question I had been asking her for over a year, and I’d known it was a sign.
There was still a lot to do to the outside of the old Painted Lady to return her to her original Victorian glory, but the location couldn’t have been more perfect. Perched on the bluff overlooking downtown with a generous amount of garden space surrounding the home, it rose like a beacon of Port Townsend’s past. I’d heard horror stories about remodeling and renovation, but nothing could deter me from giving Grace her dream.
As it turned out, the entire process had brought us closer together than ever. We’d demolished the kitchen and ripped up the floors. We’d picked paint colors and tile. We’d messed up enough times to have to bring in contractors, and I wouldn’t change any of it.
“That reminds me,” I say catching her hand as I head back toward the front door, “we still haven’t decided what name to put on the mailbox: Kane or Mercer?”