Page 51 of Forever Then

Chapter Forty

BOUGIE-ASS PESTO

Connor

Gretchen and I hastily say our goodbyes with promises to be in touch soon. As soon as I explained that Gretchen’s sister-in-law had been rushed into emergency surgery back home, the Ortegas understood our need to get on the earliest flight possible.

The second we’re in the car, Gretchen turns to me for more details and I relay everything Drew told me on the phone.

Reagan is pregnant. Or, she was.

It was ectopic.

Her fallopian tube ruptured this afternoon.

She was bleeding internally.

An ambulance rushed her to the hospital.

She’s currently in surgery.

The doctor doubts they’ll be able to repair the ruptured tube and will likely have to remove it entirely.

With the time difference, Drew hasn’t been able to get in touch with his parents in Italy, but Reagan’s family is with him now at the hospital .

Everything laid out, we spring into action. We spend the last leg of our drive back to Sedona on the phone with the airline. Fortunately, we’re able to grab two seats together on a flight that leaves in three and a half hours, but we’ll be cutting it close.

Back at the hotel, we toss everything in our bags with no regard for who it belongs to.

There’s barely a moment to breathe between checking out at the front desk, making the two-hour drive from Sedona to Phoenix, returning the rental car, rushing through security and running to the gate.

We make it just as the final boarding group is called.

We both heave out a long breath, our efforts still labored from our marathon sprint through the terminal. I tuck Gretchen into my chest and she melts against me. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

I send up a prayer, hoping against hope for my words to be true.

Once we’re in our seats, we reach for our phones. I notice a missed text from Drew that came in while we were navigating the TSA line.

Drew

She’s out of surgery. Had to remove her fallopian tube but she’s okay.

Me

Thanks for the update. I’m glad she’s okay. Gretchen and I just boarded.

Not landing ’til after midnight. I’ll touch base with you in the morning.

Love you, man.

I hold out my phone for Gretchen to read the message. “Drew says Reagan made it out of surgery.”

“Thank God.” She cracks her neck from side to side before she tells her brother that she loves him in a text of her own.

After her phone signals with a woosh that her message has gone through, we switch to airplane mode and stash both our devices in the bags at our feet .

Gretchen is asleep on my shoulder before we take off.

We dozed on and off for the whole flight. During the few times we were both awake, I distracted her by talks of the day’s events. She launched into the story of Winona’s “intervention” at the birthing center and promptly swore me to secrecy. Now that I know the details, I understand why.

We’re zombies trudging through O’Hare at one-thirty in the morning.

Since I had Ubered to the airport, I take Gretchen’s keys and offer to drive us back to my place. Again, she’s asleep before we’re out of the parking lot. At least she can’t put up a fight when I pay her parking fee. It’s hardly a sacrifice since she refused to let me help pay for the hotel.

I’m also a lovesick fool who just wants to do things for her.

This relationship is new and I’m certain the obstacles will come now that we’re home.

Gretchen’s confidence in how her brother will accept our relationship helps some, but I can’t shake the reservations in my gut that it won’t be that easy.

It’s been a heavy, emotional few days for her so I keep my continued concerns about Drew to myself as I try like hell to grab on to a sliver of that confidence she has.

There’s also the matter of her relocation back to New York. Her interview for the Executive Assistant position at Saks is next week and, even though she hasn’t talked about it much over the past several days, I know she’s excited about it.

Truth is, I’m ready to do exactly what I had planned to do three years ago. I’ll become a frequent flyer, show up at her doorstep every weekend if she’ll let me. And when the time feels right, I’ll move there.

In the past, I dreaded relationship milestones. I wanted to cling to my independence, keep my own space, delay commitment, hold back on saying those three coveted words because it all felt too hard, like I was forcing it .

But that was before her.

With her, it’s easy. I don’t want to rush anything, but I also already know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that everything that scared me in relationships past, doesn’t scare me with Gretchen.

As I turn into my building’s parking garage, I blink back the romanticism because I know Arizona was the easy part.

No family, no sneaking around, no work, no interruptions.

But we’re home now. Our lives will go on as they did before and we’ll not only have to make time for each other, but we’ll have to navigate life’s challenges together, too.

The realist in me says to remain optimistic, but stay on guard.

Stay hopeful, but plan for the worst.

Never stop choosing her, but recognize certain people may not like my choice.

Never stop loving her, but accept what it might cost me.

I put the car in park and turn off the engine. She sighs as my hand brushes across her temple. A set of sleepy eyes look up at me. “We’re here.”

She smiles through a yawn as she contorts her body into an adorably awkward four-limb stretch. She pats my cheek and I grab her hand, placing a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.

Yup. Easy.

Upstairs, after a quick tour of my apartment, I offer her the bathroom first. While she’s occupied, I whip up some mozzarella pesto grilled cheese sandwiches because neither of us has eaten since lunch.

She meets me in the kitchen dressed in a white cotton pajama set. Messy bun propped on top of her head, makeup washed away and those glasses perched atop the bridge of her nose, she’s beautiful. Breathtaking.

“Is that…” Her words trail off as she leans over the pan, inhaling a deep pull of the aroma. “Pesto and mozzarella?”

“Yeah, I was starving. Thought you might be hungry, too.”

“Hmmm. Interesting.”

I narrow my eyes. Does she not remember?

I switch off the burner and transfer the sandwiches to plates. We lean our hips against the kitchen counter and turn to face each other.

“Do you remember the first time you made me one of these?” she asks, sandwich held aloft between us. She takes a bite, brows lifting as she waits for me to answer.

A slow smile spreads across my face.

“It was that night that Drew?—”

“—threw that house party,” I finish for her. “Yeah, I remember.”

A faint smile crooks the corner of her lips between bites. “Then you took me to?—”

“I took you to see Pitch Perfect and bought you the most inferior M&Ms one could ask for,” I interject again.

She clears the crumbs from her mouth with a swipe of her tongue. “What did a peanut butter M&M ever do to you?”

I laugh as I bop the tip her nose. Her nose scrunches at the contact, causing her glasses to shift. She casually slides them back into place with her finger as she takes another bite.

Maybe I do have a glasses kink.

“Yours tastes so much better than mine,” she says, her gaze pinned longingly on the sandwich between her fingers. “Why is that?”

I toss my sandwich onto the plate and dust off my hands. “You been making my sandwiches, Fish?” My arms come around her waist.

“Um, obviously,” she says, “They are the superior of grilled cheese sandwiches, after all.”

She winks at me and something warm flickers in my chest as I remember saying those exact words to her all those years ago.

I run my hands down her spine, kiss her jaw and nip at her ear.

Sandwich balanced precariously between our chests, she cranes her neck to take another bite as I flick my tongue over her earlobe. “Do not distract me with your big man hands and fancy tongue, old man.”

I grin against her ear. “You haven’t even seen all the things my tongue can do.”

“Mmmm,” she hums with a tilt of her head, baring more of her neck to me. Another bite and she mumbles through a mouth full of food, “Is it the pesto?”

Body shaking laughter overtakes me and I bury my face in her neck. Her chuckle matches mine as I pull back to find her eyes. She holds the last bite of her sandwich up to my lips and I swipe it.

Without a word, I retrieve the ingredients I used from the fridge, placing them on the counter in front of her.

“You shred your own mozzarella?” Her lips curl as she stares down the ball of cheese like it personally offended her. Then, she scoops up the pesto jar. “And what kind of bougie-ass pesto is this?” She spots the bread. “Artisan sourdough?” she shrieks.

She surveys the ingredients as though she’s a five-year-old who just caught her parents assembling a dollhouse at midnight on Christmas Eve. I run my finger over the crease in her brow. “You get what you pay for.”

“No. You get what you can afford,” she retorts, hiking a thumb at herself. “Groceries in New York are expensive. I can’t believe I’ve been making them wrong this whole time.” She picks up the remainder of my sandwich and takes a bite.

I take her face in my hands, expression deadly serious.

Her jaw stops, food hanging in digestive limbo inside her mouth as her eyes flare wide.

“Never again. I’ll buy you the fancy pesto and artisan bread.

I’ll even shred your mozzarella.” I press my forehead to hers. “Never again, baby. I swear it.”

She slaps my chest, mumbling something under her breath about me being a cheeky smartass. I swipe the last bite out of her hands with a caveman’s grunt and toss it into my mouth before putting the dishes in the sink and turning us toward the bedroom.

When I come out of the bathroom five minutes later, she’s already asleep, tucked under the covers, head on the edge of my pillow.

After I crank the air conditioning down, I climb in next to her.

Glancing at the clock, I see her glasses on my nightstand, her phone plugged into my charger.

I set my watch next to the tiny hoop earrings she must have taken off before she fell asleep.

The sight of her things next to my things makes me smile because I want them there.

This entire nightstand can be hers if she wants it.

Easy, easy, easy.

Tomorrow doesn’t promise the same, but I’ll take all that I can get for tonight.