Page 69 of The Romantic Agenda

“She’s asleep.”

“I am not.” Joy can’t quite open her eyes. “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

“And she’s quotingStar Wars. She’s gone.” The hammock stops moving and familiar hands touch her arms. “I got her. Come on, Cinderella.”

Joy’s feet are on the ground now but she’s not sure how they got there. “You haven’t called me that in forever.”

Malcolm wraps his arm around her waist. Joy leans on him, letting him hold her up. She blinks and they’re upstairs in her room. On the bed. Shoes gone.

“Shower. Makeup. Moisture.”

Malcolm laughs. “You can do that when the Ghost of Wrinkles Past wakes you up in two hours.”

“Shut up.” Joy swats at him. He catches her by the wrist, kisses the back of her hand, and then places it on her stomach.

Suddenly, she’s awake.

“Thank you for talking to me earlier. You were right. As always.”

“Oh? Did you talk to her?”

“Somewhat. There’s this tiny snag in that she’s super drunk right now, but I think I said enough so that she knows the conversation train is moving.”

“Good.”

Malcolm kisses her forehead and says, “Good night,” face hovering just above hers.

“Don’t move.” There’s an eyelash on his cheek. It takes a few tries, but she picks it up and shows it to him on her index finger. He gently blows on it until it flutters away.

Joy raises her hands, pressing them to his cheeks, holding him there. “Malcolm.”

“Hmm.”

He sounds just like Fox, her brain thinks.

Malcolm raises his eyebrows to punctuate the patient question. He’s not anxious to be anywhere else. She brushes the soft tops of his cheeks with her fingertips. Her palms cradle his jaw where the stubble has already begun to grow in. He shaves every day—he hates the way he looks with a beard.

They’ve been here dozens of times before, right on the brink of what comes next. So many times, in fact, that she can choreograph exactly how every scenario will go.

If I say I love you, he’ll say I know.

If I say I mean it, he’ll say I do too.

If I say you don’t understand, he’ll say then tell me.

And that’s when it all falls apart. Joy can’t predict what he’ll say or how he’ll react.

She doesn’t know what will be left of her at the end.

It’s jumping off a cliff. It’s soaring until she’s falling. It’s being willing to crash to the ground, to lie bleeding and broken and alone even though she knows he won’t leave her. He’ll still be right there by her side looking at her the exact same way he always has. Helping her up with reassuring hands.

He’s never going anywhere, and they’ll always be at this standstill, balancing on the precipice. Unless they begin to let go. Together.

Joy’s so afraid of life without him, tears begin to prick at her eyes. She tries to steady her breathing because he will ask what’s wrong and she will lie.

She knows this part.

He’ll joke and say, is it me?