Page 165 of Until August

I wiped my eyes. “I love you, you big idiot.”

He stood and pulled me into his arms. It wasn’t as awkward as the last time he’d hugged me in my walk-in closet, and I almost asked him if he’d had practice since then.

“Love you too. And I’m sorry about your Christmas decorations. But now I remember… Cruz used to always warn me about that ladder. He always said he was going to replace it. The rungs are weird.”

Luca released me, and we looked over at the ladder. I couldn’t see anything weird about it, but then again, I’d never used it. Cruz always said getting the stuff down from the loft was his job.

“I found something,” Luca said.

“What did you find?”

Luca cleared his throat. “Not sure, but I think it’s your Christmas present. Cruz used to hide your gifts in the loft.”

Oh, my God, he did. That’s why he never wanted me to go up there.

“Where’s the gift?” I looked around the garage, but other than the box of spilled decorations, all I saw were the packed boxes that were going in the moving truck tomorrow.

Luca reached into the pocket of his basketball shorts and came out with a small box he handed me. Then he grabbed a broom and started sweeping up the broken Christmas baubles.

Before I went inside, I asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to clean up. I can do it.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

I paused. “Thank you.”

He gave me a two-finger salute and went back to sweeping up the mess, and I carried the small box into the house, up the stairs to my now-empty bedroom, and into the walk-in closet. I shut the door behind me and slid down against it.

Then I set the box in my lap and stared at it for a few minutes. This was it. The last gift from my husband. I brushed my fingers over the square gold box, took a deep breath, and lifted the lid.

Something fluttered to the ground, and I swiped it up and unfolded the paper folded into a small triangle. I set the box aside and smoothed my palm over the creases in the notepaper. It was thick, embossed with the crest of the hotel where we’d spent our wedding night.

I took another deep breath, and then I read the note in Cruz’s handwriting. It was small and neat and sloped to the right.

Dear Nic,

It’s the morning after our wedding, and you’re putting on makeup before we meet our family and friends for brunch. Then it’s straight to the airport to start our honeymoon.

I thought I’d take a few minutes to put my thoughts on paper. You always say I’m a slave to technology, so just think how surprised you’ll be when I give you a handwritten letter.

I’m going to save it for our tenth anniversary. Or maybe our twentieth. Hell, maybe I’ll wait for our fiftieth.

Because here’s the thing. This is what I want to tell you. I loved you yesterday. I love you today. And I will love you fifty years from now. I’ll love you until the day I die. Fact.

Not to be morbid, but I pray to God that I go first. Call me selfish. I don’t want to live without you. But if I do go first and for some reason, you’re reading this, and I’m already gone, just know that loving you was the easiest thing I ever did. Pretty damn sure I went to my grave in love, happy, and with zero regrets. Because you are the best thing that ever happened to me.

Okay, enough talk about death. I’m still here. Still kicking.

I love you. I’m the happiest man on earth that you said yes, and I promise to be the best fucking husband you could ever want.

I promise that I’ll try to remember to put the seat down.

I promise to carry your ninety million bags of shit (woman, you need to learn how to pack lighter—YOU DON’T NEED SO MUCH SHIT!!!) and not complain about it. (Pretty sure one entire bag is filled with makeup and shoes). Just saying. But I will not complain. Because I love you, even with all your baggage.

I promise that I will ALWAYS be ready for sex. Seriously. Don’t even worry about that. So you can stop complaining about the time I threw your vibrator in the garbage. YOU’VE GOT ME. You don’t need a rubber dick. I don’t give a shit how many settings it has or if it vibrates. It ain’t as good as the real thing. I’m your man, on call, ready and waiting with a permanently hard dick whenever you’re near me. All I gotta do is think about you in that sexy little bikini you packed… fuck, now look what you’ve done. Hard as stone.

Anyway, I just heard the blow dryer shut off, so I’ll make it quick.

You’re the love of my life, Nicola Benedetti Vega. The woman of my dreams. The peanut butter to my jelly. The cream in my coffee. The bees to my knees.