Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“Goodness, my grandfather is nuts.”
“Let’s not forget when we found him and Mrs. Santa Dick making out like teenagers,” I say, and Julia snorts.
“Evie cried for like three hours straight over that,” she says and then adds, “But Gunnar thought it was so cool that Santa Dick was such a ladies’ man.”
I grin and press my forehead to hers. “God, I love you.”
She goes quiet.
And I use that moment to pull out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of my flannel pajama pants.
“Oh my God, Ace,” Julia mutters in surprise when I unfold the paper to reveal the marriage contract we created when we were kids. “What, do you just carry that thing around with you now?”
“Pretty much.” I smile and smooth it out between us. “I want to marry you now. Is that crazy?”
“Yes,” she says softly. “But it’s also sweet.”
I touch the corner of her mouth. “Promise me forever, Lia.”
She traces her pinkie across mine. “Promise.”
It’s no royal decree or fifteen-minute rule, but I’ll be damned if it won’t do.
Ace Kelly and Julia Brooks may grow and change and get old enough to need canes and dentures and menthol patches. But there’s one thing we’ll be for the rest of time, and that’s together.
Thursday, July 2nd
Julia
It’s ninety degrees in the middle of the city, and the only thing hotter than the air outside is the inside of Ace’s and my new apartment. Filled to the brim with our parents, our furniture, and about fifty pictures of Ace and me being hung at various angles on the walls, there’s barely enough space for a breath, let alone a breeze.
I’m relieved when I see my dad fiddle with the AC temperature, hopefully turning that baby down to a cool sixty degrees, but that relief is short-lived when I look around the room and see the current state of our move.
Boxes are everywhere, half opened, stacked like a game of Jenga, and threatening to fall over every time someone brushes past them. Cassie and my mom are fluttering around our new apartment like it’s the set of an HGTV show, hanging framed photos of Ace and me with alarming enthusiasm.
I don’t even know where they got all these pictures. Some of them look like they’ve been pulled from the depths of our childhoods, and others must’ve been ripped straight from our Instagram stories and printed off at CVS when we weren’t paying attention.
“Oh my God, look at this one!” Georgia says, holding up a photo of Ace and me at the lake house last summer. I’m laughing with my mouth wide open, and Ace is dripping wet beside me, flipping off the camera.
Cassie grabs it like it’s a family heirloom. “That’s going over the toilet in the guest bathroom.”
Our new place is only a block from Dickson’s campus, in the same building where we lived last year—but we’ve upgraded to a two-bedroom this time. Ace insisted we needed a “study room,” though we both know, if I’m not careful, he’ll turn into a snack closet and nap spot by midterms.
Still, we’ve got more space. A bigger kitchen. A real living room. And a little terrace that looks out over the street.
It’s our first apartment together. And it’s freaking perfect.
Meanwhile, my dad and Thatch are locked in what I can only assume is a testosterone-fueled competition over who can carry the most furniture without throwing out their backs. When Ace started to make it look too easy, they told him to fuck off and find something else to do.
“Tell me again how I ended up moving my daughter into an apartment with your son?” my dad mutters as he drops our coffee table onto the rug.
Thatch grins and claps him on the shoulder. “It’s a beautiful thing, Kline. A Kelly and a Brooks under one roof. It’s like fate and karma had a beautiful baby. We should get matching family shirts made. Ooh, or a crest.”
My dad glares at him but says nothing.
But Thatch isn’t done. “I mean, first college sweethearts… Next stop, wedding bells.”
Ace’s smile is soft and easy as he turns to my dad. “Mr. Brooks, should I get your approval now—or wait until we graduate?”
“Are you serious right now, son?” My dad blinks.
Ace keeps on smiling—so much so, he’s even nodding now too.
“Shotguns,” my dad says pointedly, even raising one eyebrow in Ace’s direction. “I have two now.”
Oh boy. Here we go.
“Dad, can we hold off on the threatening to murder my boyfriend talk until we finish moving?” I quickly question, hoping a little levity might defuse the tension.
“Yeah, Kline,” Thatch adds, but he stops talking when his phone starts ringing loudly from his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and groans.
“It’s Gunnar,” he mutters as he puts the phone to his ear. “If you’re not on US soil, I’m going to call the US Embassy and tell them to keep your ass wherever you are.”