“The helicopter pilot,” he said, dropping down next to me. “He totally got into it when I showed him Mom’s ashes and told him what we had wanted to do. He flew us right over Machu Picchu. A woman said a prayer in Spanish. And then the clouds parted and the sun came through.” His eyes were bright with unshed tears. “It was way better than what Dad and I had planned. You were right. There was a reason.” His voice dropped an octave. “I wish you had been there.”
“Me, too.” There, I’d said it. Words that revealed my true feelings. Words that were practically “I do” for a commitment-phobe, reformed pest control guru girl like me. Words that propelled Quattro to tug me close, his arms ringing around me. I didn’t protest.
His eyes were unwavering, as though he would never look away until I really heard him. “After my mom died, I started taking care of Kylie and making sure Dad ate. I paid the bills and went grocery shopping. And shopping for Kylie. And then you fell.”
“I thought you blamed me.”
“No! Myself for letting you get hurt. But I couldn’t deal with feeling responsible for one more person when I’d already messed up with Mom.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“I know, but I did. And I do. Sorry, I’m just wired that way.”
I bit my lip, the echo of every single one of my frothing declarations of independence to Reb and Ginny ringing in my ears until it pealed with one truth: I liked feeling protected and cared for and nourished.
“After we were done with Mom’s ashes, I had this feeling up in the helicopter. I know, weird, but I just knew Mom wouldn’t want me to blame myself for the rest of my life.” He drew a cell phone from his jacket pocket, so brand-new the burnished silver glinted in the outdoor light.
“You got a phone?” I asked, stunned.
That action was practically “I do” for a guy who had been determined to remain a devout and devoted single on his way to college. “And in case you still said no, I brought this.” And now he placed a plastic bag in my hand. From it, I withdrew a napkin wrapped around the tiny SD card from my lost camera, more precious than any diamond.
“I forgot you had it,” I whispered.
“I didn’t.” He unfolded the napkin and said, “Look.”
From Voodoo Doughnut, the napkin had just one item written on it: “1. Inca Trail.”
Blinking back tears, I found myself staring blurrily through the kitchen window at the original napkin, my parents’ adventure manifesto of the fifty trips they wanted to take before they were fifty. For years, the napkin had presided over the kitchen table, but it was now framed in a shadow box that I had bought for my parents and commemorated in the video I’d created.
Quattro held the napkin, signposting this decisive moment that I didn’t need to photograph to remember. It would be etched in my mind forever.
Reach for this napkin and I’d be committing to end my history of flirt-and-run. Holding hands at a movie, casting a sultry look over dinner at an Italian restaurant—that was easy. Holding each other through fear, standing at the other’s side through the worst bad news, that was tough. Maybe that’s why Mom’s romance novels only asked the will-they-or-won’t-they-get-together question. The much harder challenge is will they or won’t they stay together.
“What’s next?” he asked softly.
From what I’d seen on the Inca Trail, the difference between romance and relationship is the courage to meet every What’s next? with one answer: Who knows… but I’ll be there with you.
Maybe it was finally time to dare a real relationship of my own.
So I closed the gap between us on the bench. And I lifted my face to his. And before his lips touched mine, I whispered, “Adventure number two. Us.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Of course, Mom insisted on showing the video appeal I’d made for donations to help Peruvians. That was just a notch less mortifying than her foisting my naked baby pictures on this captive audience. I wondered if Quattro had even seen the video, and if he had, whether he had noticed the message I had hidden in the credits. I could hardly stand still at the back of the living room, antsy up to the very end, when the production company name scrolled on-screen: GumWall Studio. The logo featured a neon-orange bicycle leaning against multicolored dots.
Quattro pulled me close and whispered in my ear. “Does my bike get a modeling fee, too?”
“You wish.”
“But seriously, maybe you should think about going into film.”
“Maybe,” I said. Why not be open to new ideas, which could lead to adventures I’d never imagined and possibilities I’d never considered? I was standing in the arms of one such adventure I’d never dreamed I’d have after my heart had shattered, and I had seriously doubted that a right guy could exist for me.
“I loved this the first time I saw it, but it’s even better the second time around,” Quattro said, his eyes serious.
“That’s because the second time around, you actually notice the details,” said Stesha, walking toward us with her arms wide open. “You’ll never guess who made the first donation.”
“Grace,” I said as she first enclosed me in an embrace, then Quattro.
“No, she was the second… along with her new honey.”
“She’s dating Henry?” I asked, grinning.