He’s right. I will not forget my worth in this romance again.
Ninety-nine seconds. As we continue to move through this experience for the second time, another thought occurs to me. As much as Esben has helped me to transform myself, there is another person who deserves as much, if not more, credit. Simon. My father. Dad. Long before Esben came into my life, Simon was there, slowly and painstakingly building a foundation of trust for me to build on. I’ve spent a lot of time vaguely acknowledging this and feeling guilty about it, but I’m done with guilt. This is the time to appreciate and absorb all that he’s offered, to do something smart and healing with his love. And I will.
Even when I’ve tried to shut him out, Simon’s lessons have permeated my walls. He’s the reason I was so unsettled at the beginning of this year, even when I’d never heard of Esben Baylor. Some part of me was responding to Simon’s love and devotion, and it was making me itchy to be able to accept that and to reach for more. I owe my father so much. Instead of feeling like a burden, this feels like an opportunity and one that I will run toward.
One hundred and twenty-two seconds. The intimacy and comfort I share with Esben brings up too much. I won’t shut it out this time, but it hurts. I miss Steffi. I knew this was coming. Her death. I cannot stand those words, but I think them anyway, because I have to get used to them. Steffi is dead. To pair my best friend with death is such a grotesque and unimaginable association—a reality that I’m trying to assimilate, even though I’ve known this was coming for months. I take in Esben’s strength for comfort. I lift my chin and try to rally. I miss her already. I don’t think I’ll ever have a friend like her. No one will replace her. But . . . I almost lose eye contact when I yet again tear up. I want to fall to pieces, but I don’t. But I can find other relationships, other friendships, new and different and wonderful. They won’t be what I had with her. But that is going to have to be okay. Cherishing her and what we gave to each other will hold a sacred place, and that’s okay. It’s not a competition. I begin to cry freely. But I do not veer from my eye contact with Esben. I can’t. He’s my lifeline.
When Steffi told me to be brave, she meant it. She wanted me to have what, in some ways, she couldn’t allow herself. As strong and ferocious as she was, she couldn’t embrace this life, because she was too afraid, because she’d built too many walls. And before she could discover another way to live, a savage cancer goddamn ripped through her body and killed her.
There wasn’t enough time for her to heal from her past, but I have that time, so I will take it. I will revel in the opportunity to find rebirth and rejuvenation. To find myself completely.
One hundred and forty seconds. Esben has followed my every move over the past few minutes, every flinch, every tiny change in facial expression . . . I’ve circled back to a place of peace and love. To a place where all I want is a reunion with this boy who has helped me find myself. I send pure love and romance his way. And desire. I can’t ignore that. Esben, it seems, is feeling what I do, because, to my surprise, he breaks his own rule and, just for a second, dips his eyes to the spot on my neck that I know he loves to kiss before resuming our eye contact. He’s got lust in his eyes. For sure. I raise my eyebrows and send him a flirtatious look while I adjust my pose.
One hundred and fifty-nine seconds. He still looks at me directly, with a steadfastness and fortitude that I adore. Then he mouths three perfect words to me. It doesn’t matter when or how we’ve said this before. It only matters what we mean now.
I love you.
There is no delay as I reply silently, I love you.
A whooping “Woot! Yeah!” comes from everyone around us. The lustful and heated looks we send each other are apparently not subtle. Everyone sees what’s going on between us, and I welcome the mass cheering in this moment.
Almost there, I want to tell him. Hold on. Hold on for me.
One hundred seventy-two seconds. Both of us may explode. The people who encircle us start counting down. “. . . Eight! Seven! Six!”
I stand. Esben stands. We’re ready. We follow the rules and don’t break eye contact, but we’re ready.
These last seconds are excruciating and gorgeous. Esben is so exceedingly handsome and strong and shattering on all levels. All of his beauty used to break me, but tonight, it empowers me. It assures me that I can create a life that will let me be whole.
“Time,” Kerry calls out.
We are so lost in each other that neither of us hears her. His shoulders are broad in a way that fits my body so perfectly, his focus on me so great that I cannot break from this moment, and my devotion to him is so overwhelming that my head and heart are not in my control.
“Time!” Kerry yells forcefully. “Time!”
I snap back to reality and give him a flirtatious, daring look.
Esben grins back. Do it, he’s silently telling me. Do it. Let me hold you again.
With nothing but confidence, I slam my foot back, kicking the chair out from under me. It takes a fraction of a second more for me to lower my hand under the table and upend it onto its side. There’s a stop in time, during which we look at each other and do not move. I begin to break, because I see that all we fought for has endured.
“Time! Goddamn it, time!” Kerry is screaming now.
We cannot reach each other fast enough, and tonight, I am the one to hold him up, because Esben is falling apart, burrowing his face into my neck, his tears wetting my skin. So, I reach for his lower back and pull him in.
“Please don’t cry, love,” I say. “Please don’t.”
His arms wrap around me, and I savor his perfect embrace. “Did I understand you right? You’re totally in this? You won’t leave again?” he asks, his voice wobbly.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. God, I was a wreck in Los Angeles. I made every mistake and then some.”
“Stop,” he says while he holds me securely. “It’s going to be all right. God, Allison, just kiss me.”
This is easy to do. In seconds, we re-create our kiss from months ago, but with even more sincerity and so many more layers of feeling. There is nothing from the wreckage of my past that invades my need for him this time. There is nothing but pure, raw love. So, when he pulls me harder against his mouth, I respond by lifting up on my toes and meeting the power of his kiss. It is allowed, I remind myself, to be wholeheartedly in love. To devour this wonderful boy and to celebrate the future.
There is no reason to ever stop kissing him, and it’s seriously possible that I could stay like this for the rest of my life. But when his tongue crosses my lips . . . and trails to my neck . . . and then when I arch into him too hard, I remember that we are so, so not alone. There are camera clicks and flashes and more whoops from the ever-growing audience here. These are sounds I would have shunned before, but tonight? Tonight, they flood me with happiness.
When a particularly loud whistle floats our way, we both ease back and laugh.
I run my hands over Esben’s chest and rapidly get lost in too many wonderful ways. The feel of him and the shape of him are so familiar and so needed. “Do you want to get a coffee?” I finally whisper. “And later, maybe some oysters?”
His hand touches the back of my neck. “Absolutely.”
It takes a few breaths to gain my composure, but I look at him. “And then, do you want to talk about some crazy social experiments that we could do together and post online? Because I have some ideas.”
He takes time to gaze down at me and let his mouth travel gently over mine once again. “Absolutely.”
“But first”—I start with no shame and no hesitancy—“but first, before any of that, do you want to go back to my room and be crazy in love?”
“I do.” Esben’s lips play down my neck, and he takes my hand. “More than anything.”
“And then?” I press my body against his. “And then, how about we never stop?”
“Agreed. Never.” Esben grabs me by the waist and spins us around, rais
ing our hands to our audience so that we can take in the support and joy from so many who have been rooting for us. Then, in one swift move, he bends me back and dips me so smoothly and so romantically that I can hardly breathe. His mouth grazes against my neckline.
“The Internet is gonna love this,” I say over the crazed cheering.
“They certainly will,” he says, laughing into me. “And I assume that, this time, I have your full permission to post?”
“You know it.”
“I love you so much, Allison.” He breathes these words not just over my skin but over my heart.
“And I love you so much, Esben.”
There is no more white noise in my head or soul.
There is no longer the belief that I only get one.
I get way more than one. I get as many as I will allow, and I plan to allow many.
I’m going to live a beautiful life. In honor of Steffi, in honor of Simon, in honor of all the glorious, giving, caring people online, and—most importantly—in honor of myself.
I hold on to Esben. He still smells like cookies and love.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Tremendous gratitude to Courtney Miller at Amazon Skyscape for her support, enthusiasm, and hard work bringing this book to publication. In addition, she also connected me with my outrageously talented editor, Amara Holstein. She worked wonders on my messy first draft and helped me sculpt this book to shine the way I’d wanted, and I am crazy thankful for her skill and care. Skyscape’s Jason Kirk has been nothing but supportive and tuned in to me and this book, and I throw huge love his way!
In order to be my agent, one must have the patience of a saint, and Deborah Schneider certainly has that, as well as a sharp sense of humor and knockout publishing smarts. I am incredibly lucky to be in such good hands.
Rebekah Crane, Tracey Garvis-Graves, Tammar Webber, and Rebecca Donovan all cheered me on when I needed it, and I could not ask for smarter or more loving author friends. Hugs and curtsies to Michelle Odland for reading an early version of this book and offering insightful feedback and unfailing belief in me. Also, mad love to Cara Leuchtenberger for sharing difficult information from her years of oncology nursing and for doing so with great intelligence and compassion.
As they have done with every book I’ve written, Tom Cullinan and Alexa Longley read and provided valuable feedback, along with much love and laughter.
Once again, my husband, Bill, and my son, Nicholas, get major credit for putting up with me during intense writing days and for handing me tissues when I needed them.
As always, Andrew Kaufman was my rock while I wrote this book. Some friendships nearly knock you over with their strength, their timelessness, and their true reciprocity. Ours is one of those, and I don’t forget that for a second.
Danielle Allman is one in a million. She read every single chapter within hours after I’d finished it, and, together, we laughed and cried and swooned and problem solved. Together, we made it through this book.
And to those who share, take risks, trust, and give so much of themselves online, thank you. What you do matters, and you remind us that—in what can feel like a very dark world—there is endless genuine light and love.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Cara Vescio
Jessica Park is the bestselling author of more than fifteen novels, including Flat-Out Love and Left Drowning. She grew up in the Boston area and attended Macalester College in Saint Paul, Minnesota. After spending four years in the frigid North, including suffering through one memorable Halloween blizzard, she decided to set out for warmer climes. She now lives in the relatively balmy state of New Hampshire, with her husband, son, two dogs, and a cat. She admits to spending an obscene amount of time thinking about rocker boys and their guitars, complex caffeinated beverages, and tropical vacations.
Jessica Park, 180 Seconds
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