Conventionally Yours (True Colors 1)

“Lose the ‘maybe.’ It would work.”

“You don’t think I’m being difficult, not wanting to do it all at once—live together and work together and play together?”

“Is ‘play’ your euphemism for—”

“Conrad. I’m being serious here.”

“I know. And I appreciate that. No, you’re not being difficult. You’re being pragmatic. And you’ve got your own future to worry about, your own dreams. The way I see it, as long as that future includes me in some way—”

“It will,” I hurried to assure him, no longer able to picture a time without him.

“See? Then we’re both already winners.”

Our lips met right as the tram lurched back to life, and we pulled apart with a start, both laughing. “Let’s hope we’re going up.”

“We are.” His mouth twisted back and forth a few times. “And even if we’re not…I love you.”

“Wow.” I breathed his admission in, let it ground me. Other than me blurting it out at the tournament, I hadn’t said the words again. We’d come close in bed, but I didn’t really count sex talk. Or—Crap. “Wait. Is this some sort of near-death confession?”

“No. I keep wanting to tell you, but the moment keeps being not perfect.”

“I don’t need perfect. Just you.”

“I know.” He gave me a tender smile. “Finally decided to stop waiting for perfect. I wanted to say it back at the tournament too. I was just…”

“Freaked out?”

“Yeah. That. Scared to let myself feel that. Scared at what it meant. Because loving you means maybe losing you, and I’m not sure I could deal with that.”

“You’re not going to lose me.” I squeezed his hand.

“And it means we could hurt each other too,” he whispered. “Love…it’s big. Real. Tends to mean someone gets screwed over—”

“Wrong kind of screwing.” Teasing, I took a page from his book before sobering. “I get that. But I’m not going to hurt you, Con. At least not on purpose. And if one of us gets hurt by accident, I really want to think we can deal. No matter what. Not stop loving each other just because it gets hard sometimes.”

“We can deal.” He leaned in right as the doors opened. Reluctantly, Conrad pulled away. “And look, we made it.”

“We did.” Heart full, I gave him the world’s fastest kiss, possible onlookers and all. “We made it to the top.”

And we had, coming so much further than I would have thought possible even a week or two earlier—more than I would have let myself dream, even in my most private of wishes. I never would have thought we’d make it here. But here we were, rubbing shoulders and taking selfies on the observation deck, city sprawled beneath us. And when I looked at the pictures, in his eyes, I saw the future, too, vast and wide open, full of twinkling lights and discoveries yet to come. And us together for all of it, perched on top of the world, ready to take it on, one mile marker at a time.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Conrad

Six Months Later

“I trusted you, man.” I frowned.

“As you should.” Alden bumped feet with me as the train chugged and swayed. “I followed a recipe.”

“I’m still nervous.”

“About what I did to the pie?” His forehead creased adorably as he balanced the bag with all the food on his lap. The train heading into New Jersey was packed with holiday revelers, everyone rushing to make it home for Thanksgiving. We weren’t the only ones with food, and the car was full of cinnamon and other spices, warm homey scents that should have calmed me but didn’t.

“Not that.”

“About my moms?” He nudged my foot again. My boots were new, still stiff, far better quality than my old kicks, which hadn’t survived the summer. “They love you, and you know it. It’s entirely possible they may renounce me and adopt you instead. And we’re back in the carriage house again tonight. You like it there.”

“I do.” I tried to tell him with my eyes just how fond those memories were. We’d spent a good chunk of the summer tangled up on the bed in his little house behind his moms’ place, waiting for my job to finalize and all the details—so many details—to fall into place. Luckily, Alden was good at logistics and strategy because without him, I’m not sure I would have coped with all the minutiae that went into starting a new life.

Of course, he was also largely responsible for that new life, since without him, none of this would have been possible. Oh, he liked to tell me that I’d done it all on my own, winning the tournament, getting the job at Odyssey, but I knew better. I never would have made it to Vegas, much less to here without him. Beneath the bags, I grabbed his gloved hand. Outside, a light dusting of snow was coming down.