Page 124 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

The publishing company had been happy to look at Veronica’s proposal, but in the current cutthroat market, they were unwilling to give her an advance to write it, even with the promise of Henry’s photos. They asked her to write it, then resubmit when she was finished. It was a little disappointing, but honestly, she would have been panicked about accepting an advance when she wasn’t sure what she was doing. This gave her time to develop the ideas and write them without pressure.

In the meantime, she was working on the possibility that Rachel’s tragic love affair could make a novel, which she had discussed deeply with Mariah for her approval. Mariah was very enthusiastic, so Veronica was exploring the idea. It was wildly satisfying.

To actually support herself, she had found work at a greenhouse, and while it wasn’t a ton of money, she had some savings from the travel payments. It was enough to make it work.

“Veronica, can you help me?” Henry asked from the doorway.

She smiled. They’d plotted this bit together for Mariah’s birthday. In her bedroom was a very large photo collage/montage that Henry had worked on for several months, not at all a scrapbook, but done in his thoughtful, new arty voice. “You like it?”

“It’s amazing,” she said, and stepped close to stand on her toes and kiss him. “You’reamazing.”

“I have another for you, too.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Yeah, I just like you.”

This was smaller, wrapped simply in plain paper. It was a photo of Veronica that last night in India, her lip swollen, her hair untamed, her eye starting to blacken. Hazy light surrounded her as she gazed into the camera, at Henry, her eyes shining with calm and the kindling of lust.

“What a shot,” she said quietly, feeling everything she’d felt that moment, the whole power of the journey tipping over to change her, irrevocably.

“It’s my favorite,” he said in his rumbling voice, shifting her hair over her shoulder. It was growing out, long and not quite curly but never straight. “I have it in my room, too.”

The relationship continued to be the easiest thing in her life. He was a kind, honest, clear-sighted person with integrity and good sense, which meant she could trust him completely. He’d given her plenty of space to explore her new life, and never pressured her.

She clasped it to her chest. “Thank you, Henry.”

He kissed her, and she never failed to be surprised at the lusciousness of his mouth. “You are the best kisser in the world.”

“Am I?” He kissed her again.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said. “We’re going to have guests any second.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting your kids.”

“Me, too. But I’m afraid you’ll be overshadowed by the great Mariah Ellsworth.”

“That’s right. They’ll be dazzled by the Olympian.”

“They’re all the same age,” she said. “That seems weird. I feel like I have a better relationship with Mariah.”

“You were probably more yourself with her.”

“Hmm. Maybe so.” She touched his craggy cheek. “I love you, you know.”

He softened, touching her cheek in return. “I love you.”

“We got lucky, didn’t we?”

“Was it luck? Or are we just grown-ups who know what we want?”

“That too,” she said. “Either way, I am so glad I met you.”

“Ditto,” he said with a wink, and took her hand.

“Let’s show Mariah the—what should we call this kind of work? It’s not a photo, and it’s not a painting. Artwork?”

“Sure,” he said, and carried it out into the other room.