I huff and shake my head, shrug. “I guess to…to express out into the world that I’m sad and angry that I’ll die a virgin. That I’ll die never having been a bride. I’ve always tried to be positive and upbeat, to not let this whole thing get me down, you know? But it’s not freaking fair, and that video was…kind of a tongue-in-cheek way of being like, now what, universe? Your move.”
There’s a silence. Thick and fragile and fraught.
He still has my hands—he twists his palm, fits it to mine. His fingers delve between mine. I force my eyes to his, and his gaze is…deep, chaotic, confused, emotional. Open to me.
“Jo, I…” he trails off. Lets out a breath. “This is crazy, but screw it. I drove all the way here on an impulse, so I’m just gonna keep going with the impulse.”
“What’s crazy?” I ask in a whisper.
He twists toward me, still holding my hand, fingers twined. His other hand reaches up, and his palm is large and rough on my cheek. His thumb brushes over my lips.
“This.”
And
He
Kisses
Me.
I have no breath—his kiss steals it. This isn’t a quick, dry peck, like a grandma kiss except on my lips.
It’s a kiss.
He means it.
His lips soar against mine, and he holds my face in his hands as if to prevent me from pulling away—as if I would.
And he doesn’t stop after a beat.
Oh, no.
He keeps kissing me.
My eyes are closed and my free hand lifts on its own, touches his jaw—it’s hard, angular, stubbled. I whimper in the kiss, a sound of ecstatic disbelief, and the whimper becomes a sigh as his tongue slithers over my lips, asking them to open, and they do. His head tilts the other way, the kiss breaking for an instant as our noses trade places, and then I’m leaning into him and my hand wraps around the back of his neck and I kiss him.
I’ve never done this before, but somehow I just know what to do. Something inside me just takes over. Kissing Westley Britton is the most natural thing in the world. My heart thunders in my chest, my pulse hammers in my throat. He tastes like coffee. His tongue moves against mine, delicious and strong and insistent.
This isn’t a pity kiss. He’s not kissing the cancer girl to humor her desperation.
He’s kissing me, a boy kissing a girl.
When it finally breaks, Westley pulls away, hand still on my cheek. “You are an amazing kisser, Jo.”
I blush. “I think it’s you. I was just following along.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s you. One person being good at kissing doesn’t mean the kiss is going to be good.” He delves in, kisses me again, and heartbeats pass in an instant as our lips touch and tongues tangle. “That’s called chemistry, Jo. You and I have it.”
“We do?”
He rests his forehead on mine. “We do. I wasn’t expecting that, honestly.” He runs his hands over my hair, dimples his fingertips in the valley between the tendons at the back of my neck. “You want to know the truth of why I’m here?”
I nod. “I really, really do.”
“I have no clue. None. It was instinct, impulse. I saw your TikTok and just knew I had to…I had to come see you. I had no clue whatsoever what I was going to do or say once I got here.” He huffs a laugh. “My agent and my manager didn’t want me to come. They tried to literally, physically stop me.”
“But you just had to come see me?” I sound skeptical.
We’re huddled together, intimately close. Hands in hands. Noses millimeters apart. Foreheads touching. I’m barely breathing, in case breathing too deeply would pop the soap bubble of this impossible, fantastical moment.
He nods. “Yeah, I had to.”
“And now that you’re here?”
“Now that I’m here…” He breathes out, and his breath sounds shaky. “You did something that is, by any standard, crazy.” He speaks over my sound of protest. “And I’m about to do something even crazier.”
My heartbeat is the loudest thing in the world. “Crazier than kissing the dying girl you just met?”
“Yeah. Even crazier than that.” He brushes his thumb over my lips yet again. “Yes, Jolene Park.”
“Yes?” I blink, shake my head. “I’m not following. Yes, Jolene Park…what?”
“Your TikTok. The question you asked.” He holds my gaze. “You said, Westley Britton, will you marry me. And I’m saying yes, Jolene Park, I will.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Pull away, stand up, and walk several paces. Stop, trembling all over like a leaf, and hope my voice is loud enough to be heard. “If this is a prank or a joke, it’s not funny. And if it’s a publicity stunt, that’s even worse.”
I hear the swing creak as he stands up. Feel him behind me, then beside me. “It’s not any of that.”
“Then what is it, Wes? You can’t mean it. Not for real.”
“But yet…I do.”
I laugh, because that sounds like the harshest irony. “You, a man who could have any woman in the entire world—you are saying yes, you’ll marry me? A random girl who made a stupid video that was very literally and very honestly a desperate plea for attention because I’m sad and lonely. Me—a girl whose life expectancy is measured in days, Westley. Days. You’re seeing me on a good day. Tomorrow could be a bad day, where it hurts to be awake but I can’t sleep. Where all I can do is lay in bed and cry and wish it would just end because it hurts so freaking bad. And if the doctors are right, there will eventually—by which I mean sooner than later—be more bad days than good days. And then I’ll die. And there won’t be anything at all you can do. There won’t be anything you can do to make me feel better. You won’t be able to stop it. When it’s the worst, I usually just want to be alone in the dark.”
I turn and look at him. “You’ve known me for what? Twenty minutes?” I touch his face. “You’re sweet, Wes. Just being here at all has been…a dream come true. I got to meet you. But you’ve made it even better. You held my hand. You talked to me like a real person. And you kissed me. I can die a happy woman, and I mean that. I may die a virgin, but I’ll die knowing my first kiss was with you. That’s more than I could ever have possibly dared imagine. And that’s enough.”
“Jo—”
I speak over him. “But you don’t want to actually marry me. You don’t have to. Marrying me would be an act of pity and I don’t want pity—not even from you.”
He isn’t put off. His smile is tender and sweet and fierce all at once. “But I do.”
“I’m out of time—by the time you start to get to know me, I’ll be gone.”
“Then we’d better not waste time, huh?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m operating purely on impulse.” He takes my hands and turns me to face him. “This isn’t pity. Something in you…calls to me, Jo.” He swallows hard. “Maybe we’ll only have day or weeks or months—all the more reason to spend that time together.”
“It makes no sense, Wes.”