She presses her lips together like she needs to contain her smile or she’ll burst. “I’d say . . .” She stops to flick some hair off her shoulder, then to cross her legs, and I know what she’s doing. She’s the cat playing with the mouse, because of course she is, and I love it. “I’d say right now would be a good idea.”
Well, then. It’s showtime. “Let me start, then, by saying . . . you were right.”
Her brow creases; she’s not sure what I’m getting at and that’s good. “Tell me more,” she says.
“You were right when you said you could fall in love online. And I said in person was better because of chemistry.”
“Keep going,” she says, gesturing for me to elaborate.
“I met a woman in real life—at a party, of all places. And I was so cocky, so damn sure I could prove that the in-person chemistry we felt that night was the key to our romance. But the thing is—I fell in love with her online, through letters. So many love letters.”
I tell her and everyone is listening to how it happened. How we happened. “I read them all the other day, and not only did they remind me I was an absolute fool if I didn’t do everything in the universe to win her back, but they, too, reminded me that we fell in love through email. Digitally. And so, I came here tonight to tell her—” I stop, then drop the pretense. “I came to tell you . . . that you won the bet. I’m here for my public reckoning. And here goes . . . You were right, you were right, you were right. You can fall in love online. It happened to me, and I want to stay in love.” I meet her gaze, and I step off the cliff, flying blind. “I hope you do too.”
The audience loses its cool. They roar. They scream. They cheer to the rafters.
“Say yes!”
“If you don’t want him, I do.”
“I call sloppy seconds.”
Bellamy dips her head, maybe embarrassed, but mostly looking stunned. When she lifts her face, she’s all smiles while her fans shout and scream.
When they quiet down, she collects herself. “But how do we know who won or lost? If I remember, we said we’d have to determine the winner of the bet, but we didn’t say how. How do we decide who is the happiest with their romantic outcome?”
There’s a familiar challenge in her tone, but also warmth. Like she’s holding her arms open wide.
Hope balloons inside me. “There’s really only one way to determine the winner.”
“And what’s that way?” She’s playful now, my teasing, tempting Bellamy.
I roll the dice one more time. “A kiss. Sometimes you have to kiss the frog.”
Even with the distance, she radiates joy, from the spark in her eyes to the curve in her lips. She takes a breath and shoots me a saucy look. “Then you better get up here and kiss me senseless, cowboy.”
I’m so there.
I race up the steps, reach for her hand, and tug her up from her chair. The audience shrieks as I bring her close and cup her cheek.
Everything is right in the world as I sweep my lips over hers.
And I kiss her—the kind of kiss that’s like declaring your love on a neon billboard in Times Square.
Like you’re writing it across the sky.
That’s how I feel as I kiss the woman who took me back.
When I break the kiss, I whisper, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“Then how about we declare a winner of our bet?”
She presses another kiss to my lips, slow and soft and deep. Then she sighs, presses her forehead to mine, and says, “We both won.”
I’ll say.
An hour and a half later, Bellamy says goodbye to the last guest, a guy who looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ.
“Thanks again for coming, Monroe. I’m psyched you could make it.”
“I never miss one of your podcasts. They’re incredibly . . . enlightening,” he says. Then he nods to the theater exit. “I should go. Someone’s waiting for me at home.”
“I’d tell you to romance her, but I know you will.” She catches my gaze and gives me a warm smile. “Monroe, this is Easton. My guy,” she says, with that purr in her voice.
The magazine model laughs as he extends a hand. “Yes, I gathered that. Impressive stuff there at the podium. I may need to use you as a new case study in my practice.”
I lift an eyebrow, intrigued. “Life goals realized. Are you a doctor?”
“I was.” He takes a hesitant beat. “Or really, I still am. I’ve just shifted my specialty.”
“And you should come on my show to talk about your specialty,” Bellamy sings out.
Monroe laughs, a laugh that says don’t bet on it. “I’ll leave you two. I suspect you have lots of catching up to do.” With a wink, he claps my shoulder. “And I mean it. You’d make a great case study. But I’ll let Bellamy tell you more about that.”