It should be such a mundane thing now, kissing him, but I know, god do I know, that it’ll never stop feeling new and thrilling and vital. That’s the real happy ending I always wrote about—no big, sweeping orchestral situations, no constant churn of drama and emotion. Just this. Lips and tongues and his hips against mine. Just him, over and over, unfolding into a meandering, uncertain path that ripples far off into the distance. A happy ever after that we make together.
