The One in My Heart (35 page)

But it had happened: I had taken the first step toward destroying the ring in the fires of Mount Doom.

Some people outgrow their fragility. I never did. Instead I became proficient at packaging it. Have you ever encountered a product that comes in a box covered with duct tape, which opens to an explosion of packing peanuts, and then you are faced with layers of tightly taped bubble wrap, only to find after that there’s :still: a hard plastic shell that’s a pain in the ass to pry apart?

That’s me. Except I never let anyone get past the duct-tape stage. Okay, maybe occasionally Zelda saw the packing peanuts, but no further, no deeper.

I read over what I’d written and felt like an underground creature suddenly exposed to air and sunlight, wriggling desperately to get back to the stale darkness I knew so well.

Too late.

So what’s underneath it all? Fear, yes. Need, so much of it. More wishful thinking than there is in the entire country on a Powerball weekend. Maybe greed too, a greed for happiness that’s matched only by the fear of losing it.

I exhaled, every last one of my muscles tight and knotty. But I was almost done. Almost.

You told me you’re not afraid of the baggage I bring. You might be the only one. I believe that if I were sitting on a mountain of pure gold, most dragons, including Smaug himself, would prefer to hire themselves out as furnaces, rather than face the trouble of dealing with me.

That said, I’m coming to rescue you. Brace yourself.

I PARKED MY RENTAL CAR
outside Bennett’s house and rang the bell.

The door opened quickly.

“Evangeline!” said Mrs. Somerset. Her eyes widened as she took in the bouquet of gladioluses I had in one arm, the bag of takeout in my other arm, two large heart-shaped Mylar balloons, the ribbons of which had been wound around my wrist,
and
the big princess gown I’d rented from a Greenwich costume shop. “What a lovely surprise! Come in! Come in!”

Shit. I never thought to ask whether his parents had come with him to Cos Cob.

Mrs. Somerset took the flowers from me and called toward the interior of the house, “Bennett, Rowland, Evangeline is here.”

I followed, my face as red as the balloons, only because I couldn’t run. Where was I going to go, looking like a huge blue meringue?

“They’re still outside,” explained Mrs. Somerset. “I came in to get a drink of water; that’s how I heard the doorbell. Let me take you to the kitchen so you can put everything down.”

Maybe there was time for me to sneak away to my car and change out of the stupid costume. Maybe—

As we entered the kitchen, so did Bennett and his dad from the door leading in from the backyard. Mr. Somerset grinned at my surfeit of romantic gestures. Bennett, after a moment of stunned stillness, was trying not to laugh out loud.

I narrowed my eyes at him, as I set down the stuff I’d brought.

“Wonderful to see you again, Evangeline,” said Mr. Somerset. “It’s really too bad that my wife and I must head back to the city now. We’re having dinner with friends.”

“Oh, right,” said his wife. “I almost forgot. Let me grab my handbag.”

“Take my car,” said Bennett. “I can get it back from the station later.”

We saw his parents off and Bennett burst out laughing, collapsing against the doorjamb.

“Oh, shut up.”

He tried, only to succumb again. I rolled my eyes, went back to the kitchen, and found a vase for the gladioluses.

When I set down the bouquet on the kitchen island, I saw a hardcover notebook exactly like the one Mrs. Asquith had given to Bennett when we visited her. I flipped it open, thinking it was the same one.

But on the inside cover was the image of Bennett that I’d seen at his parents’ house, the one with him in his Eton uniform, looking to his left. Except here, on the opposite page, was a picture of Mrs. Asquith, her lips pursed, her cane raised in mock threat toward him.

An inscription read,
To my young hooligan. What a shame you never gave me a reason to use that cane on you. Your favorite old lady, bar none.

I smiled, my heart melting like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. The notebook was actually a custom photo book, with pictures of them together throughout the years, in her house and all over the world. The last image made me suck in a breath in surprise. It was the three of us at lunch that day—I remembered now that she’d asked Larry to take a photo.

Bennett stood between us, one hand on Mrs. Asquith’s shoulder, the other on mine. And on this page Mrs. Asquith had written,
Have faith, my dear, it will happen. I wish the two of you a wonderful life together.

My phone pinged with an incoming text. Bennett.

I’ve known, since the moment I first saw you in Central Park, that you’re fragile. When I came across your princess picture within minutes, that impression was only further reinforced.

But sometimes people forget that there is no strength greater than that of the fragile who carry on in spite of their fragility. You are strong. You have always been. And I hope today you proved it to yourself beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I’ve missed you. And there are no words to tell you how much I love being rescued with food, flowers, and balloons. But did you forget the chocolates in the car?

I snorted. He was already behind me, lifting my hair and kissing my neck. “I saw your texts only after my parents left. Or I’d have booted them out much sooner.”

“I’ll never live down the big poufy dress.”

“Don’t. It’s already one of my favorite memories of you.”

He unzipped the costume and disentangled me from the enormous skirt. Underneath I had on my camisole and my jeans—the weather was still too cool for going around in nothing but crinkly tulle.

Wrapping his arms around me from behind, he sighed and held me against him. The sweetness in my heart rivaled that of all the maple syrup in Vermont. I reached back and looped an arm about his neck. “I actually bought some chocolates in Montreal for my friends. I’ll totally shortchange them for you.”

“If that’s not true love,” he murmured against my ear, “then I don’t have one of the most viewed asses on the Upper East Side.”

I giggled and turned around.

He cupped my face. “Can I tell you again how much I love being rescued?”

I tugged his earlobe. “Anytime. But you know, rescuing you is hard work. Do you have a bed I can lie down on for a few minutes?”

He laughed softly. “Of course. This way, Your Highness.”

We stopped a few times to kiss along the way, but finally arrived in his bedroom. “Hey, it’s that drawing!” I exclaimed. The framed charcoal rendering of my ‘princess’ picture, a good eighteen by twenty-four inches, took up his entire nightstand. “I’ve been wondering whether you ever bought it.”

He scooped me up and laid me down on the bed. “Of course I bought it.”

“Has it been in this house all along?”

He pulled off my boots. “Why do you think we did it in the kitchen that first time? I was terrified you’d see it if I brought you in here, even if I hid it under the bed.”

“Aww.”

“I know. But what we did that night was so hot, I might have developed a taste for kitchen sex.” He stretched out beside me. “Can you stand naked against that wall again tonight?”

“Sure. And I’ll look at you with extra hungry eyes.”

He caressed the entire length of my arm. “Now
that
is everything I hoped for.”

I pulled him close and kissed him. “If…if ever you ask me a question and I find it difficult to answer, will you give me some time?”

“Of course,” he said, his gaze deep and clear. “Let me know that it’s difficult and I’ll wait.”

My heart overflowed with sunshine and tenderness. “Thank you for being so easy to rescue. And thank you for giving a damn that I was stuck and couldn’t see my way out.”

“I’ll always give a damn.” Gently, he traced his thumb over my cheekbone. “I love you. I love everything about you.”

I kissed him again, my agent of chaos who had brought so many wonderful and necessary changes to my life. “I love everything about you too.
Everything
.”

Epilogue

“
WOW,
”
SAID BENNETT AS WE
walked into the house on 81st Street. “Nice.”

Life-size cardboard cutouts of Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir stood in the corners of the living room. A banner with the white tree of Gondor hung from the rafters. And a large, detailed map of Middle-earth was spread on an ottoman, in case our newbie needed to consult it.

We bustled in and out of the kitchen, loading the coffee table with our marathon-watching feast—although it was a slightly less copious feast than usual, as we’d spent the previous day at Bennett’s parents’ place. The Somersets were serious about Thanksgiving. And dinner had been extra plentiful, since it was Bennett’s first one back in the fold, Mr. Somerset’s first after the heart attack, and my first as the newest member of the family—Bennett and I did get married in August after all, after he finished his fellowship and I earned my tenure.

It was a lovely wedding, but my favorite part might have been the invitations, which, inspired by Mrs. Asquith’s photo book, had my princess picture on the right side, his Eton image on the left, and the two of us looking toward each other. In the middle was written,
At the time these photographs were taken, Evangeline and Bennett each had someone else in mind. But from now on they will always be thinking of each other.

When all the food and drinks were in place, Zelda’s phone pinged with an incoming text. “It’s Larry,” she said, “wishing us a great movie marathon.”

Larry and Zelda had been taking things slowly. But she was going to England next month and they’d probably spend a good bit of time together.

We settled down to start the first movie. “Make sure you point out Rosie to me,” said Bennett, reaching for a cream scone.

“What’s that?” asked Zelda.

“Since you’re Frodo, and I’m Sam,” I answered, nudging a jar of clotted cream toward my husband, “that makes Bennett Rosie, the one Sam married.”

Bennett had finished the books—and quit smoking—a month before we exchanged vows. On the day of the wedding, as I was getting dressed, a note had come from him.
Dear Sam, Good luck on the quest with Frodo. I will always be here. Your Rosie.

And I knew then that I had made the best choice of my whole life.

Zelda pressed play. Bennett took my hand in his. I kissed his cheek and laid my head on his shoulder.

Before our eyes, the epic adventure unspooled.

Thank you for reading
The One in My Heart
.

Want to know when the next Sherry Thomas novel will be released? Sign up for her newsletter at
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or at a venue of your choice would be greatly appreciated.

The One in My Heart
is Sherry’s first—and so far, only—contemporary romance. But if Bennett’s almost divorced great-great-grandparents sound like interesting characters, their story is told in her book
Private Arrangements
, a historical romance set in the 1890s. If you would like to skip ahead to an excerpt of
Private Arrangements
, click
here
. To see a list of Sherry’s other books, click
here
.

Acknowledgments