Some Sort of Happy (Skylar and Sebastian): A Happy Crazy Love Novel (38 page)

Nodding, I blubbered for a solid ten minutes as he stroked my hair and rubbed my back. I don’t even know why I was crying so hard—relief? Sadness for the child he’d been? The man he was now? Laying my cheek on his chest, I listened to his heart beat and vowed he would never know loneliness again.

“Will you come to therapy with me?” Sebastian asked once my sobs had subsided.

“Of course,” I said, picking my head up to smile at him. “I’d love that.”

“Good.” He wiped my tears from under one eye with his thumb. “Because this is it for me, Skylar. You’re the love of my life.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve spent nearly all my days being dominated by doubt, unable to trust myself—tortured by what my mind says and what my heart knows. But for once, I feel—I
know
—this is right. You’re the one.” He smiled. “And that is the only time the number one will ever sound good to me.”

I laughed. “I want to be the one.”

“Do you?” He arched one brow. “Because you know what it means to be my one.”

“Tell me.”

“It means being the one I’ll kiss good morning and good night—twice.” He grinned. “It means being the one who’ll have to hold my hand when we fly off to our villa in France.” At my gasp, his smile widened. “It means the forever things, Skylar.”

“I want them.” I scooted up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I want them all.”

He flipped me onto my back again and looked down at me. “Then live with me.”

My heart stopped. “What?”

“Stay here. Live with me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I’m one hundred percent sure about this, and one hundred is a good number.”

I laughed softly as tears filled my eyes again. “You keep making me cry tonight. What’s with that?”

“I don’t want you to cry. Ever again.” He kissed my eyelids.

“They’re happy tears, Sebastian. Of course I’ll live with you.”

“Good.” He scooted down to rest his head on my chest and we lay together, the fire warming our skin, our breathing slow and deep. “Happy tears are good, I can handle those. And if there are sad tears, I’ll handle those too. I’ll take care of you, Skylar.”

“And I’ll take care of you.” I closed my eyes and inhaled, loving the weight of his head on my chest, the warmth of his skin against mine, the promise of hope in the air. “Forever.”

“Are you ready?”

“I think so.” His face told me what a lie that was, but I’d budgeted plenty of time for his nerves into today’s itinerary. After living with him for the past two months, I knew to allot extra time for pretty much anything we did outside the house. He was getting much better about checking, but today was new ground for him.

“Come on. You’ve got this.” I tugged on his hand, but he didn’t move. “It’s not like we’re getting on the plane yet, Sebastian. This is the airport entrance.” As I talked, I took his elbow and ushered him gently through the automatic doors. “There are nice people in there who are going to look at our boarding passes and tell us what gate to sit at, and some other nice people are going to overcharge us for coffee and tell us to have a nice flight, and then some more nice people are going to show us how to use a seat belt and thank us for flying with them today.”

By the time I’d finished my soothing little speech, we were inside the terminal.

“See? You’re here, and you’re fine,” I said triumphantly.

“Now what?” he asked shakily.

“Now we’ll check in and find our gate. We don’t even have any luggage to check, so it will be nice and easy. OK?”

He took a deep breath. “OK.”

“Good. Because this little Valentine’s weekend jaunt was your idea and you paid for it, so it would be a damn shame if I had to give your ticket to someone else.”

“Don’t you dare.” He caught me around the waist and squeezed. “How long is the flight again?”

I kissed his cheek. “One hour and ten minutes, and I will talk to you the entire time.”

Some color returned to his face as he smiled. “I have no doubt.”

I pulled out our boarding passes, which I’d printed at work, and we got in line to check in. Sebastian seemed more relaxed until we were told that the flight was leaving from gate three.

“Stop worrying,” I told him, taking his hand again. “The gate number does not matter.”

We located gate three, grabbed five dollar cups of coffee, and chose seats near the window. The weather was bleak and dreary, and I was
so
looking forward to getting away. Not that the Chicago weather would be any better, but it would be fun to stay in a luxury hotel together, shop the Magnificent Mile, have dinner in a gourmet French restaurant or maybe a cozy little Italian place. Honestly, I didn’t care what we did—what mattered most was that we’d be there together. Our first vacation.

“Hey.” I tipped my head onto his shoulder. “Thanks for this. I know you don’t really want to do it.”

“That plane looks small. Are you sure it’s regulation size?” He squinted out the window, his right knee bouncing continuously.

I sighed. “Yes, dear.”

“Let me see the boarding passes again.”

“No,” I said, lovingly but firmly. “You’ve looked at them a hundred times. You already know we’re in an even row. Row two, first class.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“You booked the tickets, Sebastian. Now let’s talk about what we’re going to do this weekend. How about massages?” I tried my best to distract him from his own thoughts, but he didn’t make it easy.

When he tried to retrace his steps down the tarmac because it hadn’t felt right the first time, I grabbed his hand and refused to let go.

When he took out the pamphlet explaining how a water landing works, I took it away from him and shoved it back in my seat pocket.

When he gingerly eyed the arm rest where our tray tables were tucked away, I brandished a package of antibacterial wipes. “Come at me, babe. I’ve already thought of everything.”

He looked around. “There’s eleven people sitting in this section. Someone needs to sit in that empty chair.”

From my bag I pulled out a Barbie doll I’d dug out of a trunk in my mom’s attic. “Now there’s twelve in here. A nice even dozen.” I stuck her legs in the seat back pocket in from of him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He grabbed the doll and shoved her back in my bag. “I’m not that desperate.” Cracking a smile, he leaned back in his seat, although he kept flexing and fisting his fingers in his lap.

“Hey. It’s going to be fine.” I stilled one of his hands by placing mine over it. “Say it.”

“It’s going to be fine,” he repeated quietly, eyes closing.

I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now let’s say it together eight times.”

He opened his eyes and smiled at me for real. “God, you’re adorable. We don’t have to do that.”

“You sure? I don’t mind, if it will make you feel better. I know you’re doing this for me.”

“I’m doing this for us.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “And the only thing I need to feel good is you next to me.”

My stomach fluttered. “You’ll always have me.”

“Say it again, quick.” He grinned sheepishly. “Two is still better than one.”

“You’ll always have me.” I poked his leg. “Jeez, Sebastian, if we ever have kids, you’re going to want twins every time,” I teased.

“It’s funny you say that.” He took my hand in his, and suddenly I was very aware of him playing with my ring finger. “I’ve been thinking about it. About a family.”

“Yeah?” I swallowed hard. “Me too.” Being around the happy Fournier family had gotten to me over the last few months. I wanted that with Sebastian, and I thought I might be ready for the next step, but I didn’t want to rush him.

“Maybe we can talk about the future a little bit this weekend?” he asked.

I nodded, awestruck by the turn this conversation had taken. “I’d like that.”

He played with all my fingers. “You know, this is the first time in my life that thinking about the future doesn’t mean dreading it. We’re going to be happy together, aren’t we?”

I smiled, squeezing his hand. “Say it again, quick.”

Leaning toward me, he pressed his lips to mine before whispering softly against them. “Marry me.”

This book and the character of Sebastian were inspired by several things: the heartbreakingly raw and moving performance of “OCD” by poet/writer Neil Hilborn (please look him up, watch the live performance, like him on Facebook…I’m in awe of him), the song “Creep” by Radiohead (listen to the original and the cover by Hailey Reinhart of Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox), and my own life experience loving someone who struggles with anxiety. But how does a writer of romantic comedy take on something like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, especially in the male love interest, do justice to its sufferers, and yet still write a lighthearted romance? I tried very hard to be true to the harsh realities of OCD, which is nothing like what I thought it was, and still write a compelling, sexy character, who is so much more than his anxiety. My heart goes out to anyone who suffers from OCD. Love cannot cure you, but I hope you find it with someone wonderful, and it brings you peace, hope, and happiness—you deserve it.

For more information on OCD, visit
https://iocdf.org/

Don't miss SOME SORT OF CRAZY, book 2 in the Happy Crazy Love series, coming this November!