“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “About leaving you here this morning. And about the things I said to you. I just . . . I freaked out. I’ve been so scared and defensive and closed-off my entire life. I made it hard to love me because I didn’t believe anyone ever would. I put up so many walls to protect myself—even though doing that made me hurt even more. And . . .” My voice catches and I swallow my tears, determined to keep going. “You’re the only one who saw through it. Like, immediately. You wouldn’t let me put up those walls. You just kept being so . . . so . . .” I blink hard, unable to find all the right words. “You’re so good, Henry. You really see people. You saw me in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been seen before. That made me so uncomfortable at first, but now . . .” I shake my head, and a tear slips down my cheek. “I feel safe with you. Like I’m home. Like I belong. I love your dorky snorty laugh. I love the way you see beauty everywhere. I love that you’ve always believed in my happy ending, even when I haven’t.”
I take a step toward him and put my hand on his chest. It’s the opening move for our judo throw. I’m just waiting to see if he’ll catch me gently or throw me away.
“I love . . . you.”
He stares at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. His gaze goes to my hand on his chest. I can feel his heartbeat through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Even if he does throw me away, I’m not sorry I’m opening my heart so fully. I wouldn’t trade this last week with him for anything.
Slowly, he raises his head and meets my eyes again. I still can’t tell what he’s thinking. Like, at all.
Then . . . he raises a hand and very gently tucks that unruly lock of bright red hair behind my ear.
“Rika,” he murmurs—in that way that makes me melt. “Weren’t you listening this morning? Of course I love you, too.”
“Oh . . .” I breathe. It comes out as a sob. “I—I did hear you. I was just so angry—”
He catches my mouth with a kiss.
I sink into it, tears flowing down my cheeks as he pulls me close. In the distance, I can hear my family cheering.
When we finally pull apart, he touches his forehead to mine, his hands cupping my face. Holding me like I’m precious.
“Angry,” he breathes out, a smile in his voice. “Passionate. And all the fierce, tender parts underneath. I do see you. The whole you. And I love everything I see.”
He raises his head and looks around, taking in the luminous moon reflected in the ocean, the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore.
“Look at us,” he says, a smile playing over his lips. “It’s just like the end of Meet Me Again.”
“If you throw anything of mine into the ocean, I’ll kill you,” I say.
“We showed up for each other,” he says, refusing to be cowed. “And you came for me—so I guess I’m the princess in this scenario?”
I grin and pull him in for another kiss. “We both are.”
The Nikkei Week gala is in full swing when the Raku-yamas plus Henry return to Little Tokyo. Belle is still in her sweatsuit but decides to forego her usual finery because “I look like a queen, no matter what.” I feel a surge of joy as she tucks Nak under her arm and runs up to the rest of her court, who greet her with a giant group hug.
In fact, after all the excitement of the day, it appears that no one’s really going for the usual super-fancy gala wear. Rory wraps another one of Auntie Suzy’s dresses around her shoulders like a cape. Eliza and Sensei Mary are in their judogi, showing some of the kids how to do simple tumbles. Uncle Hikaru has just plopped a bow tie on over his T-shirt. Auntie Suzy and Auntie Och don yukata from Auntie Suzy’s collection—paired with Adidas slides, of course.
Craig Shimizu, I notice, is nowhere in sight.
The spirit of the gala feels freer than usual. Like instead of keeping constant watch to see who’s doing something inappropriate or who’s worth gossiping about or who needs to be the target of so many disapproving stares, everyone in the community’s actually enjoying the party.
There is, of course, a heightened buzz crackling through the airy courtyard—will Grace Kimura show?
Despite the community’s best efforts, no one’s heard from her. Henry’s tried texting her, to no avail. I can’t stop the constant nervous skitter through my gut. I’ve already been through an entire decade’s worth of emotions in a single day. If she doesn’t show up . . . will it ruin everything?
“Still nothing?” I say, peering over his shoulder as he glances at his phone screen.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. He stuffs his phone back in his pocket, giving me a soft smile. “Let’s think about something else.” He extends a hand and gives me a courtly bow. “Time for your dance lesson.”
“Oh no,” I say, holding up a finger. “Little Tokyo’s gone through enough already today. Nobody needs to see that.”
“You promised,” he says, grinning mischievously as he takes my hand and tugs me insistently toward the dance floor. “A judo lesson for a dance lesson.”
“Ugh,” I say—but I’m smiling. “Fine.”
I allow him to take me in his arms, pulling me into a slow dance.
“Just move with me,” Henry says. “Trust me.”
So I do. He leads me around the floor, making it easy for me to follow his moves. He’s so graceful, so light on his feet. And even though I’m stiff and awkward at first, I find myself melting against him, my gaze drifting up to the twinkle lights sparkling above our heads. And
