Love You More

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Billie sits in the passenger seat of Dean's Range Rover as it hums across the low two-lane bridge spanning the Shinnecock Canal, the gateway to Southampton. They are headed to meet Dean's parents for the first time. She is nervous. The Hamptons feel borrowed to her, a world away from the lake-water summers and midwestern thrift of Wisconsin. She asks Dean for tips. He suggests topics: travel, his parents' yearlong sailing trip. She asks about land mines. He smirks, joking about not mentioning how good he is in bed. She presses, admitting her fear that being agreeable isn't the same as being deemed worthy of their son.

The memory of how they met rises in her mind. Greer, her friend and partner at their fertility clinic, had been trying to set them up for months. Billie resisted—blind dates aren't her thing. Greer warned her not to sabotage it with midwestern deference. The night Dean walked into the Chelsea speakeasy, Lesli was with her. Greer pointed at Billie, Dean's gaze followed, and something low and electric stirred in her. He approached, they talked until last call. At the door, he said, "Just wait until we're alone." Now, a little over a year later, she is falling more in love with him every day.

The Range Rover rolls past shuttered shops. Billie buys a bunch of tulips from a weathered farm stand for Dean's mother. The road narrows. Sprawling estates hide behind clipped hedges. Through the gate of his family's home, she is relieved to see no other cars in the driveway. Good, she thinks. Time to breathe. Dean shoulders their bags to the guest room. He flops on the bed; she freshens up. She nudges him awake in a pink shirtdress. He calls her gorgeous.

Downstairs, Dean opens a chilled rosé with a waiter's corkscrew. Outside, a breeze lifts her hem as they cross the manicured lawn and descend the boardwalk to the private strand. Steel-blue ocean, whitecapped waves, empty horizon. He pours wine. "To us," he says. "And meeting your parents." They stroll west, gulls wheeling overhead. Suddenly, he stops, faces her, says her name as a question, eyes bright but nervous. Then he is kneeling, navy velvet box in hand. Oval diamond, thin platinum band. He asks her to marry him.

She says yes. Tears come. Giddy laughter dissolves as he slides the ring onto her finger. It feels like it has always been meant for her. He takes a selfie, ocean blazing behind them. They walk back hand in hand, beaming, stopping to kiss. She asks if Lesli and Greer helped him plan it. No, he says proudly, he did it all on his own. She starts to ask if he talked to her father, but she is afraid the answer is no.

When they reach the back porch, Dean opens the door. She steps inside and senses company. Footsteps. A man's voice. And then—"Surprise!" Her parents round the corner, beaming, champagne flutes in hand. Behind them, Dean's parents. Dean's father claps her dad on the back, laughing like old friends. Her mouth falls open as she looks at Dean, floored. He whispers that he knows how much her parents mean to her. Tears well again. Her parents rush forward to hug her. Dean's parents join in. Kisses, toasts, photos. Later, candlelight flickers over a catered dinner. Dean catches her eye, and she sees it all in his smile—the quiet assurance, the unwavering care, the unconditional love that has been there from the very beginning.

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Chapter 2: Chapter 2

It’s five a.m., and New York City is hushed. Billie, curled on her sofa in Morningside Heights, coffee in hand, watches the honey locust tree outside her third-floor window. She loves this hour—always has, even back in Wisconsin, when she was the first one up. The siren, the garbage truck, the rhythm of traffic—she finds it as soothing as the summer crickets she once missed.

A quick daydream floats in: garden aisles, string-light canopies, an early September wedding. She and Dean briefly considered Wisconsin, but the Hamptons is winning out. A backyard reception would save her dad money, and he’s been planning for this day half her life. She won’t let him pay, and Dean’s parents won’t either.

She pulls herself back to the stack of medical journals on the coffee table. As a reproductive endocrinologist, she stays current. First chart of the day: Sophie Cohen, thirty-four, aggressive breast cancer, scheduled for radiation and chemo. Sophie’s first question wasn’t about survival—it was about her fertility. Billie will explain that in vitro maturation can help. She loves giving her patients hope, real hope grounded in science. No one walks into her clinic because life is going according to plan. She is always honest about the odds, but she reminds every patient that the best things in life rarely come easy.

Her own eggs aren’t getting any younger. Thirty-seven isn’t old, but it isn’t young. She wants motherhood—maybe more than anything else. Getting the show on the road with Dean feels right.

Dean’s alarm goes off. Billie heads back down the hall, eager to see him. She loves saying “fiancé,” even though she used to think the word was cheesy. She slips under the covers, curls against his warm body. He smooths her hair, kisses her temple. She whispers that he better get up before she makes him late. He jokes that one tardy won’t kill him, and she teases that he’s never been late. They talk flowers—hydrangeas and wildflowers, keep it simple. He asks if she doesn’t want orchids from Peru. She laughs.

Her phone vibrates on the nightstand. Early for a work call. But the number stops her cold. She deleted the contact years ago, but she still knows it by heart.

Dean notices. “You okay?” She tries to recover, nodding, as the phone chimes with a voicemail. He kisses her again, but then presses: “Who was that?” With her heart racing, she tells him it’s her ex—her high school and college ex. Dean says, “Hmm. I thought you said you don’t talk to him anymore?” She confirms they haven’t in years. “Well,” he says, gesturing toward the phone, “let’s see what he wants.”

There is no graceful way out of it. She grabs the phone, takes a breath, and plays the voicemail on speaker.

“Hi, it’s Mick.” His voice fills the room. Low. Serious. Surreal. “I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this. But could you give me a ring back as soon as you can? Thanks, Billie.”

She swipes back to her home screen, returns the phone to the nightstand. Dean arches a brow. “You’re not going to call him back?” She says she will a bit later. “It sounds urgent.” She says it can’t be that urgent—that’s what 911 is for. He studies her face. A tiny muscle jumps in his cheek. “Here. I’ll give you privacy.” He swings his legs out of bed and walks toward the bathroom.

Billie stares at her phone, her heart pounding.

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Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Mick O'Leary walks into advanced algebra on the first day of high school looking like he stepped off the cover of a teen romance novel—wavy blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, worn-in Levi's, and Timberland boots with laces casually loose. Billie, sitting in the front row surrounded by overachievers, freezes when she sees him. She expects him to head to the back, where his type always sits. Instead, he drops his backpack next to her.

"Welp. Here goes nothing," he says, staring right at her.

Billie's heart flutters. She learns his name is Mick, tells him hers is Billie—with a B, like the boy's name. He smiles. "I like that." She feels heat in her cheeks and changes the subject before he can ask what it's short for. They discover they know each other through a mutual friend on the football team. Then the bell rings, and Ms. Sprinkman calls roll. When she reaches Wilhelmina Wright, snickers echo. Billie mumbles "Here, but I go by Billie." Mick grins and whispers, "Wilhelmina?" She shrugs, mortified and thrilled. Through the rest of class, she's hyperaware of him beside her—his restless energy, the tap of his pencil. When the bell rings, he says, "See you tomorrow, Wilhelmina!" and winks. She melts.

The Bus Ride Home

A few minutes later, Billie boards the school bus looking for her best friend, Erin Callahan. Erin lives down the street and has been her sister in all but name since forever—the two of them grew up together, along with twins Sam and Eliot and another duo, Anna and Lucy. Erin is the glue that holds their group together, fierce and warm, with a laugh that warms you from within. Billie worried their group would splinter in high school, but Erin promised she'd never let that happen.

Now Erin pops up from the back row, dark curly hair loose, waving with a big grin. Before Billie can sit, Erin is already buzzing about auditions for the school musical, Footloose. She wants them both to try out. Billie protests she can't sing or dance. Erin reminds her of the Electric Slide and Macarena, the dances it took weeks to teach her. "That's what rehearsals are for," Erin says. "Besides, we need extracurriculars to get into college." She pokes Billie in the ribs, knowing college is her hot button. Billie says she'll think about it, knowing it's out of the question—the mere idea of getting onstage makes her stomach clench.

Erin holds up her hand for a high five. Billie's slap barely connects. They have to keep trying until their palms make a satisfying clap, finally getting it on the third try. Erin says she just wants them to get out of their comfort zone, try new things, live large. "These could be the best days of our lives!"

Billie twists her backpack straps and gives a hesitant smile. "So I have some news."

"Do tell!"

"I met a boy. In math class."

Erin's eyes go wide. "Oh my God! You have a prospect? Already?"

Billie shushes her, whispers that he's way out of her league. Erin insists she's beautiful, but Billie knows better—ash-brown bob, pale skin, washed-out gray-green eyes, no curves, toothpick legs. Nothing striking. "He looks like a movie star," Billie says. "Heath Ledger, maybe?"

"What's his name?"

"Mick O'Leary."

Erin lets out a startled laugh. "Billie. Don't you know who that is?" She explains: Mick O'Leary is a stud football player from Swallow Middle School. His family owns Picker's Paradise, the orchard they visited in fourth grade. "How do you know all this?" Billie asks. "It's common knowledge. Get your nose out of the books and pay attention!" Erin knocks on her temple. She asks if Mick flirted with Billie. "No. But he teased me about my name." Erin points out he has to be smart if he's in her math class, and Billie knows she loves smart. "He could be your first boyfriend!" Billie doubts it, but a knot of hope forms anyway. Erin tells her to play the long game: "Friends first, lovahs next." She laughs, adding, "And before you know it, you'll be doing it in the apple orchard!" Billie shakes her head, laughing as the bus rumbles on.

Becoming Friends

Billie takes Erin's advice to heart. Over the next few weeks, she and Mick slowly become friends. They chat before and after class, exchange hellos in the hallways. Sometimes he saunters over to their lunch table to ask about homework. Then one night, out of the blue, he calls her.

Billie picks up the phone expecting Erin and hears Mick's low voice. He got her number from Will Rader, asks about the math homework. She answers, expecting him to say thanks and hang up. Instead, he asks what she's up to, and they talk for nearly an hour—about football, high school gossip, the Silverado he's saving for by working at the orchard, and her part-time job at Sugarbell, a candy store. At one point, his little sister, Maeve, interrupts. Instead of kicking her out, he brings her into the conversation, telling her Billie works at a candy store. "Can we go?" Maeve asks. "She's not there now," Mick replies. "But maybe sometime."

"You're so sweet to her," Billie says.

"She's my favorite person."

He tells Billie that Maeve is eight and has Down syndrome. Billie mentions her own annoying ten-year-old brother, Gus. Mick laughs. "Yeah. Younger siblings can be tough. But they're worth it. Right, Maevie?"

"Right, Mickey!"

"Don't start, Wilhelmina," he says with a smile in his voice.

After that night, Mick and Billie have regular phone conversations. They talk about anything and everything—religion, movies, music. On Friday nights, Billie sits in the bleachers with her friends, the smell of popcorn and wet leaves in the crisp night air, her eyes glued to Mick on the football field. She holds her breath every time he touches the ball. She loves when he scores a touchdown, but the part she likes best is the way he calmly hands the ref the ball—no swagger, no showboating. They rarely talk on weekends, so she waits until Monday in math class to congratulate him. "Great game," she says. "Thanks," he replies, modest as ever. She follows up with commentary on specific plays, and sometimes he gives her behind-the-scenes scoop.

The State Championship

Later that fall, Arrowhead plays in the Division 1 state championship game. It goes down to the wire. Four seconds left. Down six. Fourth and goal. Mick gets the handoff. Billie grips Erin's arm, watches him leap over two defensive linemen. For one second, they celebrate. Then, as he hits the ground, the ball pops out of his arms. The crowd falls into stunned silence. Mick stays sprawled on the ground, clutching his helmet in disbelief.

Later that night, Billie calls to console him.

"Hello," he answers.

"Hi, it's me. Are you okay?"

"Not really. I can't believe I lost the game for us."

"It was only one down," she says. "What about your sixty-yard run? That was amazing."

"Thanks. But there's no excuse to drop the ball like that."

They sit in silence. Then he tells her he's going to take an Epsom salts bath—he feels like a truck drove over him. Billie blushes, picturing him in the tub. "Okay. I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you, Billie. I appreciate you calling."

Her heart clenches. "You're welcome."

Late-Night Secrets

Their phone calls grow longer. When it gets really late, they speak in whispers that feel like secrets. One night, Mick tells her about the day he came home from school to find his mom catatonic in a rocking chair and his father crying—something he'd never seen before. They'd just come back from a doctor's appointment. There was fluid on the back of Maeve's neck, a marker for Down syndrome. "It was like someone had died," he says.

Billie wishes she could jump through the phone and hug him. He continues: for the rest of the pregnancy, his mother went into prayer mode, as if she could change Maeve in the womb, make her "normal." It was really tough to watch. Then Maeve was born, and the moment he held her, he knew she was perfect. "It's so weird to think back on that now. What were we so devastated about? How could we have been so clueless?"

"You were just scared," Billie says. "And you didn't know Maeve yet. She was a diagnosis, not a person."

"Yes. That's exactly it." Mick says he's never once wanted to change her, but his mom still gets sad—or maybe just overwhelmed. "But I know one thing—her drinking got worse after Maeve."

Billie has heard him mention his mother's drinking before. She makes herself ask: "Do you think she's... an alcoholic?"

He lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. That's safe to say." He tells her about the morning of his thirteenth birthday: he came downstairs and found the freezer door wide open. His customary ice cream cake had melted, spilling down the front of the refrigerator and all over the kitchen floor. "Someone left it open?" Billie asks, not tracking. "Yeah. Someone who keeps her vodka in the freezer."

"Oh. I'm sure she felt terrible."

"She never knew. I cleaned everything up before she came downstairs." He told his dad it was his fault—that he left the door open when he came down for a snack in the middle of the night. His dad acted like he believed him, but Mick knows he didn't. "We both cover for her all the time."

"I'm so sorry," Billie says, picturing him on the kitchen floor, mopping up melted ice cream, trying to protect his mother.

"Thanks, Billie," he says, his voice low in her ear.

She stares into the darkness, the phone pressed to her cheek. Her heart is his. He just doesn't know it yet.

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Chapter 4: Chapter 4

One Friday afternoon in mid-December, Mick asks Billie if she’s free to get together over the weekend to study for their math exam. Her heart skips a beat—they’ve never seen each other outside of school. They agree on Sunday afternoon at three. Mick suggests her house, since his sister Maeve will never leave them alone. Billie smiles and asks if he needs her address or if Will already gave it to him. They laugh, and she scribbles it down.

She’s bursting to tell Erin, but Erin is in rehearsal for Footloose. Billie waits two hours, then races to Erin’s bedroom and throws herself onto the bed. The news tumbles out: Mick is coming over Sunday. Erin screams, convinced he wants to ask Billie out. Billie is more cautious—it feels like progress. Erin insists Billie get her family out of the house in case he wants to make a move. She pulls out her makeup pouch and hairbrush and gives Billie a trial run, finishing with a swipe of lip gloss. “It’s now your good-luck lip gloss,” Erin says, handing her the tube. Billie takes it, needing all the luck she can get.

That Sunday, the doorbell chimes. Billie smooths on the lip gloss and hurries downstairs—but her father reaches the foyer first. He opens the door and immediately recognizes Mick as number thirty-one, launching into a loud recount of an eighty-yard run against Mukwonago. Gus skids in, asking for an autograph. Billie gives her mother a pleading look. Her mom catches it, takes charge, and ushers Dad and Gus off to the mall. Billie mouths a thank you.

Alone at last, Mick and Billie head to the kitchen. Her mom has left a plate of warm nachos. They eat and talk. He admits he’s good on the grill and makes chocolate chip pancakes. She lays out notebooks and pencils. They discuss the exam: she asks what he needs to get. He just wants to pass. She pushes back—colleges care about math. He reveals he’s not sure he wants to go to college, maybe just work with his dad at the orchard. She’s shocked. He’s in all honors classes. She argues for the options a degree would bring. He asks about her dreams: Yale, medical school, maybe a surgeon. He tells her she’s impressive. She looks down, embarrassed, but feels his gaze.

Later that evening, Erin calls for the scoop. No kiss, no hand-holding, just studying and nachos. Erin presses: can she see herself marrying someone who didn’t go to college? Billie laughs it off, but alone in bed that night, she lets herself dream of a wildly farfetched happily ever after.

Later that week, Footloose opens. The auditorium buzzes with small-town excitement. Erin bounds onstage as Urleen, sassy and sharp. The audience laughs. Billie’s proud. As the show ends, she glances across the rows and spots Mick near the aisle. He gives her a thumbs-up. Her stomach flips. Did he come to see Erin—or her?

Later, everyone crowds into Erin’s kitchen to celebrate. Pizza, brownies, laughter. Eliot teases Erin about playing herself. Joan smirks. Anna, Sam, and Lucy pile on compliments and jokes. Billie links arms with Erin and tells her she looked like a star. She tries to savor the moment, wishing they could always have nights like these.

Then exam week descends. Billie’s stomach churns. These grades matter—one-eighth of her transcript, the first piece colleges will see. When the math exam lands in front of her, numbers swim. Beside her, Mick twirls his pencil like it’s any other day. When results come in, Billie calls him, confiding she only got an eighty-eight. That’s good, he says. Not top-college material, she replies. She presses: how did he do? A ninety-seven. She’s thrilled—this means he has to go to college. He laughs. Then he makes a deal: if she goes to Madison and he gets in, they’ll go together. The word together glows inside her like a promise. “Deal,” she says, grinning.

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