I know now that we’re not merely two people who were broken.
We’re two people falling for each other again.
It feelsvery,verygood.
CHAPTER 28
Ransom
Ember shifts, her breath warm against my chest. She’s curled into my side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting lightly over my heart, like she’s holding it in place.
The soft, steady rhythm of her breathing anchors me in the present with her.
For a long time, I just lie there—watching the way the morning light filters through the lace curtains, catching in her hair, on her beautiful face.
She stirs, murmuring something unintelligible. I press a kiss to the crown of her head. She doesn’t pull away.
For the past two nights—two whole nights—I have slept in Ember’s bed, with her.
We haven’t made love.
But she lets me hold her. Tuck her against me. Breathe her.
I need her. That thought assails me. I’ve always needed her. That’s why there’s been a hole in my heart all these years.
So, in those quiet hours, wrapped in linen and the scent of lavender, I reacquaint myself with every curve of her back, every sigh, every way she used to reach for me in the dark without knowing.
It’s not forgiveness yet. But it’s a hope of togetherness that’s worth waking up for, fighting for. Because when you find the person who fills the empty spaces inside you—the cracks you didn’t even know were there—you realize you weren’t really living before. Not breathing. Just going through the motions.
Now, I know.
Now, I can’t imagine a life without her.
I hear the chalet stirring in the morning. Doors banging. Pots clattering. People speaking.
It’s New Year’s Eve, and the whole house is humming with anticipation. But up here, in this hush between dawn and day, I don’t move.
Not until she opens her eyes and whispers my name.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She yawns, burrows closer. “What time is it?”
“Eight-thirty,” I murmur.
“Mama is probably already wondering where I am. I have duties for her New Year’s Eve shindig.” She smiles faintly.
“We’re hardly enough people for aball.”
“Hey, Margot Rousseau can make a ball out of nothing.”
“Fair.”
“So much to do,” she whispers. “Packing and….”
She trails off.
I can tell she’s already thinking ahead. The party tonight. The end of the holiday. The flights we’ll board in two mornings—hers to Boston, mine to San Francisco.
