“I’m not adorable,” I insist. “I’m a competent legal professional.”
“You’re both.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my mouth. “And I love every contradictory part of you. I love every curvethat makes me forget how to think straight, every soft line that fits against me like you were designed specifically to undo me. I love the way you look in the morning light. I love these hips.” His hands slide down to touch them. “The ones you don’t think are perfect but make me lose my mind every time you walk past me. I love watching you move, watching you think, watching you exist.”
Oh my god.
Is this actually happening?
“I love the freckles on your shoulders and the scar on your knee from when you were seven. I love that your hair does whatever it wants in humidity. I love your hands and the way they feel on my skin. I love every single part of you that you’ve ever doubted, because those are the parts that make you real. Make you mine.”
I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.
“In summary, I loveyou, Amara,” he finishes.
I’m crying again, which is ridiculous. Tears of joy. “I love you, too. So much. I don’t think I ever stopped those five years ago. Ever stopped loving you.”
His breath hitches. “Amara.”
“God, I tried,” I tell him. “But you were always there. In the back of my mind. In every case I took. Every decision I made. I kept asking myself whatyouwould do, and then I’d get angry because I wasn’t supposed to care anymore.”
I look up at him, my vision a blurry mess. I don’t know what I expect him to say.
“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you, either,” he says simply. “Not for a single day. When you came back, I was conflicted, couldn’t understand why I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But then it slowly dawned on me. You were always there, too.
“Every time I reviewed a contract, I’d imagine you picking it apart, finding the loopholes I’d missed. When I built the transparency programs at the foundation, I kept thinking about what you’d say, whether it would be enough to meetyourstandards. And moving to Eleuthera wasn’t just about exile or penance or even PR.
“It was about trying to become the kind of manyoucould respect again. The islanders, the clinic, all of it. I kept asking myself if this would matter toyou. Just in case someday I’d see you again. And then when you showed up on New Year’s Eve, basically dropping into my lap, I couldn’t believe it. Here was the second chance I was waiting for. But I just didn’t know it. I suppose a part of me did, though. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”
I smile brightly. “Oh Corin.”
I have no more tears or words left.
We kiss then, slow and deep and tasting salty from my tears. It’s not desperate or urgent. It’s something that feels more like... a promise.
When we finally pull apart, I’m smiling through the tears. “So. We’re really doing this.”
“We’re really doing this,” he echoes.
“No more running.”
“No more running” he agrees. “For either of us.”
I settle back against his chest and listen to his heartbeat.
For the first time in five years I feel like I can breathe.
24
Amara
The thing about being a litigator is that you spend your entire career waiting for moments like this.
The surgical dismantling of someone who thought they were smarter than you.
It’s the closest thing to legal bloodsport, and I’ve spent years honing my skills for exactly this purpose.
Corin’s standing near the clinic entrance, talking quietly with Marisol, and the morning light catches the sharp line of his jaw. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his forearms, and I can see the tendons shift as he gestures. His hair is slightly disheveled from the humidity, which shouldn’t be attractive but hey, he’s Corin Saelinger.
Exhibit A: That gorgeous man.
