Her eyes shine. “And if I can’t give you all of me yet?”
“Then you give me what you can, and we build toward the rest. I want a future with you, Elsie. That sort of thing takes time.”
She stares at me like she’s trying to see past my face into the very heart of me. “Don’t promise me waiting if you’ll resent me for needing it.”
“I won’t,” I say, certain of it now. “I’ll resent myself for not wanting to wait, sometimes. I’ll resent time for being slow. I’ll take a walk. I’ll fix a step. But I’ll always come back.”
She looks down at her hands. “You’re not the only one who owes an apology,” she says. “I know I’ve made things hard on you. I know I’ve scared you. Despite your objections, I know I can be selfish. I’ve made you feel like you’re always on the edge of losing something. Speaking to Beau without keeping you in the loop was wrong.”
“I would’ve tried to meddle,” I admit.
“I know, and I don’t fault you for it.” She lifts her head. “And just for the record—it wouldn’t be Beau for me. Not ever.”
I huff a laugh that cracks at the edges. “Just for the record.”
Her eyes flick up, a flicker of mischief in them. “How could I look at him twice when you’re standing right there?”
Heat slides up the back of my neck. “Hearing you say that . . . it makes me feel less like the handyman you’re stuck with and more like the man you always want around.”
“I do want you around. I just hate the idea of being so needy.”
I frown. “You’re not needy. And you’re not selfish, either. I know you’ve spent your whole life apologizing for needing anything at all. Really, you learned to put yourself first when others didn’t. You deserved care. You deserved safety. Not just when you were with Elspeth, but all the time.”
“And you?” She kisses the hollow of my throat. “You deserved someone who sees you, who wants to understand you, and to take care of you. I want to be that person. I want you to feel worthy—not only when you’re fixing something or protecting someone, but when you’re tired or wrong or scared. You’re allowed to make mistakes with me. I’ll forgive you for them.”
“It’s hard to believe that sometimes.”
Her thumb brushes my jaw. “It’s okay to be kind. It’s okay to be soft. And don’t worry about me putting you on a pedestal, either.” She laughs, teasing. “Trust me, I never did. I know that if you love someone, you love them even when they’re messy. Because perfection isn’t real, and it isn’t love. That’s not what I want with you.”
My throat closes. “What is it that you want?”
“For us to ... build a life together.” She ducks her head shyly. “That’s what you want, right? A future?”
“It’s what I fucking dream of.” I stroke my thumb over her knuckles. “When you were gone today, I realized something. That losing this house, this town . . . that would hurt me. Deeply. But I could learn to live again somewhere else, in some otherway. Losing you—I couldn’t rebuild from that. It would destroy me.”
She presses her mouth to mine then—soft, sure, a little desperate, like she’s sealing a promise she’s still learning how to keep.
The house exhales, the chandelier gives one bright, happy chime, and somewhere in the kitchen, a cabinet door swings and clicks shut.
We sway there long after the record runs quiet. When she finally pulls away, her eyes are steady, her mouth sweet and swollen.
“We’re not perfect,” she says.
“God, no.”
“We’re going to fight again.”
“Probably tonight.”
She laughs, and it feels like the low sun shining in January—unexpected, golden, a little bit miraculous. “We’ll go slow,” she says. “We’ll wait on the big decisions until they’re ready. We’ll keep each other in check.” Her eyes shine. “I’ll stay for good, and you’ll always come back?”
“I’ll always come back,” I promise.
“Okay,” she whispers and lays her head on my chest.
We dance to the silence, to the tiny noises of approval the house makes, to the beat of something that might be my heart settling where it belongs. Outside the windows, the ridge is all shadow and quiet and cold.
In here, in our home, it’s warm enough to hope.
