We were both shivering now. Both too stubborn to go inside until this was resolved.
“I don’t have a plan for how to do this differently,” he admitted, and there was something naked in his voice.Vulnerable. “I don’t have a five-step process for being a better partner.”
He took a shaky breath. “But I want to learn. I want to try.” His voice cracked, and when those brown eyes met mine, they were fearful but honest, tinged with hope.
I looked at him—shivering in the cold, no careful control. Uncertain and terrified and asking for help instead of trying to provide it.
“Before you recommend me for anything—a job, an introduction, anything—you ask me first,” I said. “Before you make plans for us, you include me.”
“Okay.” He nodded immediately. “I can do that.”
“And I need you to tell me what you need.” I stepped closer. “What do you need from me, Connor?”
He blinked, like the question surprised him. “I need—” He stopped, regrouping. “I need you to tell me when I’m being too much. When I’m overstepping.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I need you to stay even when I mess this up. Because I’m going to mess it up. I’m going to slip. And I need you to call me on it instead of just leaving.”
“I can do that. I can stay and fight,” I said. “But you have to actually listen when I do.”
“I’ll try.” He wiped at his face roughly. “I can’t promise I’ll get it right. But I’ll try.”
I looked at him for a long moment, really seeinghim—not the competent executive or the perfect caretaker. Just a man who’d learned that love meant making yourself indispensable and was terrified of what happened when you stopped.
“I want that job,” I said suddenly. “Not because you recommended me, or so my parents can brag. I want it because I miss the work. I miss feeling like my brain matters, like I’m building something that lasts longer than a cocktail.”
Connor’s lips parted in surprise.
“And I want to move to New York with you,” I said. “Not because you made a list of reasons to convince me. Because I want to see if we can build something together. Something messy and imperfect and ours.” I reached out, wrapping his bare hand in my gloved fingers. “I’m choosing us. But only if you can let me be an equal partner. Not a project. Not someone who needs managing. Just… me.”
“Just you,” he repeated, and he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. I could feel him shaking—from cold or emotion, probably both. “That’s all I want. Just you.”
“We’re going to fuck this up,” I said, my voice muffled against him. “We’re going to fight and misunderstand each other and drive each other crazy.”
“Probably.” His arms tightened around me. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Together,” I agreed.
We stood there in the December cold, holding each other, both of us shivering.
“We should go inside,” Connor finally said. “Before we get hypothermia.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moved.
“I love you,” he said. “I know I said it before, but I need you to know—I love you. Not the version of you I think I can create. Just you. Messy and imperfect and struggling and brilliant. You.”
“I love you too.” I tilted my head up to look at him. “Even when you’re driving me crazy with your lists and your planning and your need to fix everything.”
He kissed me, and his lips were cold but his warm breath puffed against my cheek. When we broke apart, we were both crying, both smiling, both freezing.
“Get a room, you two,” Teresa called from Eddie’s car. “You know you live inside, right?”
Laughing, I pulled back from Connor, but he didn’t let go of my waist.
“Sorry to make you come back,” I called.
“Worth it for pie,” Teresa said as Eddie parked. “Connor kicked out Mom and Dad. I’m not missing that victory dessert.”
Connor didn’t let go of my hand as we walked back toward the apartment. Inside, he hung our coats and brought our joined hands to his mouth to warm them as Teresa and Eddie came in behind us.
