"Nothing." I resume unbuttoning, but can't stop looking at her. "Just... I love watching you do little things."
Her reflection smiles wider.
She reaches back, trying to find her zipper, and I cross to her. "Let me."
My fingers find the tiny metal tab at her neck, sliding it downward. Her skin appears inch by inch, pale in the low light. Iplace a kiss at the nape of her neck, feeling her shiver under my lips.
"Cold?" I murmur against her skin.
"Not even close."
The dress loosens, and she holds it against her chest, turning to face me. This close, I can see the golden flecks in her brown eyes and a slight flush across her cheekbones.
My hands move of their own accord, finding her waist, feeling the warmth of her through the silk. I pull her closer, and her free hand rises to my chest, palm flat against my heartbeat. I wonder if she can feel how hard it's pounding.
"I've been thinking," I say, my voice rough even to my own ears.
"Dangerous." Her smile is teasing, but her eyes remain serious, watching me.
I swallow, suddenly nervous. I've faced down enforcers twice my size, played in Stanley Cup finals, given countless interviews—but this moment, standing in my bedroom with this woman feels more terrifying than all of that combined.
"About us," I continue, one hand rising to cup her cheek. Her skin is warm under my palm. "About how much has changed. How much you've changed me."
Her smile fades, replaced by something deeper, more intent. "Logan?—"
"I love you." The words come out steady despite my racing heart. Simple. True. "I'm in love with you, Reese."
Then silence. For one terrible second, she's perfectly still, and I worry I've overstepped, rushed things, misread everything. My stomach drops.
Then her eyes fill, gleaming in the dim light. "I love you too." Her voice is barely above a whisper, but firm. Certain. "Logan, I love you so much."
Relief floods through me so intensely my knees almost buckle. I pull her against me, dress and all, burying my face in her hair. She wraps both arms around my chest, pressing herself to me like she's trying to eliminate any space between us.
"How long have you known?" she asks against my chest.
"Weeks. Maybe longer." I pull back enough to see her face. "I think I started falling that day at the Children's Museum with Tyler. When you turned that broken cookie into two elephants and saved us both."
She laughs,"That's when I knew too. I knew I was in deep trouble."
"Trouble?"
"I was falling for both of you. A package deal." Her hand rises to my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "A complicated, wonderful, messy package deal."
I kiss her then, trying to pour everything I feel into it—gratitude, desire, love, fear, hope. Her mouth opens under mine, her body melting against me. The dress slips down, trapped between us, and I feel her skin, warm and smooth under my hands.
When we break apart, she's breathless, eyes dark. "Say it again," she whispers.
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Reese Thompson." I press my forehead to hers. "I love how you handle Tyler's meltdowns. I love that you wear my clothes and love how I smell. I love watching you in my kitchen in the morning, stealing my coffee."
She laughs, fingers tangling in my hair. "I love you, Logan McCoy. I love your ridiculous superstitions. I love how gently you hold Tyler's hand. I love when you get that crease between your eyebrows when you're worried."
We stand there, trading confessions like secrets, until she shivers for real this time. I help her step out of the dress, retrieving a t-shirt from my drawer—the one she's claimed as her favorite, worn soft with washing.
In bed, she curls against my side, her head on my chest, leg thrown over mine. Outside, fireworks pop and crackle—it must be midnight. I pull her closer, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me, how her breathing has become the rhythm my own follows.
