"Perfect."
She settles onto the edge of the bed, sets the tray on my lap.
"Your dad was here," I tell her.
She freezes. "What did he say?"
"He gave us his blessing."
"He did?"
"Also threatened to end me if I fuck this up."
She laughs, tension draining from her shoulders. "That sounds like Dad."
"I told him I love you. That I'd spend the rest of my life proving you're worth it."
Her eyes soften. "You don't have to prove anything to me."
"Yeah, I do. Every day. Forever." I take her hand. "That's what love is. Showing up. Proving it. Over and over."
She leans in, kisses me softly. "Eat your soup before it gets cold."
"Yes, ma'am."
She stays while I eat, stealing pieces of bread, telling me about the little things I missed while I was unconscious—club gossip, her sister's visit, the prospect who accidentally set a small fire in the kitchen.
Normal things.
Mundane things.
The kind of things that make up a life.
Our life.
Together.
When I finish eating, she takes the tray, sets it aside.
Then, carefully, she climbs onto the bed beside me.
Fits herself against my uninjured side.
Rests her head on my shoulder.
"Is this okay?" she asks. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You could never hurt me."
"Liar."
"Never. Not about you."
She snuggles closer, and I wrap my arm around her.
Hold her tight.
Breathe her in.
