“You’re staying with me, right?” His voice sounds a little sad. Scared even.
“I’m not going anywhere, love.” Yeah, I’ve started using the endearment as well. I like it.
Squeezing my hand, he smiles, and with a sleepy voice, mumbles, “Good. Don’t ever leave me.”
I squeeze his hand. “Never, love.” Not ever. I watch Cooke sleep for probably longer than I should. Caroline wants to see him, but I’m going to take just a little longer so I can be sure he’s comfortable. Running my fingers over his forehead, I push some of his hair away from his handsome face. His beard is gone, sadly but I suspect he’ll grow it back from time to time.
Moving in closer, I say in his ear. “I love you, Cooke. I don’t know what I did in my last life to deserve you.” I’m getting a little misty-eyed now. This day has been a long time coming and Cooke has been nothing but a champ throughout. “I’m so glad you called that wrong number, because if you hadn’t, I’m positive I would never have found love like this.”
Cooke’s eyes flutter open and a smile slowly appears. “I’m the lucky one, Quinn Thompson.”
I don’t know why but hearing him say my first name with this last makes me gasp. “That sounds amazing.”
“It does.”
Feeling the need to confess, I say, “I doodled that in one of my notebooks not long after that wrong number. Did I ever tell you that?”
I see his eyes water as he shakes his head. Searching the room for a tissue, I look back down at him, a tear is sliding down his cheek. “Do you remember our second conversation? The one at the gym?” he asks.
“Of course. How can I forget half-naked rugby players?”
He ignores my joke. “Well, right after we ended the call, I turned to the lads and yelled at the top of my lungs. ‘Gents, that was my future wife. I’m going to marry that lass.’”
I feel misty-eyed again, damn it. “You did?” I squeak.
“I did.”
“And you are.” I pause. “You’re going to marry that lass.”
“I know. The question is, when?”
“Soon. I can’t wait to be yours, Cooke Thompson.”
“And I can’t wait to be yours, love.”
