My chest tightens, but I reach up and cup his face, forcing him to look at me. “You’re wrong. You didn’t ruin me. You saved me.”
His lips part, and I can see the pain and relief flicker across his face. “You don’t know how much I want to believe that.”
“I don’t care if you’re messed up, Damian. I don’t care about anything but being with you. I just want you.”
He lets out a shaky breath, and before I can say anything else, his mouth is on mine. It’s slow and deep, his hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against him. I lose myself in it, in the warmth and the taste of him, the way his lips move against mine.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless.
“I think I…I think I really like you,” he says, voice raw and unguarded.
My breath catches. “I think I really like you too.”
A slow, relieved smile spreads across his face, and he pulls me into another kiss, softer this time, like he’s making a promise.
Bridger pops his head back in, smirking. “What are you two going to do now?”
Damian glances at me, then back at his brother. “We’re going back to Jersey,” he says. “There’s a bakery to open up.”
My heart swells, and I can’t help but laugh through the tears still clinging to my lashes. Bridger just shakes his head. “About damn time,” he mutters, walking away.
Damian pulls me against his chest again, his lips brushing my hair. “We’ll make it work,” he whispers.
And for the first time in a long time, I believe it. I hold onto him, feeling safe, and I know that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
Epilogue
DAMIAN
The bell over the bakery door chimes as a fresh crowd spills in. The place is busy as hell—customers packed into mismatched wooden chairs, sipping specialty lattes and tearing into flaky scones. Sunlight pours through the windows, painting everything in gold.
And there she is.
Lo. In the kitchen behind the glass, sleeves rolled, hair twisted into some messy knot that’s already slipping loose under her baker’s hat. She’s bent over a custom birthday cake, three tiers of fondant and sugar flowers so delicate they could be mistaken for real petals. Her fingers are steady, confident, the kind of graceful focus that turns heads. Her lip is caught between her teeth as she leans in closer, adding the final touches. There’s a smear of pink frosting on her cheek.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her. I could stay like this all damn day. She glances up and catches me staring. Her smile blooms slow and soft, the kind that hits square in the chest and makes everything else shut the hell up. I can’t help but grin back. I gave up trying to hide it months ago.
I push off the frame and stroll over, resting an elbow on the counter beside her. “Looks good enough to eat,” I say, my voice dropping low. “And I don’t mean the cake.”
Her eyes flick to mine, mischievous. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll let you have all you want, then.”
“Five,” I murmur, sliding my finger through a stripe of frosting on the counter. “Your office. You bent over your desk. Pussy out. Waiting.”
Her eyes darken. “Ten minutes. And if you keep looking at me like that, you’ll end up wearing this frosting.”
I lean closer. “Yeah? Where are you planning on smearing it?”
She arches a brow. “Okay, eight minutes. My office. I’ll bring the frosting.”
I reach out and swipe the icing off her cheek with my thumb. She swats my hand away, laughing.
“Place is packed today,” I say, glancing back outside at the bustling crowd. “You did good.”
She looks down, brushing the edge of the cake with a small metal spatula. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Yeah, you could’ve,” I say, meaning it. “But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”
She leans in, just for a second, long enough for me to press a kiss to her temple before someone calls her name from the front counter.
