“Come with me,” I whisper. “Let me feel you forgive me one more time.”
She shatters, crying out, walls fluttering hard around me, dragging me over the edge. I bury myself deep and come with her name on my lips, pulsing inside her, filling her as I cling to her like she’s my lifeline.
“Mine,” I breathe into her neck, shaking with it. “And I’m yours. Forever. I’m falling for you, Elorie. Falling hard.”
She presses a kiss to my neck. “I’ve been falling for you for what feels like a hundred years. Do you think it’s too soon to call it love?”
“I would’ve called it love the moment I looked at the bookstore’s outlet if I’d known it would’ve led to us right here, right now.” My heart beats too fast in my chest.
“In that case, I love you.”
I lean in to kiss her. Before our lips meet, I whisper, “In that case, I love you back.”
We stay locked together, hearts hammering in sync. When I finally slip free, I pull her on top of me, arms wrapped tight.
I hold her closer, tears I’ll never admit to burning my eyes.
“You’re home,” I whisper. “And I’m never, ever pushing you away again.”
I kiss the top of her head, and we lie there wrapped in the promises we'll spend the rest of our lives keeping. Tomorrow, everyone will see it. The way I look at her. The way I can't keep my hands off her. Let them all know she's mine.
Through the window, the first hint of dawn paints the mountains orange and gold. The world is waking up, and so are we. For the first time since Marcus died, the future doesn't feel like something to fear. It feels like something to build. Something worth fighting for.
And I'll fight for it every day. For her. For us. For the life we're creating together.
Because she's mine. And I'm hers. And that's all that matters.
Chapter seven
Elorie
In the morning, I find Brooks in the kitchen making coffee, shirtless and barefoot. The domesticity of it makes my chest ache. This is what forever looks like, the ordinary moments that feel extraordinary because they're ours. Because yesterday I almost lost this. Lost him.
He hands me a mug, but instead of his usual easy smile, vulnerability crosses his face. "I want to show you something. Something I've been carrying for seven years."
He takes my hand and leads me to a small office off the kitchen. A rectangle-shaped wooden box sits on the desk, simple and hand-carved and beautiful in its plainness. He picks it up, and his hands shake slightly as he opens the lid.
Inside are dozens of letters, folded and stacked neatly. His handwriting covers the pages, and I catch glimpses of words.I'm sorry. I should have. I miss you.
"I write to him," Brooks says quietly. "Tell him about my day. About the people I've saved. About the things I wish I could change." He pauses, his thumb tracing the edge of the box. "Started the week after he died. Haven't stopped."
"That's beautiful," I say, blinking as my eyes well with tears.
"It's pathetic."
"No." I take the box from him and set it down, then cup his face. "Don’t you dare say that. It's love. It's grief. It's you trying to hold on to someone who mattered. There's nothing pathetic about that."
He searches my face, and whatever he sees there makes his expression soften. He pulls me into his arms, and we stand there in morning light, wrapped in each other and the weight of what he's trusted me with. His heart beats steadily against my cheek. I press closer, wanting him to feel that I'm not going anywhere. That he can show me his broken pieces, and I'll still choose him.
"How did I get so lucky?" he whispers.
"I'm the lucky one."
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and his hands slide under my shirt. His palms are rough against my skin, and when his thumbs brush the underside of my breasts, I gasp into his mouth. Need coils tight in my pussy, and I arch into his touch.
"Brooks," I whisper.
"I know." His forehead drops to mine, and his breath comes ragged. "But if I start now, I won't stop. And I promised you breakfast."
