"Let him look." I hold her gaze, letting her see the absolute certainty in mine. "You're not going back to him. You're staying here. With me."
She searches my face, looking for doubt or hesitation. She won't find any.
"What if I'm not strong enough?" Her voice cracks. "What if he finds me and I—what if I'm not brave enough to keep saying no?"
"You are." I trace my thumbs across her cheekbones, gentle despite the possessive fury building in my chest. "You ran in a blizzard rather than marry him. You survived a night in the mountains. You're the bravest person I know."
"Jason—"
"And even if you weren't," I continue, "I'm here. You think I'm letting him near you? You think I'd let anyone hurt you?"
She shakes her head slowly, eyes filling.
"You're mine now," I say, low and absolute. "Not his. Not anyone else's. Mine. And I keep what's mine safe."
A tear spills over, tracking down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.
"I want to stay," she whispers. "I want—God, I want this so much it scares me."
"Then stay." I lean my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "Stay and let me keep you. Let me give you the life you deserve, the one where you don't have to be afraid, where you don't have to make yourself smaller, where you're wanted exactly as you are."
Her hands come up to grip my wrists, holding on like I'm the only solid thing in her world. "You really want that? You wantme?"
"More than I've wanted anything in my life."
She makes a sound—half sob, half laugh—and then she's kissing me, desperate and grateful and full of something that feels dangerously close to love. I kiss her back with everything I've got, pouring three years of loneliness and a lifetime of wanting into it.
When we break apart, she's smiling through tears. "Okay," she says. "Okay. I'll stay."
The relief that crashes through me is almost physical. I pull her against my chest, wrapping her up completely, and feel her melt into me.
"You won't regret it," I murmur into her hair.
"I know." She presses her face against my shoulder. "I already don't."
We stand like that for a long moment, holding each other while the stew simmers and the afternoon light fades to dusk. Her phone buzzes again on the counter, and without looking, she reaches out and silences it.
"I should block his number," she says.
"Good idea."
"And maybe... maybe get a new one entirely. Start fresh."
"If you want to." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Whatever you need. We'll handle it together."
She tilts her face up, and the trust in her eyes nearly undoes me. "Together."
"Together," I confirm.
She reaches up on her toes and kisses me again—softer this time, sweeter, but no less full of promise. When she pulls back, there'sa lightness to her expression that wasn't there before. Like she's finally set down a weight she's been carrying too long.
"Stew's probably ready," she says.
"Probably." I don't let her go.
She laughs. "You have to let me go if we're going to eat."
"Don't have to do anything." But I loosen my hold, letting her step back. "Could just keep you right here instead."
