The kiss is everything. The relief, the triumph, the certainty. It's all the pent-up fear and hope and love from the past few weeks crashing together in a moment of pure,unadulterated release. It tastes like victory and promise and coming home.
Her hands are confident now, working at my shirt buttons while I map the familiar territory of her mouth. When she pushes the shirt off my shoulders, I break away just long enough to capture her gaze.
"Are you sure?" I ask, because I need to hear it, need to know this is what she wants and not just adrenaline from the day's victories.
Her answer is to reach for the zipper of her skirt, the sound of it sliding down loud in the quiet of my apartment. The navy fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in the silk blouse that has been driving me crazy all day.
"I've never been more sure of anything," she says, her voice full of a deep and settled certainty.
What follows is a slow unraveling of everything we've held back. We undress each other with reverent hands, each piece of clothing that falls away representing another barrier overcome, another wall torn down between us.
When we come together, it's with the relief of two people finding their way back to each other. The connection is overwhelming—physical, emotional, complete. We move together, bodies and hearts finally aligned.
"I love you," she whispers against my skin, and the words are everything.
"I love you too," I reply, capturing her mouth with mine as we hold nothing back.
Afterwards, we lie tangled together on my couch, her head on my chest, both of us still catching our breath. The late afternoon light streams through the windows, painting everything in gold, and I can't remember ever feeling this complete.
"So," she says after a while, her voice lazy with satisfaction. "About that celebration dinner..."
I laugh, the sound rumbling through my chest. "Give me a few more minutes to remember how my legs work, and I'll make you the best carbonara you've ever had."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She lifts her head to look at me, her green eyes bright with love and contentment and the kind of deep satisfaction that comes from finally being exactly where you belong.
"I'm proud of us," she says softly.
"Me too," I reply, pulling her up for another kiss. "Me too."
This, right here, is what comes next. And it's everything.
38
Epilogue - Garrett
The smell of sourdough batter hits the griddle with a perfect sizzle, and I can't help but grin. Three months of Sunday mornings like this, and I still get that same kick of satisfaction watching the pancakes bubble and rise. It's the little things—the routine, the normalcy, the way Sloane hums while she works at the kitchen table behind me—that make this feel real.
Real in a way that our secret stolen moments never could.
I flip the first pancake with perfect timing, then glance over my shoulder. Sloane sits cross-legged in one of my old hockey t-shirts, laptop balanced on her knees, completely absorbed in whatever she's reading. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, and there's this little crease between her eyebrows that appears when she's deep in concentration.
God, I love that crease.
"How's the program looking?" I ask, sliding the golden pancake onto the growing stack.
She looks up, and that brilliant smile that's mine now—completely mine, no hiding, no apologies—lights up her face. "Maya's group had twelve girls show up yesterday for the financial literacy workshop. Twelve, Garrett. We started with three."
The pride in her voice does something to my chest, makes it tight and warm and full. "That's incredible."
"The community center director called this morning. They want to expand the program to include career mentorship. Apparently, half the girls are asking about marketing and business development after hearing me talk about strategic planning." She laughs, shaking her head. "Who knew that explaining market analysis could be inspiring to teenagers?"
I pour more batter onto the griddle, letting the comfortable domestic rhythm settle around us. This is what I never knew I was missing—not just Sloane, but this version of us. The easy Sunday morning conversations about her work, the way she gets excited about connecting with those kids, how natural it feels to support her while she changes the world one strategic partnership at a time.
"I knew," I say quietly.
