Housed in a delicate, gold frame was a sketch of me. Barefoot, windswept, standing at the edge of the river. The sunset behind me cast everything in amber and rose. The faint curve of my belly visible beneath my dress. And behind me, distant but steady, The Waving Girl.
Charlie’s voice broke through the silence, barely above a whisper, but steady all the same. “Especially this moment here.”
A single, full tear slipped from the corner of my eye and cut a slow trail across my cheek.
It overwhelmed me—the tenderness of his gift, the way he’d sketched me not as a mess of jagged edges or wild mistakes, but as someone worth seeing. As someone worth remembering. The kind of person who might deserve to stay.
I touched the glass frame again, unable to look away from that quiet moment he’d captured. It was everything I hadn’t dared to hope for—proof that someone saw me, really saw me. The ache beneath the jokes. The hunger to belong. Not only for me, but for the baby I was carrying. I’d spent so long pretending I didn’t care where I landed, and here I was, sitting under a crooked Christmas tree in my brother’s penthouse, hoping with everything in me that I’d finally found home.
Charlie reached out, thumb grazing the tear from my cheek, his hand lingering there with enough pressure to steady me. I tilted my face toward him, drawn like a magnet, and met his gaze.
And I fell.
No resistance left in me. No hesitation. No armor. Only me—open and raw and ready—because how in the hell could I not love Charlie Pruitt?
The man who handed me silence when I needed peace, who carried me without question and kissed me without regret. The man who looked at me and saw more than a disaster trying to find her footing—someone worthy of being chosen.
“I have a gift for you after all,” I whispered, voice trembling. I reached for the hand resting against my cheek and brought it to my chest, over my heart, holding it there like a promise. “It’s yours, if you want it. Just… promise me you won’t break it.”
His brows drew together, an unreadable emotion flickering across his face. Then he nodded, solemn and sure. “Never.”
Charlie reached up, tugged the bill of his cap forward, then spun it around so it sat backward on his head. It was such a simple move—casual, thoughtless—but it knocked the air out of me like he’d just changed the rules of the game.
And then he dropped to one knee in front of me, and that was it. Game over.
His hands found my hips, steady and unhurried, before sliding to rest against the curve of my bump. He looked up, his thumbs moving in slow, absent circles, his eyes locked on mine like he was waiting—for me to push him away, for me to run, for anything but what I actually did.
I stayed. Breath caught, heart somersaulting, knees weak in a way that had nothing to do with pregnancy and everything to do with the man on his knees before me. Charlie Pruitt—backward cap, rough hands gentled on my hips—like he was kneeling at an altar he hadn’t even realized he’d built until this moment.
He looked up at me, eyes so green they caught every scrap of me and held it there. And in that reflection, I saw her—the woman he saw. The one falling, faster than she meant to, for the man who made it impossible not to.
“You giving me your heart,” he said, his voice low and gruff, “Is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten. The only thing I would’ve wished for this Christmas.”
My throat tightened. Whatever walls I thought I had left didn’t stand a chance.
His palm stayed pressed to my heart as he leaned in, brushing his lips against my fingers with a reverence I hadn’t been ready for.
My fingers left his lips and curled into his shirt, clinging as he pushed to his feet with slow, deliberate grace until he stood over me—taller now, broader, filling every inch of space around me like there wasn’t enough air for both of us.
His mouth met mine, a breath released after days of holding back. His restraint gave way, his need finding mine in all the places we’d pretended didn’t exist.
And still, he kissed me again. And again. And again. Like he needed to memorize everything—the shape of my mouth, the sound I made when he tugged at my lower lip, the way my body leaned into his like it had been waiting for this exact kind of touch all along.
Still holding me close, he stood, lifting me off the floor in one smooth motion. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me down the hallway. Past the tree. Past the ornaments and scattered wrapping paper. The lights behind us twinkled against the windows, casting soft, amber reflections that danced across the walls.
He nudged the door open with his foot, setting me down only once we were inside.
Nancy let out one short, scandalized bark from the living room, and Charlie reached behind him, shutting the door.
And the rest of the world fell away while I let Charlie Pruitt undress the truth of me—piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the part of me that had somehow always belonged to him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
CHARLIE
Somethingwetandwarmshoved straight up my nostril woke me out of a deep, glorious sleep.
It wasn’t exactly the way I’d imagined my morning going, especially after the night we’d had. I’d fallen asleep with Tally curled into me, soft and spent, her leg hooked over mine, one arm flung across my chest. Her breath, slow and steady, had kept time with mine until I’d finally drifted off, high on whatever the hell kind of alchemy had happened between us.
