"I had the sketches you drew. Kept them all."
She turned to me with tears streaming down her face. "You built our dream alone."
"Built it for us. Just took you a while to come home to it."
Inside, I watched her explore—fingers trailing over the mantle we'd imagined would hold Christmas stockings, the kitchen window we'd said should face east for morning coffee, the built-in bookshelf she'd insisted on for all the books she'd never had room for growing up.
"Shower," I said when she'd made a full circuit. "We should clean up."
"Together?" A blush spread across her chest.
"If you want."
"I want everything with you."
The bathroom was the one luxury I'd allowed—a huge shower with dual heads, bench built into the tile, a window that looked out over the pasture because Ivy had once said she wanted to shower with a view. Steam filled the space as I adjusted the water, and when I turned back, she was watching me with dark eyes.
We undressed each other properly this time, slow and thorough, revealing bodies that had changed with the years but still recognized each other. The shower was about more than getting clean—it was a baptism, washing away the years of pain, the loneliness, the half-life we'd both been living.
I washed her hair, remembering how she used to purr like a cat when I played with it. Sure enough, the sound rose from her throatas I massaged her scalp, and I had to press her against the tile and kiss her until neither of us could breathe.
I traced the trail of water that slid down her neck, felt the flutter of her pulse against my tongue. Her nails scraped against my shoulders, sending goosebumps along my skin despite the water’s heat. “Wyatt…”
That breathy sigh had my body moving on its own accord, and I had her in my arms a second later. Ankles locked around my hips, I surged into her in one swift thrust that stole both our breath.
“Can’t get enough of you,” I murmured into the curve of her neck.
Ivy angled her hips, taking me deeper. “Never enough,” she moaned. The glorious sound rang against the tile and settled deep in my bones. She cradled my face in her hands, looking up at me with so much devotion in her brown eyes. “Good thing we have forever.” My grip on her tightened, and it took everything in me not to lose it completely.
“Forever,” I swore to her before pressing my lips to hers.
I drove into her until my muscles burned with effort, until she was nothing more than a string of moans and whimpers and kisses that held all the promises we’ve ever made.
We fell into bed still damp, too tired and sated to care. She curved into me like she'd never left, her back to my chest, my arm around her waist, legs tangled. I breathed in the scent of her—my soap on her skin, but still essentially Ivy underneath.
"Don't leave," I murmured, already half asleep. "Promise you won't leave."
"Never again," she whispered back.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and the weight of Ivy's head on my chest. For a moment, I didn't move, afraid I was dreaming. How many mornings had I woken alone in this bed, reaching for someone who wasn't there?
But she was real—her hair spread across my chest, her breath warm against my skin, her hand resting over my heart like she was making sure it still beat for her.
She stirred, made a soft sound of waking, then froze like she was doing the same reality check I'd just done.
"You're here," I said, wonder in my voice.
She lifted her head, eyes soft with sleep. "You're here too."
"This is my bed."
"Our bed," she corrected, then stretched against me in ways that made coherent thought impossible. "In our cabin. On our ranch."
"Say that again."
"Which part?"
"The 'our' part."
