"Ivy." Her voice is professional, but I catch the edge of excitement underneath. "Are you sitting down?"
"I'm standing in my new apartment, actually. Just got the keys today."
"Perfect. Because you're going to want to remember this moment." There’s a pause that stretches too long. "Your paper won the Young Researcher Award."
The world tilts.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Your concussion prevention protocol paper. The committee unanimously selected it for the Young Researcher Award. You'll be presenting the keynote at next month's international sports medicine conference in Geneva." Dr. O'Connell's pride bleeds through the phone. "Ivy, this is career-defining. People spend decades trying to achieve what you just accomplished."
My knees decide they're done supporting my weight. Declan catches me, guiding me to sit on the floor against the window.I'm vaguely aware of his arm around my shoulders, grounding me.
Tears form in my eyes. "I don't... I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll accept. Say you'll prepare the presentation of your life. Say you understand that this opens doors you didn't even know existed." She clears her throat. "There's more. You've been nominated for the Emerging Excellence Fellowship. It's highly competitive. Only three researchers worldwide are selected each year. If you get it, you'll have full funding for the next decade, access to any lab or facility you need, and the backing of some of the biggest names in sports medicine."
The words wash over me like a wave. The tears spill to my cheeks. Each achievement and recognition used to feel like borrowed glory, like I was wearing someone else's accomplishments. But sitting here in my own apartment, Declan's solid presence beside me, I feel the truth of it settling into my bones.
I earned this.
"Thank you," I manage. "For believing in me. For fighting for me when the ethics board tried to bury my research."
"You made it easy to believe in you, Ivy. You always have." The warmth in her voice makes my throat tight. "Celebrate today. We'll tackle the details tomorrow."
The call ends, and silence fills my empty apartment.
Declan's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Pride and something deeper that makes my chest ache in the best way.
"You're incredible," he says quietly. "Do you know that?"
I shake my head. "I'm still processing."
"Then let me help." He stands, pulling me up with him. "Tonight, we celebrate. Every single achievement. Every hard-won victory. Every moment you doubted yourself and pushed through anyway."
"I don't even have furniture yet."
His grin turns wicked. The playful smirk that first destroyed my composure in that therapy room appears.
"Who said we need furniture?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "Declan..."
"What?" He's already walking toward the kitchen, his footsteps echoing on bare floors. "I'm just saying this place needs to feel like home. And home is wherever we are together."
I follow him, watching as he opens the bottle of champagne we brought for this exact purpose. The pop echoes through the empty space. He pours two glasses into the plastic cups we packed.
"To Dr. Ivy Chandler," he says, raising his cup. "Award-winning researcher, homeowner, and the woman who makes me want to be better every single day."
"That's not..." I stop myself. The old Ivy would deflect, making it about him instead. "Thank you for seeing me when I couldn't see myself."
We drink, the champagne crisp on my tongue. Declan sets his cup down on the counter with careful deliberation. His eyes lock on mine, and suddenly the spacious apartment feels intimate.
"Come here," he says, his voice dropping to that rough register that makes my pulse race.
I cross to him. His hands settle on my waist, pulling me close. This kiss is slow. Sensual. Thorough. A claiming that acknowledges everything we've survived to get here.
"I want you," he murmurs against my mouth. "Right here. Right now. In this place that's yours."
