“Are you upset?” I venture carefully.
“You … you kissed me,” he rasps, gesturing with his hands. “After … after you …”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were watching.” My eyes water as he shakes his head more vehemently.
“My … pen,” he croaks, and I’m pretty sure I hear a scandalized gasp in the background when Rowan grabs my hand and shoves it down into his pocket. But understanding finally dawns on me when my fingers find the EpiPen.
“Oh, no,” I mumble the second I realize I’m literally going to be the death of him. He’s reacting to the peanut butter cookie I’d forgotten I’d tasted just minutes before going outside to kiss him like my life depended on it. Well, I guesshislife is kind of depending on it now.
My instincts kick in, and I drop to my knees to uncap the syringe and jam the needle into his thigh, his gaze locking onto mine as our breathing synchronizes and eventually slows.
“Hey, I’m here,” I hear Landry say from over my shoulder. Someone must have called for his help earlier.
“I’m … okay,” Rowan replies, sounding as if he has sandpaper in his throat, but his eyes never leave my face. Out of all the people in this room, including his parents, his siblings, and even his former roommate-slash-doctor-slash-emergency contact, he trusts me. He choseme.
He smirks down at me and strokes my cheek as if I’m the only other person in the world, as if he’s the one consoling me, and I shiver when he brushes his thumb over my bottom lip.
“There are easier ways to get me to pray for you, you know,” I mutter, and Rowan coughs out a laugh as he helps me back up to my feet.
He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss just below my ear, and I let out a sigh of equal parts satisfaction and relief.
“Maybe,” he leans in again to whisper, “but it was still worth it.”
epilogue
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
ROWAN
“I’m not saying no,but we could stand to brush our teeth first,” my wife murmurs when my lips find her bare shoulder. She hums contentedly as I continue pressing kisses to her skin.
“You didn’t seem to mind my morning breath for the first round,” I say, snaking a hand around her waist and dragging her closer so I can mold my body around hers.
“That was before I knew you had such a dirty mouth,” she says in a sultry tone and arches her back in front of me.
I choke out a half-whimper, half-laugh. She claims I’m dangerous, but I’m no match for her.
“You’re never gonna get me out of bed like this,” I mumble and press myself against her again, and I see the way she clamps her teeth down over her lip, stifling a moan. She’s self-conscious, I realize. It’s her own dental hygiene she’s worrying about.
“And I couldn’t care less about morning breath, anyway, not when I have all this to distract me,” I continue, my hands sliding down and around her thighs.
She acknowledges my reassurance with a sigh, her head lolling back onto my shoulder as she shifts her position in front of me. It’s anunspoken declaration that she’s no longer concerned with such worldly tasks, not when we have this small taste of heaven at our fingertips.
It hasn’t even been two weeks since our wedding, but my memories of life before this are already shrouded by a fog. Seriously, what did I do with my time? What was I thinking about when it wasn’t Claire? I don’t know how I managed so long without her, withoutthis, being able to give myself away, freely and completely, and receive the same gift in return, then lie beside her, content in the knowledge that I get to keep her forever.
I thought I’d figured out everything there was to know about Claire in the months leading up to our marriage, but I honestly think I could study her forever and never get enough. At the same time, I finally understand what it means to find my other half, to know someone better than I know myself.
Today I discovered that my wife has a favorite position. Well, notthatkind of position, although I’ve definitely noticed which of those seem more advantageous for her. But she also has a default cuddle position.
Okay, so it’s hernakedcuddle position, but it’s still adorable.
She turns to her side and scoots closer, then I automatically gather her hair and fan it out behind her as she nestles in beneath my arm. Her head rests on my shoulder, and her palm covers my chest, right above my racing heart. And I reach around to trace a finger over her tattoos without hesitation. It reminds me of the night we met each time.
“Can I ask you something weird?” she ventures after a few seconds.
“Always,” I reply.
“Do you ever wonder what it was like for me before … with anyone else?” she asks, her voice small.
