His expression shifts as if my words scratched open a small scab.
I add quickly, “And I didn’t fall for the songs. I fell for the man who wanted someone to sing them to.”
Beau’s shoulders lift with a sharp inhale, then drop and loosen. He looks at me like I’m the sunrise, and he’s not sure he deserves the light.
“It still doesn’t feel real,” he says. “You loving me. It’s the best kind of dream.”
I smile softly. “I’m not a dream, and neither are you, although you are a dream come true. Our love is genuine and strong, Beau. And you’re not getting away from me.”
He takes my hand in both of his.
“I love you, Maisie.”
“And I love you, Beau Callahan.”
Below us, the river ripples. Trees sway gently overhead.
After a while, his thumb begins to trace along my knuckles. Thoughtful.
“I’ve been working on something,” he says. “That song you overheard at the music hall…I’ve rewritten it so many times since you heard it, trying to find the right ending. But I realized recently that it isn’t supposed to be finished alone. It isn’t supposed to be just mine anymore.”
My head tilts. He’s turned and faces me completely now. There’s curiosity in my eyes.
“Would you…would you…want to finish it with me?” His voice quivers, and I know this is a huge thing to ask. “The melody, the lyrics. All of it. Help me write a song that’s ours?”
My throat tightens. But I find my voice. “I don’t know…my lyrics might make the song too flowery.”
He laughs full-out. It starts in his chest and spills out into the trees. Birds startle and scatter above us.
When his laughter quiets, he leans in and presses a kiss to my temple.
“And that’s exactly why I love you, Maisie Quinn. Keep being you, and I’ll never stop wanting you to be mine.”
I laugh too, because how can I not? I lean into him, fitting myself against his side, shoulder to chest. He lifts his arm and wraps it around me, tucking me beneath his shoulder until I’m nestled into the curve of him. He understands perfectly that I need the contact as much as he does.
“Well then,” I murmur, a touch of joy and laughter in my voice, “let’s make something beautiful and wonderfully unexpected. Like us.”
We don’t leave the bridge right away. We stay, letting the peace settle into all the spaces we used to protect, where fear once held tight.
And when we do move, it’s toward each other. No dramatic sweep—just a shift in position until we’re face-to-face again in the center of the bridge. Beau reaches up, brushing my hair back behind my ear. His hand is warm, and it settles against my cheek like it belongs there.
I lift my face up toward his first, initiating, here in the exact same place he kissed me for the very first time. We keep eye contact until the moment before our lips touch. I think of the note. Of the truth he trusted me with. Of the bridge beneath our feet and how this place has held both silence and revelation. My eyes close, not just to feel the kiss, but to store it away to think about later.
The kiss is firm and certain, imbued with the release of emotions and past wounds, acceptance and the strength of belonging to one another. His mouth moves against mine with genuine desire to know me, as if he’s reading me, every soft give, every breath. I feel as if I’m floating, and my fingers grip the fabric of his shirt for balance.
His lips taste of sweetened coffee, salt, and the faint traces of a musky aroma from his cologne, blended witha whisper of worn leather from the cord at his neck. It’s woodsy and a little wild: earth, comfort and a hint of spice. So distinctly Beau it sinks into memory on contact. It’s a taste I’ll remember forever, the kind I could pick out of a thousand kisses. When he exhales like he’s been holding it for years, his breath carries the fresh scent of the forest.
When we finally ease apart, he doesn’t step back. He presses his palm to the back of my neck, holding me there as our breathing syncs, our lips barely apart. I angle in for another kiss, slower this time, deeper. His fingers grip my waist, and mine slide up to the back of his neck, keeping him near because I can’t bear to let go.
By now, I’m learning the language of his body, the small places that draw a shiver, the way his fingers tighten when I kiss just beneath the corner of his mouth, the soft catch of breath when my hand skims his jaw. One of his hands stays at my waist, grounding us both, while the other brushes slowly along my cheek. His fingers are a little calloused, and the contrast against my skin sends a jolt through me in the best way.
And I don’t want to pull away. I want to stay here, in this kiss, in this moment.
With him. With us. Exactly as we are.
Chapter 20
Sweet Enough to Keep
