She leaned over, pressing her forehead to his. She felt him draw in a deep breath and the tightness inherchest relaxed. The blade just missed his lungs. The surgeon said it was a lucky thing, that a quarter inch could have made the distance between life and death.
“God, you smell good. Like roses and my Sophie.”
She bit her lip to hold back the tears. She wanted to be his. More than anything else, she wanted to love him and be loved by him.
“The hospital bed has kind of a nice symmetry, don’t you think? It’s where we first met.”
“I think we need a do-over. A story that doesn’t have so much violence in it.” She stroked a hand over his cheek, loving the rasp of stubble against her palm.
“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
She started to lean back but he stopped her.
“Wait a minute. I know we said we weren’t going to do the relationship thing, but I’d like you to reconsider. Since you were barely more than a girl, you’ve been racing toward something better, and I’ve been stuck here moving in slow motion. Deliberate. Methodical. Alone. It’s like a suit that doesn’t fit me anymore. You fit me. We fit together. I love you, Sophie.”
“Did you just call me a suit, Southerland?”
His brow creased, and she reached out to smooth it with her thumb before brushing her lips over his.
“I love you, too.”
His hand went around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She might have heard Gabe and his sisters cheering in the background, but it didn’t matter. Her focus narrowed on the man she loved and who loved her back, and how she could help him heal.
So they could go home.
