“Let’s do both,” Piper grinned. “Two birds…”
Paige clinked her glass against mine, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “To fresh starts and fearless women,” she toasted softly, the words wrapping around us like a shield. For a moment, the table hummed with a quiet energy, the kind that only family could conjure—calm and sure, a promise that whatever shadows lingered, we would face them together.
“We’re actually not staying much longer,” Nate answered.
“Good, I’ll tell you right now,” Piper grumbled. “This place is overpriced and overrated. I bet it won’t last a year.”
I found my breath. “Fifteen more minutes,” I whispered to Nate. “Then leftover spaghetti.”
“Extra parm,” Nate murmured, like a vow.
We sipped our drinks and let the room fade into the background as we chatted with my sisters.
When we stood to leave, Graham kept his distance—which might’ve been the first decent thing he’d done since he got into town.
Outside, the air was cold and cleansing. I exhaled and watched a small piece of the past frost float away along with my breath.
“You okay?” Nate asked, opening the car door.
I thought of my sisters, the quiet strength of Nate’s thumb against my pulse.
I thought of the girl I’d been in a kitchen where compliments had barbs.
“I think,” I said, surprised by the truth of it, “I am.”
“Spaghetti?” he prompted.
“Yes.” I slid my hand into his, our fingers fitting together like we were made for each other. “And a side of being exactly where I want to be—with you.”
He stopped walking.
Not abruptly—just enough that the night seemed to pause with us. He turned, his free hand coming up to my waist, comforting and warm. His thumb brushed the small of my back, slowly, gently, as he always was with me.
“Come here,” he said softly.
It wasn’t a command. It was an invitation.
I stepped into him, my hands flattening against his broad chest, feeling the quiet strength there, the familiar beat of his heart. He dipped his forehead to mine, breathing me in like this was important to him. LikeIwas important.
“I’m really glad you came tonight,” he murmured. “And I’m really glad it was with me.”
My throat tightened. “Me too.”
He kissed me then—slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that asks instead of takes. His mouth was warm, sure, lingering just long enough to make my knees weak. When he pulled back, his thumb traced my jaw, like he was committing my face to memory.
“Perfect,” he said, voice low. “I’ve got plenty of the good parm.”
I smiled, breathless. “Of course, you do. I’m starting to get the feeling that you’ll always have everything I need.”
We walked the rest of the way to his truck like that—hands linked, shoulders brushing. He opened the door for me, one hand braced on the roof, the other steady at my elbow, watching until I was settled, like I was something breakable and treasured all at once.
Before he closed the door, he leaned in again, stealing one more kiss—softer this time, a promise instead of a question.
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
“I know,” I whispered.
When he slid in beside me, the space between us felt charged—his hand found my thigh for just a second, like reassurance. Like I was his and he was mine, and he intended to always take care of me.
