For the first time in months, maybe years, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Not running. Not hiding. Not trying to fix anything.
Just here. With him. Building something real.
Something that I am certain will last.
39
PATTON
The wrappedpackage sits on my desk with its brown paper and twine tied into a bow.
I’ve fought structure fires. Rescued people from collapsed buildings. Faced down situations that would make grown men cry.
I expect this would make me nervous, given the fact that I rehearse what I’ll say for the tenth time this morning, but I’m not. Not really. I just want to get this right.
Through the glass walls separating our offices, Winnie is on the phone, gesturing animatedly—probably about one of the dozen things she juggles simultaneously. Her light pink shirt catches the morning light, and I’m struck by how beautiful she is, even though I get this view every day.
It never gets old, especially not loving her.
She glances up, catches me staring, and waves.
Her smile dazzles me like fireworks. Everlasting fireworks. A front seat to a lifetime show.
I wave back, which is new as she’s pointed out on several occasions. Three months ago, I would’ve scowled and returned to my computer. I knew if I crossed the threshold—gave her aninch, let her in—there’d be no going back. I was right. Now I’m grinning like an idiot at a woman who’s completely rearranged my life.
Austin appears in my doorway, arms crossed, wearing his most annoying smirk. “Are you going to stare at her all day or actually give her the gift?”
“I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“The right moment was an hour ago when she arrived. Now you’re just stalling.”
“I’m strategizing.”
“You’re chickening out.”
I glare at him. “I don’t chicken out.”
“Then go.” He nods toward her office. “Before you burn a hole in that wrapping paper by staring at it.”
I hate that he’s right.
I stand, grab the package, and walk across the hall before I can overthink it. Again.
Winnie wraps up the call when I exit my office. She looks up and her whole face brightens in a way that makes me smile as she meets me halfway.
We gaze at each other for a moment. The hallway that used to be a demilitarized zone between warring departments now feels like harmony.
“I have something for you,” I say.
Her eyes drop to the package. “Is it my birthday?”
“No.”
“Christmas?”
“Winnie.”
