“Say it again.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in love with you.”
The words hit the room like thunder.
Silence.
Her lips part.
I don’t look away.
“I tried to cage it,” I admit. “Tried to control it. Tried to call it timing or guilt or age.”
My hand slides down her back, firm.
“But it’s not any of that.”
“What is it?” she breathes.
“It’s you.”
Her hand trembles against my chest.
“You’re not my almost,” I say again, lower now. “You’re the woman I want to build with.”
Her eyes gloss—but she doesn’t cry.
“You’re choosing me?” she asks carefully.
“Yes.”
“Not because you’re afraid I’ll leave.”
“No.”
“Not because Lacee loves me.”
“No.”
“Because you want me.”
“Because I can’t imagine this house without you in it.”
Her breath shudders. “You won’t hide me?”
“Never.”
“You won’t retreat when it gets real?”
“I won’t.”
Her fingers grip my shirt tighter. “And if you do?”
“Then you call me on it.”
