Then his gaze finds me.
It softens.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I am.”
Ellie nods like that’s satisfactory.
Lacee wipes a tear from her eye.
The puppies tumble together in a pile, chewing ears and tails and each other. Inferno licks Sprinkles’ face. Sir Barks-A-Lot accidentally somersaults into the couch and bounces back up like it was intentional.
Chaos.
Warm, ridiculous chaos.
Sawyer stands and steps back toward me.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“I’m perfect.”
His hand slides into mine, thumb stroking over my knuckles slowly.
“You remember,” he murmurs, “when I told you I didn’t think I could survive loving again?”
“I remember.”
“You didn’t argue.”
“I didn’t need to.”
His eyes hold mine steadily.
“I thought fire only took,” he says quietly.
The kids erupt into laughter as Sir Barks-A-Lot attempts to howl and produces something that sounds like a broken kazoo.
Sawyer’s mouth curves faintly.
“I was wrong,” he continues.
I tilt my head. “About what?”
He steps closer, voice lowering even though the room is too loud for anyone to hear.
“Fire doesn’t only destroy,” he says. “Sometimes it warms.”
My chest tightens.
“And sometimes,” he adds, fingers sliding along my waist, “it heals.”
I press my palm against his chest.
“Seven years ago,” I whisper, “you thought loving me meant losing something.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No,” he says. “It meant finding everything.”
Grayson runs past us, puppy in tow.
