"He's not what I expected," she said carefully, choosing each word with the precision I remembered from childhood lectures. "But I can see how much he loves you. The way his eyes follow you across a room, how he touches the small of your back like you might disappear if he doesn't. And that's all I ever wanted for you, sweetheart. Someone who looks at you like you hung the moon and stars."
I hugged her so hard she squeaked, her familiar perfume wrapping around me like coming home.
"He does," I whispered against her shoulder, my voice thick. "Every single day. Even on the hard ones."
"Then that's enough for me." Her hand smoothed down my hair the way it had when I was small.
She cried when they drove away, standing in the parking lot waving until their car disappeared around the corner. So did I, Jett's arm solid around my shoulders. But they're coming back for Christmas, already planning which rooms they'll stay in, and we talk on the phone every Sunday now—real conversations about real things. The wound that Garrett carved between us with his lies and manipulation is finally starting to heal, closing over with new tissue, stronger than before.
Some things take time. But they're worth the wait.
The bar closes at two. I help the girls clean up while the last stragglers stumble toward the door, and by the time the lights are off and the doors are locked, I'm bone-tired in the best way.
Here's the rephrased text with added details:
Jett finds me in the kitchen well past closing time, catching me red-handed as I steal a generous piece of Mama Rosa's leftover pecan pie straight from the tin.
"Caught you," he says, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk.
I grin up at him, utterly unrepentant, fork halfway to my mouth. "It's my pie now. She gave me the recipe this afternoon, made me promise to make it for Sunday dinners."
"Is that so?" He moves forward slowly, deliberately, crowding me back against the counter until his hands are braced on the worn laminate on either side of my hips. Even after a full year together, the heat that sparks between us hasn't dimmed even slightly. If anything, it's grown stronger, more consuming. Every touch sends electricity racing across my skin. Every kiss is a promise he always keeps.
"Mm-hmm." I take another bite, chewing deliberately slow, watching his eyes darken as they track the movement. "You want some? You'll have to ask nicely."
"I'll show you nicely," he growls.
He kisses me then, deep and thorough and possessive, and I taste the whiskey he was drinking downstairs on his tongue, feelthe rumble of his laughter vibrating against my lips. The pie is immediately forgotten on the counter behind me as he lifts me up effortlessly, my legs wrapping instinctively around his lean waist, my arms locking around his neck.
"Upstairs," I gasp against his mouth, breathless.
"Yes ma'am."
He carries me through the clubhouse like I weigh nothing, past the empty bar and up the stairs to the apartment that's been ours since the beginning. It's bigger now. We knocked out a wall, added a proper kitchen, turned the spare room into an office where I do the books and he pretends to do paperwork while actually watching me.
He sets me down on the bed, and I pull him down with me.
We've made love a thousand times in this room. Quick and desperate, slow and sweet, lazy morning tangles and frantic midnight encounters. But tonight feels different. Tonight feels like a celebration, like a promise renewed.
He undresses me with the same reverence he always shows, like my body is something sacred. I trace the tattoos on his chest with familiar fingers, lingering on the one over his heart.
My name. Sparrow. Inked into his skin six months ago, after we got married in a courthouse ceremony with the whole club in attendance. Mama Rosa made a cake shaped like a raven. Tessa cried harder than I did. Even Preacher smiled, and I'm pretty sure that's one of the signs of the apocalypse.
"I love you," I whisper, tracing the letters.
"I love you too." He catches my hand, presses a kiss to my palm. "More every day."
We move together like we've been doing this forever. Because we have. Because we will. His hands know exactly where to touch me, his mouth knows exactly how to make me moan, and when he finally slides inside me, I feel complete in a way that never gets old.
The pleasure builds slow and sweet, both of us taking our time. He whispers in my ear, telling me how beautiful I am, how much he needs me, how he can't believe he gets to wake up next to me every morning for the rest of his life.
I come apart in his arms with a soft cry, feeling the waves of pleasure crash through me, and he follows moments after, groaning my name against the heated skin of my throat, his breath ragged and warm.
After, we lie tangled together in the dark, our limbs intertwined beneath the sheets, catching our breath while our heartbeats slowly return to normal.
"Jett?"
"Mm?"
