“I’m going to live in this house,” I whispered, almost against his mouth now. “And I’m going to fight for this place. For him, for me, and for us.”
Wyatt’s gaze held mine. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
The words hit deep, and I didn’t have anything left in me to argue with them.
I rose onto my toes, my hand tightening on his jaw like I needed the anchor, like I needed the reality of him under my palm.
Wyatt stayed still, giving me the choice down to the last breath.
I closed the distance and kissed him.
It wasn’t soft at first. It was shaky and hungry and careful all at once, like my body didn’t know whether to cling or flee. His mouth was warm, his hand still cradling my cheek, and when he finally kissed me back, slow and steady, it felt like he was answering my fear with something I could hold.
My chest loosened on a broken breath.
I kissed him again, deeper this time, and the world didn’t tilt. It didn’t crack.
Forty-Five
Tessa
Fourteen days of waking up in Ray's house, my house, and getting shit done. The fence line on the north pasture didn't fix itself, so I fixed it. The gutters didn't clean themselves, so I climbed the damn ladder and did it myself. The paperwork Ray left behind didn't organize itself into something that made sense while I was gone. So I spent three nights at the kitchen table with a six pack of Hargrove beer and a calculator until it did.
I was doing it.
Work at the clinic had become my anchor. My hands were steady when they needed to be—holding a frightened dog still for vaccinations, reading the subtle tension in a horse's shoulder, speaking in that low voice that made animals trust me even when they were hurting. Brooke welcomed me back without fanfare, like she expected I was coming back.
Wyatt kept his word, exactly like I'd known he would.
No hovering. No showing up unannounced with excuses about "just checking in." He answered when I texted. He gave me space when I didn't. Three nights ago, when I asked himover for dinner, he'd shown up with wine and stayed in his lane in my kitchen, letting me lead.
When he left that night, he kissed me at the door, slow and deliberate, his hand firm at the back of my neck, and then he'd driven home without asking to stay.
I wanted him to stay.
But I hadn't been ready to ask.
Tonight was different.
Tonight, standing in my bathroom after a long shift at the clinic, I wasn't second-guessing myself. I knew what I wanted. I spent two weeks rebuilding my life on my own terms, proving to myself that I could stand on my own two feet, and now I wanted Wyatt in my bed. Not because I was lonely or scared or looking for someone to make me feel whole.
Because I wanted him. Because he made me feel like myself, only better. Because choosing him didn't mean losing myself anymore.
I pulled out my phone and typed the message without hesitation.
Me: Come over tonight.
Not a question. A statement.
His reply came within seconds.
Wyatt: Everything okay?
I smiled at the screen, shaking my head. Of course, that was his first thought.
Me: Everything's fine. I want to see you. Come over.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
