I just roll my eyes at her teasing, not really bothered about it.
Because that—the cruise, the pretending… it feels so long ago! And yet this time last week, we were floating around on the Pacific Ocean.
But then she sobers a little. “We can stick around here longer. If you need anything, Ash, I mean it.”
I glance at Beckett, only to find he’s already watching me.Your decision, that look says.
I don’t want to think about the last time it was just me and Beckett and the twins in this house. We’ve started rebuildingsomething new since then, but it still feels… fragile. Like this sandcastle we’ve built could still be swept out to sea.
But as long as we’re together, we can always build another one.
I reach across the space between us and take his hand. “I have everything I need right here.”
Luna studies me for a beat. Then her face brightens. “Well then… Paris in the morning sounds like an excellent idea.”
Noah grins and pulls her to her feet. “Which means you and I should get some sleep. Flight leaves at six, which puts our alarm at… painful o’clock.”
They’re crashing in the guest room again and insisting we don’t need to wake up early to see them off. So we say our goodbyes now—tight hugs along with promises to call when they land.
And then, for the first time in weeks—months maybe—Beckett and I are alone in our living room. In the quiet.
Together.
Just…home.
I start gathering empty glasses from the coffee table. Beckett grabs the mugs and empty wine bottle and follows me into the kitchen.
But when I reach for the faucet, he stops me with a light touch to my wrist.
“Leave them,” he says, voice low.
I turn toward him, and his hands settle at my waist before lifting me easily onto the center island. He moves close, standing between my legs.
In the dark window behind him, I catch a glimpse of my reflection, and let out a little groan. I’m still wearing my old jeans and his hoodie, and my hair, which I’d tied up without looking in a mirror, resembles all the chaos of this day.
“Oh ship, Beckett. I look like a homeless person.”
Before I can reach up to fix it, Beckett’s already there—gently pulling the tie from my hair, letting it fall loose around my shoulders.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
His gaze locks with mine, and the emotions I see feel like mirrors to my own—raw, reverent, a little wrecked.
Gratitude.
Relief.
Love, unguarded.
I reach my fingertips up and curl my hand around his cheek, loving the almost sandpaper feel of his jaw. Because… He’s here. He’s mine.
And I know he’s not talking about the way I look.
He’s talking about this.
About us.
I lean in, and that’s all it takes.
