“My cottage isn’t nearly as impressive as your place,and Finn leaves LEGOs everywhere… but there’s enough room. If you wanted to move in?”
For a split second, we just looked at each other. The air between us shifted, dense and bright and suddenly open. The look that passed between us was more than yes—it was a promise. No hesitation, no more questions, no defense mechanisms. He tugged me close, laughter rumbling through him, shaking loose months of doubt and distance.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
I nodded into his shoulder, feeling freer than I had in years. “Absolutely.”
Chase leaned in, pressed his lips softly, reverently, to my forehead. “There’s nothing I want more.”
We held each other there in the spill of the lamp’s glow, exhaustion and hope tangled together, the crisis not magically fixed but now—suddenly—survivable. His promise wasn’t a lifeboat. It was a home.
He pulled back slightly, eyes bright. “Don’t we have a little boy to pick up? I’ve got a present for him.”
I laughed, pulling him to his feet. “Come on then.”
My heart soared as I pictured Finn’s face when Chase handed him the tool belt. Chase slipped his arm around me like it belonged there, and for the first time in days—months, hell, years—everything felt right. We were out the door in seconds, the last threads of sunset painting the sky ahead. Even the air seemed lighter, full of possibility instead of pressure.
“Think Finn will be okay with me crashing here?” he asked as we walked toward the resort hand in hand.
I shot him a teasing glance. “You’re bringing pizza and presents. He’ll probably wonder why it took you so long.”
Chase smirked, but I caught the relief in his expression.Like he couldn’t quite believe this was real or that he hadn’t woken up.
And as we walked side by side, about to open the door and step into whatever new life waited, it hit me. Sometimes, the best things came when the world forced you to start over. Pizza reheated, hearts full, everything possible.
