I take a step closer to him, closing the space between us in a way that feels intentional this time, not driven by heat or urgency, but something steadier.
“I want to do this properly,” I say. “With you.”
His hand finds my waist easily, like it already knows where it belongs, the touch warm and grounding without pulling me in too fast.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Not just when it’s easy, not just when it’s exciting, but all of it. The messy bits, the awkward conversations, the parts where we actually have to think about what this means.”
His thumb brushes lightly against my side, absent but reassuring. “I want all of that with you.”
I let that settle. Because it’s not dramatic. It’s not overwhelming. It’s just… certain.
“And the kids,” I add quietly. “We have to think about them.”
“I know.”
“We can’t just… blur everything together and hope it lands right.”
“It won’t be like that,” he says, more firmly now. “Not with me.”
I study him for a second, really taking that in, the way he says it like it’s already decided, like choosing me isn’t something he’s debating.
“Okay,” I say finally.
And this time it feels different. Not hesitant. Not uncertain. Just… decided.
He nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear. “Okay.”
I glance down at my wrist again, the bracelet catching the light as I move, the engraving pressing gently into my skin.
“This is a lot to live up to,” I say lightly, but there’s truth underneath it.
“I think we’ll manage.”
I look back up at him. “We’ll have to.”
His hand shifts slightly, pulling me closer in a way that feels easy now. Easier than ever before.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice quieter again.
I hold his gaze. “Neither am I,” I reply.
And for the first time since all of this started, it doesn’t feel like something that might disappear if I look at it too closely. It feels like something solid. Something we’re choosing.
Chapter sixty-three
rory
Theo and Isla are walking ahead of us, their voices overlapping in that chaotic, excited way that only kids seem to manage, bouncing from one topic to the next without needing to finish a single sentence properly, and I find myself watching them more than I should, not really listening to what they’re saying, just… watching. Because it looks easy, like this has always been normal. And it hits me that this is the part that actually matters.
Freya walks beside me, close enough that the back of her hand brushes mine every now and then, neither of us pulling away, neither of us making a thing of it, and I can feel the shift in us from the last few days, the way everything has slowed slightly, steadied, like we’ve stopped running at something and started standing in it instead.
“We need to talk to them,” I say quietly, my voice low enough that it doesn’t carry ahead.
She doesn’t hesitate. “I know.”
“Soon,” I add, because the longer we leave it, the more it feels like we’re avoiding it.
