I spent the months after convincing myself I could live without that feeling. That I could work harder, stay busier, fill the space she left behind.
I was wrong.
Because now she’s back in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist, her mouth soft and familiar against mine, and everything goes quiet again. The noise. The questions. The ache I’ve been carrying since the day she left.
This is how I know.
For the first time in six months, I’m holding her again, and nothing feels out of place anymore.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
I keep her right where she is with her weight solid against me.
“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” I ask.
She shrugs. “My rehearsals for the new show don’t start for another two weeks.”
I arch a brow. “Two weeks?”
She just smiles wider.
I turn my head toward the pylons and shout back to the guys. “I’m taking the rest of the day off! Possibly the rest of the week!”
The crew roars again.
I look back at Piper. “Two weeks, huh?”
“Two weeks,” she agrees.
I don’t let her go. I just walk back toward my truck. The bridge can wait. I’m done waiting for the only thing that matters.
Fifty-Four
Piper
“A little to the right.”
Griffin exhales slowly, as if he’s counting in his head to avoid saying something that could get him in trouble.
“No, that’s too much.”
“Piper,” he warns.
He shifts the frame half an inch back the other way. I tilt my head, squinting like a museum curator assessing a priceless work of art instead of the watercolor I bought in Mira Cove.
“Perfect. Right there.”
He lowers his arms, turns, and glares at me from across the living room. “I have never seen someone so particular about where they hang a picture.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s because you’ve never decorated an apartment with emotional trauma attached to it.”
He mutters something under his breath and presses the frame firmly against the wall to make sure it’s secure before stepping back beside me. For a moment, we both look at it, like this small domestic victory deserves a standing ovation.
He glances at me. “Happy?”
“Very.”
