Then I took her hands because if I didn’t, I was going to pull her against me too fast and scare myself with how badly I needed to feel her close.
“I know you meant it,” I said. “I just don’t know how to stop hurting yet.”
Her eyes filled instantly.
“Don’t cry,” I said, rougher than I meant to.
“I’m not.”
“Texas.”
“I’m evolving.”
That got a laugh out of me. Small. Not enough. But real.
She stepped closer. “I can wait.”
“For what?”
“For you to stop hurting.”
The words landed deep. Too deep.
I stared at her, at this girl who had taken forever to come to me and then flown through snow with a ring and a legal document like love was a war she’d finally decided to win.
I lifted her hand and pressed my mouth to her bracelet.
“You’re here,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You said it.”
“I love you.”
My eyes closed.
God.
I didn’t know if I would ever get used to hearing that.
I hoped not.
When I opened them, her face was soft and certain. Still scared. But not running. Not hiding. Not calling it fake.
“You ready to give me all of you?” I asked.
Her breath caught. “Yes.”
“Don’t say it because you think I need it.”
“I’m saying it because I need you to know.”
My jaw worked.
The hall behind us creaked, and Jace’s voice floated from somewhere around the corner. “Not to interrupt whateveremotional staring contest is happening, but Mom says stop freezing in the kitchen. Also, if you two have sex in her guest room, she requests emotional maturity and no broken furniture.”
Isa went scarlet.
