“You tell me.”
She swallowed.
Then reached for my hand— the one with the ring—and pressed it to her heart.
“Yes.”
That was it.
The last thread of control snapped.
I kissed her.
Not like the beach. Not like my couch.
This kiss was slower. Deeper. Final in the best way.
Her mouth opened under mine with a little sound that moved straight through my blood. I backed her against the counter and held her face in both hands because I wanted to feel every second of her choosing me.
No fake.
No rules.
No midnight.
Just Isa.
Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging once, and I groaned into her mouth.
“Room,” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
I lifted her carefully.
She laughed against my lips. “I can walk.”
“I know.”
“You love saying that.”
“I love you.”
She went still in my arms.
There it was.
Full.
Clear.
Not whispered into her hair while she slept. Not slipped in an airport. Not buried under jokes or almosts.
Her eyes filled again, but this time she smiled through it.
I nudged the guest room door open with my shoulder. “I love you, Isa Calloway.” She grabbed my face and kissed me so hard I nearly walked us into the dresser.
The guest room was warm and dim, a lamp glowing near the bed, snow moving silently beyond the window. Someone had left extra blankets folded on the trunk and a plate of cookies on the nightstand because Jace’s family was unhinged but apparently thorough.
