Page 160 of The Ashes of Summer

Nothing.

She's still mine. Still the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. Still the only woman I'll ever want.

Over the last few weeks we've found our way back to each other. Slowly. Always on her terms. Always with her setting the pace and me following it. And watching her take those pieces back, one at a time, has been the most humbling fucking thing I've ever been allowed to witness.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel snaps me back.

My pulse spikes. Black glances through the front window.

"They're here."

Fuck.

Everybody starts scrambling at once.

"Inside," I bark.

People scatter, laughing, Carter nearly going over a chair trying to get through the back door.

The SUV rolls slowly up the driveway and stops.

Then Summer climbs out.

And Christ. Every single time, it still hits me the same way.

Constance and Adelaide get out after her, trying and completely failing to look casual.

Summer glances between the house and the yard, suspicious. "What's going on?"

God, she's beautiful.

I walk toward her while the other two hover like a pair of kids trying not to ruin Christmas.

"Can you two head inside and give us a minute?"

They nod, though not before exchanging a look that practically screams oh my God it's happening.

Constance passes me first and stops long enough to put her hand on my good shoulder.

"Just so you know," she whispers calmly, "if you hurt her, I'll break your face."

Then she keeps walking.

Jesus. She's unbearable.

Honestly, though? I'm fond of her.

Summer comes toward me once they've disappeared inside, shopping bags swinging from her wrists. She sets them down on the gravel and steps straight into my arms.

Instinct. Always instinct.

I pull her in carefully and kiss her forehead. "Have a good day?"

"It was strange without you," she says quietly. "But can you please explain why there's a gigantic tent and a load of tables in our backyard?"

Our backyard.

Christ.