“It wasn’tjustanything,” he says. “Not to me. It was you—everything about you.”
His words pierce through the doubt, the walls I’ve spent so long building. If he’s telling the truth—and I believe he is—then this isn’t something fleeting. It’s not something I can ignore.
And it terrifies me.
“I don’t know how to believe in myself like you do,” I admit, my hands trembling slightly as I grip the edge of the counter for support. “But I want to. I want to believe in us.”
“Then let me show you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking just enough to make my breath catch. “Because I’ve believed in us since the day we kissed.”
His words linger in my mind, unraveling something inside me I’ve been gripping too tightly for far too long. Before I can stop myself, I reach for him as he bends closer. Our lips meet, and the kiss is anything but gentle.
It’s raw, messy, and full of every emotion I can’t find the words to say.
I pour myself into it—all the fear, all the doubt, all the hope that’s been clawing at me since the moment this started. The kiss deepens, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel the strength in his grip, the certainty he seems to carry so effortlessly.
But in the back of my mind, the questions still linger.
What if this is too much? What if I let myself fall, only to find out that I’m not enough to hold him? What if this future I’m starting to dream of, one where he’s in every part of my life, crumbles like everything else has?
And yet . . . there’s a small voice that says, “What if it doesn’t?”
What if this is real—thekind of real I never dared to dream of? What if he’s not just a passing chapter, but the start of something I’ve been too scared to hope for?
His lips move against mine, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring this as much as I am, and it makes my heart ache in a way that feels almost unbearable.
When we finally pull back, our foreheads rest against each other, his breath mingling with mine as we both try to catch up with what just happened.
“I’m scared,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
His hands tighten on my waist, grounding me. “Me too,” he admits, his voice barely audible. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
His words hit me like a jolt, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the fear doesn’t feel so overwhelming.
Maybe the future is uncertain. Maybe it’s terrifying. But in this very moment, it feels a little less impossible.
ChapterThirty
Ledger
I’ve madeit my mission to distract Galeana by sharing with her the places I love in Washington. Like Luna Harbor. The trip to this small town feels like stolen time, a small pause in the whirlwind that’s been our lives. So delicate, so impossible to hold—a distraction that’s as temporary as it is necessary.
Gale and I stroll through streets that could belong to a postcard, with their eclectic boutiques and cafés spilling over with charm. The salty breeze carries the faint sound of laughter and the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, wrapping the town in a deceptive sense of normalcy.
We climb the steps to the lighthouse, its worn walls whispering tales of resilience, and then wander along the waterfront trail where the horizon seems endless, untouchable. It’s easy to pretend here. Easy to let the sun warm our skin and imagine that this is just another day in a life we built together, instead of one we’re still struggling to figure out.
At a quaint little bookstore, I sink into a worn leather armchair, a cup of coffee cradled in my hands. Across the room, Gale drifts through the shelves, her fingers grazing book spines like she’s uncovering hidden treasures. Her face lights up with every discovery, her eyes sparkling with quiet delight.
I tell myself I’m just watching her, but it’s more than that—I’m absorbing her. The tilt of her head, the way her lips curl into that soft, unguarded smile when she finds something she loves—it’s so ordinary, so achingly her, that it grips me in a way I can’t explain.
It’s beautiful. It’s maddening. And it digs into me, deeper than I’m ready to admit. Because moments like this—her being so alive, so unburdened—are what I want to give her every day. But right now, I can’t. And that truth lands harder than I’d like as I take another sip of coffee, pretending the bitterness is all I taste.
This should’ve been our honeymoon. This moment—her radiant in the light of the store window, me pretending I don’t want to touch her every second we’re together—should’ve been wrapped in the kind of blissful certainty that comes with forever. Instead, it’s a stopgap, a pause in a life that feels permanently off balance.
I promised her we’d plan the best trip—the ultimate honeymoon—someday. But someday feels like a lie you tell yourself to ease the sting of now. And now, this small, fragile moment in Luna Harbor, is all I have to offer her. I want it to be enough. God, I want it to be everything. But I don’t know if it ever can be.
We spot a shop as we wander back from the lighthouse, its whitewashed walls and blue shutters looking like something out of a storybook. A hand-painted sign swings gently in the breeze: Nydia’s Haven—Lavender Goods & More. It’s close to the clinic and Too Far from a Bar. Which is actually the place I visit when I’m in Luna Harbor. They have un-plugged concerts on weekends and my teammates and I used to come when we had time and there was a good band.
Gale stops in her tracks, her eyes lighting up like she’s just found a treasure. “Lavender,” she says, almost reverently. “We have to go in.”
