He crossed the room, settled onto the bed. His tail immediately found her, curling around her waist like it always did.
“You’re worrying again,” she said.
“I am not?—”
“You are. You get this look.” She touched his face, traced the line of his jaw. “Everything’s fine. The children are safe. We’re safe.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her eyes searched his. “Because sometimes I think you’re waiting for it all to fall apart.”
He couldn’t deny it. The fear was always there, lurking at the edges of his thoughts.
“Old habits,” he said.
“We’re building new habits.” She shifted closer, rested her head against his shoulder. “Happier ones.”
He wrapped his arm around her, breathed in her scent—sweet and comforting and essential.
“I never thought I would have this again,” he admitted. “A family. A home. I thought that part of my life was over.”
“But it’s not.”
“No.” He pressed his face into her hair. “It’s not.”
She tilted her head back, looked at him with those eyes that saw too much. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And I think your first mate would be happy for you.”
The words hit him harder than he expected, even though he’d thought the same thing only moments ago. Hearing her say it made it feel true.
“You think so?”
“I know so. Because if I lost you—” Her voice caught, and she took a breath. “If something happened to me and you found happiness again afterward, I’d want that for you. I’d want you to live, to love, to be happy.”
“Corinne—”
“I’m just saying. Love doesn’t run out. It grows. And I think she’d be glad you found more of it.”
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t find words adequate to express what he felt, so he kissed her instead. Soft and reverent and full of everything he couldn’t say. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up to cup his face, her body warm against his. When they broke apart, she was smiling.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.” He rested his forehead against hers. “More than I can express.”
“You express it very well.” She laughed softly. “Every day. In a hundred small ways.”
He thought about the ways he tried to show her—fixing things around the house, bringing her tea in the morning, taking the children so she could rest, holding her in the quiet moments. They were small things, but they added up.
“You do the same,” he said. “You show me every day.”
“Good. Because I’m planning to keep doing it for a very long time.”
“How long?”
“Forever, probably.” She grinned. “You’re stuck with me.”
