I laughed. “That’s what Alyssa said too.”
“You’re not the only one with news. I spoke with Mark and Jackson this morning.”
My heart started racing, even as I attempted to remain calm. Though Connor had been confident his request to transfer would be granted, ultimately, it wasn’t up to him.
“And…?” I prodded. He was killing me.
He smirked. “And I’ll be starting next week. Which means we have another week off together.”
“What about your stuff? Your apartment?”
He cupped my cheeks. “It’s just stuff. Cole Security will arrange to have it packed up, or we can take a road trip. I can show you my favorite places, introduce you to the rest of my friends.”
“So, we’re really doing this?”
“Why?” He tangled his fingers in my hair, resting his forehead against mine as he nuzzled my nose. “Are you having second thoughts, Goody?”
My breath caught. “Absolutely not. I just want to make sure you’re really thinking this through. That you aren’t being hasty.”
“Tell me something…” He kissed my cheek. “Were you being hasty when you quit your job?”
I shook my head, our breath mingling as people passed us on the sidewalk. “No. I was acting on instinct. Even if it did seem impulsive.”
“Which is exactly what I’m doing.” He searched my eyes. “I love you.”
“Not as much as I love you.” I pulled him to me, kissing him on the sidewalk as if our lives depended on it.
Our story was just beginning. And I couldn’t wait to see what the future held. Because I knew that, together, we were stronger. Together, we could take on anything.
Epilogue
Connor
Eight months later
“Goody?”
“Yeah,” she called, clearly not paying me any attention. The timer for the cookies chimed a second later.
“Olivia?” I was getting insistent, even if I tried not to let it show. I’d been waiting weeks for the perfect moment, until I couldn’t wait anymore. If I didn’t ask her to be my wife, I was going to burst.
“Just a sec. I’m taking the cookies out of the oven.”
I watched as she bent over, reaching into the oven to extract the pan. I wasn’t sure which I was salivating for more—her or the cookies. No, definitely her. Even after all this time together, I didn’t think I’d ever get my fill of her.
“What’s up?” She placed the oven mitts on the counter.
“I got your stack ready.”
She furrowed her brow. Always so fucking adorable. “What stack?”
She busied herself in the kitchen, washing the bowl. Drying it. She was killing me.
“You know—the one for your latest bookstagram challenge. Come on.” I tugged on her hand. “I’ll show you.”
I led her down the hall toward the bedroom—our bedroom. In our new house—our home.
We’d moved a few months after the attack. She’d insisted it was because she wanted me to feel comfortable. She didn’t want me to feel like I had to find space for my stuff in her place, but that we were building a life together. I didn’t really care. I was just happy to have a home with her—wherever it was. And if it would help her put more distance between the attack and our future, all the better.
