I wrap my arms around his neck, gasping with every thrust of his hips, and my tears don’t stop, but neither does his.
He murmurs my name over and over, whispering praises in my ear that cover my body in chills.
“You’re perfect, baby,” he grunts. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
When I come, it’s like falling and flying at the same time. My body convulses, my cry is so loud and ragged it scares me, but Owen grounds me, kisses me, holds me through it.
I feel him shudder seconds later, the hot pulse of his orgasm filling me as he clings to me so tight I can hardly breathe.
He collapses on top of me, both of us sweaty, shaking, and tangled in a web of limbs and tears.
He buries his face in my hair, and I curl around him, both of us bruised and raw and impossibly whole. My eyes sting, my nose runs, but I don’t care. I just hold him and let the tears soak his chest.
He strokes my hair until my breath calms before whispering, “I love you, Meadow.”
I press my lips to his heart and let the words rise, unafraid for the first time. “I love you, Owen Brooks. More than anything or anyone.”
Hours later, after multiple rounds of sex, we’re naked and tangled in my sheets—exhausted, head over heels in love, and sticky with sweat. Owen’s breath is slow and even, his long arm draped lazily across my stomach.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and for once, the world doesn’t seem like it’s about to collapse.
I reach for his hand and find it instantly, his fingers curling around mine as he starts to drift off.
I squeeze his hand, and he stirs, giving me a hazy smile.
“Meadow?” he mumbles, barely awake.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulls me closer, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
Finally, I don’t want to run. I just want to stay here, safely wrapped in the arms of the man who loves me in a way that makes me remember why I love myself.
No longer is Owen just my best friend or coworker.
He’s my home.
EPILOGUE
Owen
One Year Later
There’s not a single cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on the shoreline of Costa Cay, the ocean spanning out in every shade of blue.
It looks almost the same as it did last year, just brighter now because this time, there’s no doubt about what we are.
She’s mine, and I’m hers.
Meadow is stretched out beside me in a beach chair, wearing a turquoise bikini that rivals the color of the glistening waves. She’s tapping on her Kindle with one hand, a piña colada balanced in the other, not a worry in the world.
She’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Her dark hair is twisted up into a messy bun, a few strands falling loose, and the bridge of her nose and cheeks are dusted with freckles from the sun.
One year later, we’re back in Costa Cay—this time to celebrate Meadow.
I’m still at Cutting Edge Sports and genuinely enjoy my job. But Meadow… she just landed her dream role with a major publishing house.
