Every instinct in me is screaming to close the distance. To cup her face, to press my mouth to hers, to pull her into my arms and feel her breathe against my neck like I used to. But I don’t move.
It’s on her time.
It always was.
The last six months taught me that better than anything. Loving her meant stepping back when she needed space, even when every cell in my body wanted to fight for the opposite. I stayed away and buried myself in work so I wouldn’t be tempted to show up at her door.
She swallows hard, looking like she’s fighting a battle behind her eyes. “Well,” she says, her voice a little thin. “I just wanted to say thank you. Properly. So… thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Fuck. All I want to do is pull her into my arms.
I feel like a man who’s been starved for six months, and seeing her this close is testing my restraint. It’s testing the promise I made to her.
“You’re obviously busy, Griff. I just wanted to… I guess…” She swallows before taking a breath. “Thank you. That’s all.” She nods and looks at me for one more beat, then she turns around.
I watch her take four steps away. I tell myself this is what space looks like. I tell myself I can handle another six months if that is what it takes to let her be sure.
I turn back toward the trailers, telling myself to breathe, telling myself that seeing her at all is more than I expected.
“Griff?”
I stop, heart beating out of my chest.
Her voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through every other sound on the site. I turn back, and she’s standing there, hands trembling slightly as she drags one down her face, then laughs softly like she can’t quite believe herself.
“How long did you wait?” She looks at me with those bright, searching eyes, and for a second, the only sound on the whole site is the river hitting the pylon bases.
I scrub a hand down my face, my palm rough against the stubble on my jaw. I think about the keychain in my pocket. I think about the three hundred miles of road between here and Mira Cove and the six months of silence I forced myself to keep. I think about how every single morning since she left has just been a countdown to right now.
I don’t even have to think about the answer. “I’m still waiting, baby. I never stopped.”
Her eyes widen, tears clinging to her lashes before she glances around like she suddenly remembers we’re standing in the middle of a construction site.
“I’m so tired,” she says. “I keep giving myself more time, like it will make me want you less. It doesn’t. I’ve missed you every single day. I missed your voice and your face and the way you make coffee.”
My heart is already pounding, already pushing me forward before I consciously decide to move. She keeps talking, words rushing now, like she’s afraid she’ll lose the nerve if she pauses.
“I’ve missed you so damn much. I know I said I needed time, and I did. But I’m who I wanted to be now. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want—”
“Piper.” I’m standing right in front of her. “Just come here.”
She breathes out a jagged “Thank God” and closes the distance. I catch her face in my hands and kiss her. It tastes like patience and six months of holding my breath. I get my arms around her and lift her off the gravel. She laughs against my mouth as her legs lock around my waist. I feel that laugh deep in my chest.
Behind us, a wolf whistle cuts through the air. Then another. Then the whole crew starts making enough noise to wake the county. I don’t put her down. She stays in my arms with her hands gripping my shoulders.
“Your crew is watching,” she whispers.
“I know.”
When she smiles at me like that, the way she did for those two weeks on the road, it feels like something inside me finally settles back into place.
I’ve heard the question asked before: How do you know when someone is the one?
I can’t answer that for everyone. I don’t think there’s one rule that fits. But I know this much: Six months ago, I went on aroad trip with a runaway bride. I didn’t realize how jumbled my life was until she climbed into the passenger seat and everything inside me went quiet.
In those two weeks I spent with her, I felt something I’d never felt before: Peace.
