"He left me that too," Nate says quietly. "With a note saying it belonged in your library."
I can't speak. Can't do anything but stand there holding this book, in this room, surrounded by evidence of how completely he knows me. Tears stream down my face unchecked.
"It wouldn't be our house if you didn't have your library," Nate continues, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I turn to face him, and whatever he sees in my expression makes him smile.
"Nate Sullivan," I say, voice thick with emotion. "You're going to make me cry."
"Is that a bad thing?"
Instead of answering, I launch myself at him. He catches me easily, arms wrapping around my waist, and I'm kissing him desperately, gratefully, trying to pour seven years of love into this single moment.
My hands wrap around his neck and body presses against his. When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and laughing and crying all at once.
"Next you're going to tell me there's a pony in the backyard and a slide somewhere in the house."
He laughs—real and bright and beautiful.
"The pony we can definitely get. There's enough land. But the slide's a building hazard, so—" he pauses, something shifting in his expression, "—maybe I could build a cubby house instead. For our kids."
The words land soft but heavy.
Our kids.
I pull back just enough to look at him properly.
"You want kids?"
His arms tighten around my waist, pulling me closer.
"I want everything with you," he says simply. "Kids, pony, the full chaos of a life built together. I want Sunday mornings and terrible jokes. I want to watch you fill these shelves with books and fill this house with everything and anything you want. I want decades of this, Len. All of it."
My heart feels too big for my chest.
"Everything?"
"Everything."
I kiss him again, and this time it's different.
Slower. Deeper. Full of promise.
He lifts me without breaking the kiss, carries me back down the hallway toward the bedroom, and I'm laughing against his mouth. My fingers tangle in his hair. My legs wrap around his waist.
We're almost to the bed when my phone starts ringing. We ignore it. Then Nate's phone rings.
“It’s probably nothing," Nate murmurs against my neck.
But it keeps ringing. Insistent. Urgent.
I glance at the screen.
"It's Ollie.”
Nate groans but doesn't stop me as I reach for his phone, answering it while trying not to laugh at the look of frustration on his face.
"Nate!" Ollie's voice comes through, crackling with barely contained excitement. "I'm a dad!"
