He wiped away my tears before taking my hand, placing it against his heart.
“Luck, I love you, and I’ve always believed in you. Your dream was to open a studio and I want to give you your dreams. You’ve given me my future, I want to give you yours.”
Oh my God,my own studio.
Only one small problem…
“I don’t know how to run a studio, I haven’t learned enough.”
His eyes glinted. “Sweetheart, you know everything you need to know, and Murray will help with the commercial side of things. He’s already set things up for me; I’m investing in you and in your business, and we can get Freddie to help renovate it.”
His level of faith and trust in me was overwhelming.
“I don’t know what to say! This is incredible and kind and sweet… and I don’t deserve this.”
“Emerson, if anyone deserves it, it’s you. You’re going to be incredible at this. You’ll have waitlists for your waitlist’s waitlist.”
I laughed, throwing my head back.
“You think?
“I know.” He pulled me in against him, his lips surrounding mine.
“Wait,” I pushed him back. “No tongue.”
He laughed before pulling the hood of his jacket up then the hood of mine, holding onto it firmly. “There, now no-one can see, because I’m fucking using my tongue.”
His mouth cocooned mine again and I opened for him, his tongue stroking slowly through my mouth, warm and delicious and loving, melting my insides and branding my heart.
Branding my soul.
“What am I going to call it?” I muttered against his lips.
He moved back slightly, although still holding my hood.
“I have an idea,” he winked.
“Are you going to share?”
“Yes, but can we finish the rest of this conversation at home? It’s fucking freezing and I’ve lost count of how many days it’s been since I was inside you.”
I quickly pressed my lips back onto his. “How about we go home via my place and start packing those boxes?”
His face lit up like a kid on Christmas, or like my dad on Christmas. “That’s a fucking brilliant idea! Maybe we even stay there in the tiny bed so we can cuddle all night long.”
I giggled, the heaviness in my chest vanishing. He was right; as long as we had each other we would be fine.
Better than fine.
Perfect.
“Yes, we can stay there.”
He bent down, running his finger through the wet sand. He stood back when he’d finished, taking my hands in his and kissing it. I looked at what he’d written.
“Forever, baby. Forever.”
EPILOGUE
