Rowan’s laugh rumbles against me. “Trust me, I’ve faced worse interrogations.”
“Still,” I say, looking up at him, “I appreciate you being so patient. Not everyone would have sat through that kind of dinner.”
I rise on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his in a soft kiss that quickly deepens. His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer until I’m pressed fully against him.
“Take me home,” I whisper against his mouth.
His eyes darken, and he nods, opening the passenger door for me. As we drive away, I glance back at my parents’ house where my mom stands in the doorway, waving. Just behind her, I spot a shadow I’m almost certain is my dad.
thirty-two
. . .
Rowan
It’s been six months with Violet now, and I’m positive I still don’t deserve any of it, but I make damn sure every day that I’m working for it.
Work still takes me away sometimes—a couple weeks here and there. Just long enough to suffer through that familiar ache of distance I used to think was part of the job. Now it just feels like missing her.
But every time I pull back into the driveway, there she is, just like she is right now, barefoot on the porch with my dog at her side and that smile that wrecks me.
God help me, every time I see her like that, the beast inside me settles. She’s turned my house into something warm and my life into something worth coming back to.
Maybe I’ll never stop feeling like I’ve got to earn her, but I’m thinking that’s the point—loving someone so much that you never stop trying.
As soon as I kill the engine and step out, her eyes meet mine. I’m barely up the porch steps before she’s in my arms.
“You’re back,” she whispers, a little breathless, as if it surprises her every time.
“I’m back,” I murmur, and then I kiss her. Hard. Thorough. Ineed her to know I missed her with every bone in my body. She answers with just as much heat, fingers buried in my hair.
We finally go inside, and I drop my bag by the door. She moves toward the kitchen, already reaching for the kettle.
I just stand there and watch the way she moves through my house like she belongs, and it’s because she does. She’s got a mug here, her favorite blanket draped over the back of the couch, her shampoo in the shower.
I don’t want her to leave. I’m done with goodbye kisses and seeing her drive away.
I step into the kitchen and wrap my arms around her from behind, my lips brushing the soft curve of her neck.
“Move in,” I say, voice low and steady. “Come live here. With me.”
She stills. Her breath catches audibly, and I hold mine. I’ve thought about this for weeks, but I hadn’t planned to ask her today, hadn’t rehearsed the words. They just fell out.
She turns in my arms, the kettle forgotten on the counter. Her forest green eyes search mine, wide and questioning.
“Are you serious?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Never been more serious about anything,” I say, hands settling on her hips. “I want to fall asleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning. I want your clothes next to mine, your books on my shelves. I want this to beourhome, not just mine.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a terrifying moment, I think I’ve asked too much. But then she grins—that bright, sunshine smile that starts with the brightening in her eyes and works its way down.
She rises onto her toes and kisses me softly before pulling back just enough to whisper against my lips, “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat, grinning like a damn fool.
She nods. “Let’s do it. Let’s make this our home.”
I kiss her again, because there’s nothing else to do when your girl says yes to building a life with you. When she pulls back,breathless and beaming, she says, “You’re going to regret this when I start reorganizing your fridge by color.”
