“Yes, you idiot.” She’s smiling now, full and warm, and she reaches up and cups my face in her hand. “Yes.”
I kiss her. She makes a sound against my mouth, and her fingers curl into my hair, and I pull her in close, and the house and the studio and everything else can wait.
When I pull back, she’s still smiling up at me.
“I love you,” I say. No lead-up, no reason. It just comes out, easy, the way it does now. I used to be terrified of those words. Not anymore. Not with her.
Her eyes go soft. “I love you too.” She presses her mouth to mine once, quick. “Can we go see it today?”
“Whenever you want.”
“After coffee.”
“Obviously after coffee.”
She’s still smiling when I kiss her again.
It starts slow—my mouth on hers, her fingers sliding up my chest. But when I pull her closer and she comes willingly, swinging her leg over so she’s in my lap, her hands sliding up my chest, I run my palms up her thighs and she shivers.
“Are you sure you want to move in with me?” she breathes against my mouth.
“More than anything.”
She laughs, and I swallow it, my hands finding her waist, her hips, pulling her in closer, and shearches into me, and I forget all about coffee.
“Banks.” My name in her mouth, a little breathless.
“Yeah.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her hair is everywhere, and her eyes are dark, and she’s got that look—the one that used to undo me before I’d admit it. Still undoes me.
I lay her back against the pillows, and she pulls me with her, her hands in my hair, and I take my time with her because I can. Because she’s here, and she said yes, and she’s mine, and I’m not in any rush to be anywhere else for the rest of my life.
I kiss her jaw, her throat, the place below her ear that makes her grip tighten. She sighs—this long, loose exhale, like she’s putting something down—and I feel her relax under me.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur.
“I know.” Her hand moves to my face. “I know you do.”
I look at her for a second. She’s looking back at me with this open, trusting expression.
And I have no idea how I got so freaking lucky.
* * *
We’re fifteen minutes from the house when Rick calls.
I almost let it go to voicemail. Winnie has her feet up on the dashboard, and she’s got the window cracked, and she’s singing along to something I don’t know, and I’m in no rush to interrupt any of that. But it’s Rick, and Rick doesn’t call on Saturdaysunless it’s worth picking up.
“Give me a second.” I turn down the music, and she drops her feet, already reading my face.
“Hey.” Rick skips hello, which is his way. “Four years. Nine million. Full no-trade clause. It’s done, Banks. They signed off an hour ago.”
I don’t say anything for a second. Outside, the city moves past the windows, completely indifferent to the fact that I just found out I’m staying.
“You there?” Rick asks.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
