“You tire halfway through.”
“We take a break.”
“Marlowe eats the cake.”
“We ordered two.”
Reid’s eyebrows rose.
“Why did we order two cakes?”
“Because Marlowe exists.”
From the living room came the unmistakable sound of an elderly dog attempting to climb onto furniture he had been forbidden to use since the day he came home.
Reid glanced toward the door.
I caught his jaw and turned him back.
“What else?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“You change your mind.”
There it was.
The one fear beneath all the others.
I let my hands settle against his chest.
His heart beat hard beneath the expensive shirt.
“Reid.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I know you want this.”
“Then why are you imagining me leaving?”
“Because I spent a long time wanting you while believing wanting did not guarantee I could keep you.”
The words carried no accusation.
Only history.
There had been a police officer at the yard door.
A hospital bed.
My eyes opening without recognition.
Months of building a relationship from pieces, boundaries, and choices made one day at a time.
Even now, with my engagement ring on my hand and half the county waiting downstairs, some part of Reid still expected love to be taken from him without warning.
