Page 171 of Neap & Spring

His voice cracks on the last word, and I see his eyes go bright with unshed tears.

“For two years,” he continues, his voice rougher now, “I’ve been giving fifty percent of everything I make to pay it off. Fifty percent, Vivi. Half of every dollar that comes through that restaurant has gone straight to the debt. I’ve been lying awake every night for two years trying to figure out how to keep the doors open.”

He brings his hand up to rub at his eyes, pressing his palms against them. When he drops it, his face is wet.

“And now it’s just … gone.” He’s shaking his head like he’s waiting for someone to tell him it was a mistake. “No more payments. No more investors breathing down my neck and threatening to pull funding. No more feeling like I’m drowning.”

I slide off the toilet lid, ignoring the protest from my bandaged foot, and move to him. He shifts back slightly on the edge of the tub to make room, and I settle onto his lap, straddling his thighs, my hands coming up to frame his face.

“That’s wonderful news, Callum,” I breathe against his lips. “This is everything you needed.”

“I can breathe again,” his voice breaks completely, the words coming out strangled. “For the first time in years, I can actually breathe.”

I can see in his eyes the relief and the joy. The sheer overwhelming gratitude. And underneath it all, exhaustion. He’s been holding himself upright through sheer force of will for so long that he’s forgotten what it feels like to rest and not carry all that crippling luggage.

“I’m so happy for you,” I whisper, brushing my thumbs across his cheekbones, catching the tears there. “Cal, this is so incredible.”

“I wanted to tell you immediately.” His hands find my waist, holding on like I’m an anchor in a storm. “The second Margo told me, all I could think about was telling you. I wanted to call, to text, to drive straight to the cottage and —” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “But you needed space. And I was trying so hard to give that to you and to not make this about what I needed.

“But then the storm started getting worse.” His grip tightens on my waist, his fingers digging in slightly. “I was sitting in the restaurant watching the ocean go completely wild, and all I could think about was you in this cottage. This old, falling-apart cottage right on the water.”

His gaze moves between my eyes.

“And I couldn’t do it anymore,” he whispers. “I couldn’t sit there giving you space when you might be in danger. So I just — I got in my truck. I didn’t even think about how dangerous the drive would be. The rational part of my brain shut off completely. I just had to get to you.”

His eyes are intense on mine as the words tumble out. “Space, I could give you. Time to process and time to figure things out — I could give you that. But not right now. Not when you might be hurt or scared or —” His voice catches. “I had to make sure you were okay. Even if you didn’t want to see me, I had to know you were safe.”

I lean forward and kiss him, full of all the love I feel for this man who drove through a storm because he couldn’t stand the thought of me being alone and scared.

When I pull back, we’re both crying, tears mixing together.

“The name,” I gasp, my voice shaking. “You don’t have to change it. You get to keep Neap & Spring.”

A smile breaks through the tears, transforming his face. “I get to keep Neap & Spring. I get to keep all of it exactly the way I built it. The way I dreamed it.”

“And the investors?”

“They don’t matter anymore.” He’s grinning now, and it’s so full of happiness it makes my heart squeeze. “I can tell them to take their rebrand and shove it up their ass.”

The sheer relief in his voice makes my eyes sting all over again. “It’s yours.”

“It’s mine.” He says it with wonder, like he’s just now testing out the words. “Completely and totally mine.”

I kiss him again, deeper this time, trying to pour all my happiness for him into it. He makes a sound against my mouth, a mix between a groan and laugh, and pulls me closer, his hands sliding up my back under my sweatshirt.

When we break apart, we’re both breathless.

“I have something to tell you too,” I whisper against his lips.

His hands freeze on my back and his eyes find mine, and I can see a flicker of nervousness there.

I take a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. But there’s too much. It’s all tangled together. Years of running and hiding and missing him and finally finding my way back.

Finally finding a place to call home.

“I want to stay,” I say as steady as I can.

He goes very still. “Stay?”