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Viv watched us with a wistful expression I’d never seen on her before. “I should come to more of these,” she said.

“You should. We’ve still got a few more weeks of games left before the end of the season.” I’d love to have my sister in the crowd cheering me on.

We headed out together. The early March air was cold and sharp, and the mountains were invisible in the dark, but I knew they were there the same way I knew everything else that mattered in my life was exactly where it was supposed to be.

THIRTY-SIX

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this happy. I had never realized how exhausting pretending to be happy all the time was until I was finally able to feel it sincerely.

And I owed it all to the man in the driver’s side of the car with his hand resting on my thigh.

It was early March, and the days were finally getting longer. The bitter cold that had settled over Montana for the last three months was loosening its grip just enough that I’d swapped my heavy parka for a lighter jacket, and the sun didn’t disappear behind the mountains at four thirty anymore. Spring was still a ways off, but you could feel it coming a little closer every day.

Harry and I were driving back from a date night in Missoula. He’d taken me to a little Italian place that he’d been wanting to try for weeks because one of the guys on the team had mentioned they made their pasta fresh and experiment with different flavors. We’d split a bottle of red wine and eaten delicious food, although I was still partial to his homemade pasta.

He’d ordered tiramisu for dessert and fed me the first bite across the table. I’d let him, even though public displays of affection used to make me want to crawl out of my skin. With Harry, everything felt different though. Easy. Like I’d been holding my breath for five years and had finally remembered how to exhale. I found that I loved when he touched me or doted on me in public just as much as I loved when he did it in private.

I still had moments of self-doubt. They crept in at odd times—when I woke up before him and watched him sleep, wondering what he could possibly see in me, or when I caught myself laughing too hard and a voice in the back of my head whispered that I didn’t have the right to be so happy. Those moments were getting quieter, though. They didn’t scream at me anymore. And on the days they were too loud, or sounded too much like my mom’s voice, I could tell them they were wrong.

Most days, at least.

Today, not a single negative thought had flowed through my mind. I’d enjoyed a wonderful dinner with the man I loved and hadn’t once questioned if I deserved to feel this happy.

It was progress.

He was driving us home with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing an absent pattern against my legs. I turned sideways in my seat, watching him, mesmerized by him—like I couldn’t quite believe he was real.

God, he was gorgeous. The dashboard lights caught the line of his jaw, sharp enough to cut glass, and his dark hair was slightly mussed from where I’d run my fingers through it at the restaurant when I’d kissed him in the parking lot. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow the way they always were because Harry ran warm, and I could see the muscles in his forearms shift every time he adjusted the wheel. Just the sight of his hands—especially knowing how good those hands could make me feel—made my stomach flip.

I didn’t know how I’d resisted this man for so long. Looking back, it seemed absurd that I’d agreed to fake date him and never once considered that he might actually want the real thing. That he’d wanted it for longer than I’d known. He’d waited for me without ever making me feel like I owed him anything for how long he’d waited, and that kind of patience was so rare it still made my chest ache when I thought about it too long.

He was my best friend. He was the person who saw every ugly, broken piece of me and still chose me. And he was mine.

Whether I deserved him or not.

God, I was so fucking happy it made me giddy. I nibbled my lip and he glanced over at me, arching a brow. “What?”

“Just admiring the view.”

His lips lifted in a grin that matched mine. “Mine’s better.”

I shook my head but couldn’t stop the ridiculous smile spreading across my face. I had to look away from him or I was going to do something reckless.

The highway stretched out ahead of us. A few cars passed in the opposite direction, their headlights sweeping briefly across the windshield before disappearing. The mountains on either side were just dark shapes against a slightly less dark sky. A song came on the radio that I hadn’t heard in ages, and I gasped and lunged for the volume.

“Oh my gosh, I love this song!”

I cranked it up and started dancing in my seat—shoulders moving, head bobbing, feeling the beat. Harry glanced over, and the corner of his mouth pulled up higher as he smiled, but not like he was laughing at me—more like he found me endearing.

“Don’t just sit there, Harry. This is a classic.”

“I’m driving.”

“You can bop your head. Bopping is allowed while driving.”

He did not bop his head. But his thumb started tapping against the steering wheel in time with the beat, which I still considered a win for Mr. Reserved.

I was singing along, badly and loudly, laughing between lyrics because I only remembered half the words and was making up the rest. The music filled the car, and my chest felt so full it almost hurt—except it wasn’t pain. I didn’t have a word for what it was. Contentment, maybe, or gratitude.