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Her grin was smug. “They are crazy about me, aren’t they?”
“So am I.”
She rewarded him with a big kiss, then rested her head against his shoulder. They spent a lot of time that way, just being close, touching, not having to talk or anything else. They were the best times of his life.
Well, after the times they made love, of course.
“How’s Scott?” she asked.
His brother-in-law had dropped off the girls that morning, but they’d dragged Alia out for a run before she’d had a chance to say more than hello. He would pick them up tomorrow night after a weekend visit with Mary Ellen at the high-security psychiatric facility where she’d gone shortly after her arrest.
“He’s...” Grieving. Shocked. Dismayed. Finding out that the wife he loved dearly had murdered seven people had stunned him right out of his comfortable life. Landry wasn’t certain he would ever find his way back to normalcy, but he was trying. For the girls’ sake, for Mary Ellen’s, for his own.
“Yeah. I know,” Alia said, understanding the answer Landry hadn’t given. “How are you?”
She asked that question from time to time, tentatively at first, as if making sure he’d forgiven her for shooting his sister. Over time it had become more confident, more of a just-checking sort of thing.
He turned on the steps to face her, taking her left hand in his, gently twisting the engagement ring on her fourth finger. “I see the girls almost every day. My sister is alive and getting help. No more people I know are dying and Jeremiah’s partners in crime have been outed to the whole world. On top of that, I’m in love with the sexiest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known—”
“And she loves you, too,” she confirmed.
“So I’m good.” He kissed her, not a lazy fifteen-minute sort of kiss but sweet all the same.
“I’m damn good.”
