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Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I don’t entirely know why. Maybe because I know he means the words. Or maybe because it’s the gentleness of his touch, or the softness of his voice.
Whatever it is, I feel safe. Everything feels right.
“When are you coming home?” I whisper, letting my lids open. He stares back at me, his face serious.
“Home?”
“To yours, I mean.” I pull away, and he drops his hand to my lap, his fingers wrapping around my thigh. “The loft.”
“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck with his other hand as he sighs. “Whenever you give the okay.” I blink at him.
“When I give the okay?” I repeat, my brows bunching. “I don’t live there. It’s yours and Chase’s house.”
He shrugs. “But you’re living there right now,” he says. “You feel safe and comfortable there. I won’t take that from you.”
My throat tightens, tears threatening to spill over as I stare at him, letting his words settle. He’s fine living wherever he’s currently living and letting me take over his house, his room, just so I can feel comfortable.
He’s…
“Unbelievable,” I breathe. His brows raise.
“What?”
“You—you—” The words won’t leave my lips. I try to choke them out, try to force myself to say them, but I can’t.
I don’t even know what I want to say. Thank him, maybe. Or tell him how much he means to me, how much his words mean to me.
How much I love him.
“Thanks, Ro,” I whisper, dropping my eyes. His hand tightens, and I peek up at him through my lashes.
“You come first, Goldie.”
I search his eyes for any hint of a lie, but there isn’t one. Of course, there isn’t one.
“But you can come home,” I murmur, and the corner of his mouth kicks up in a small grin.
“I can?”
I nod as I look out at the trees again. We’re still stuck at the top, and this moment is fleeting. I know when we get out of this little bubble, it’ll be different. Things will feel different. Not good or bad. Just…different.
The ride lurches forward, and slowly, we start our descent. His hand is a tight, comforting weight around mine and I smile as I look back at him, my chest warming.
“Will you?” I whisper. “I want you there. I—I miss you.”
He inhales sharply, and I glance at him to gauge his reaction. Too much? Did I say the wrong thing?
But then his hand wraps around the back of my neck and he tugs me forward. His lips roughly press against mine as the wheel comes to an abrupt stop.
The attendant opens the door, but Roman doesn’t let me go. He rests his forehead against mine, breathing deeply. “I miss you too, Goldie. So fucking much.” I hold my breath, but when he doesn’t say anything else, I pull away.
“Does that mean—”
“Yes,” he interrupts. “I’m coming home.”
Home.
It’s a weird concept.
