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A small, tired smile plays on Brock’s lips. “Nothing’s more important than you, Nina.”
I can’t help it; warmth spreads across my chest.
Does he mean that?
But he actually walked away from that meeting and flew all the way across the country to see me instead, not even knowing that I’d be here for sure.
“You did that for me?” I ask when I finally find my voice.
“It was nothing,” Brock says, shaking his head. “I’ve finally realized how little it all matters without you, Nina. For the first time in my life, I’ve found something—someone—more meaningful than my work. You.”
Screw being careful. I can’t hold back the outpouring of emotions at Brock’s words, which he has clearly backed with his actions.
I do something I’ve been dying to do since I heard his voice calling out my name. I throw my arms around Brock and let him envelop me—his warm hands on my back, his sturdy chest for me to lean on, his lips on my head.
Brock fills my whole world, and I feel like I’m right where I belong.
“I’ve missed you so much; you have no idea.” Brock tightens his embrace, holding me like he’s never letting me go.
“I think I have a pretty good idea. I’ve missed you too.” I look up to meet Brock’s gaze.
For a moment, we look into each other’s eyes, saying nothing and everything, all at once. Pure, unadulterated happiness floods my body.
Brock leans his forehead on mine, his nose brushing against my cheek. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with Brock’s scent.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper.
“I told you. I’d do anything for you.”
A smile pulls my lips up. So it wasn’t just a cheesy line.
A cough interrupts our intimate moment.
Oh, that’s right—Dean. I totally forgot he’s still here.
He’s probably not happy that I’m being an idiot.
“Uh . . .” Dean clears his throat, fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie. “I’ll, um, give you guys some privacy.”
I watch, dumbfounded, as Dean walks away from us. Just as he’s climbing the steps to the porch, I find my voice. “Does that mean you’re okay with . . . everything?”
I curse myself even as the words slide out of my mouth. I should shut up and just enjoy this moment. I shouldn’t give Dean a chance to ruin it.
But when Dean turns around, there’s a smile on his face. “If Brock meant what he said, then I won’t stand in your way.”
“I meant every word,” Brock answers quickly.
“Good. I thought you did.” Dean takes a step toward the door then stops and faces us again. “I’m happy for you two. Really.”
“That means a lot to me, man,” Brock says.
“And me too,” I add.
Dean smiles, then he slips inside the house.
Brock and I look at each other. The warmth of his body seeps through my clothes. The breeze carries something intoxicating that buoys me up to a natural high I’ve never experienced before.
My smile spreads into a grin. Next thing I know, Brock and I are both laughing—I can’t exactly explain why, but the sensation of tension melting away is so wonderful I don’t even want to question it.
All I know is I’m happy to have Brock’s arms around me again.
Brock
We stand there just outside Dean’s house in silence, simply holding each other close.
Nina’s tears have dried up, her head resting contentedly on my chest. The smell of her faded perfume fills my senses, and I breathe the scent deep, relieved that Nina and Dean listened to what I had to say, that they saw the truth.
Nina is the most important thing in my life now, and I’m not going to let anything come between us—not work, not crazy exes, nothing.
The chill in the night air has me concerned that Nina might be getting a little cold. I can feel her shivering a little in my arms.
As if reading my thoughts, Nina looks up at me, a shy smile on her face. “Hey, would you like to come inside? It’s getting a little cold out here. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.”
“Sure. We can’t stand out here all night. Although I’m not sure I want to let you out of my arms just yet,” I reply, brushing a stray lock of her hair back over an ear.
Nina takes my hand and guides me inside the house, heading straight to the kitchen. She heats up some milk in a saucepan and rummages in a cupboard.
I perch against one of the sideboards, admiring her figure as she moves about the kitchen, distracted and oblivious to my attention.
There’s a moment of awkward silence as Nina turns to face me, resting against the counter opposite me.
“So . . .” She looks about the kitchen as if searching for the words. Humor gleams in her eyes. “How did you know I’d be here? I could have just been at my apartment, ignoring you.”
